Harry Potter and the Really Round-About Way of Finding a Horcrux (2 of 3) for emiime
Title: Harry Potter and the Really Round-About way of Finding a Horcrux (Part 2 of 3)
Giftee: emiime
Rating: PG-13, juuuuuust skirting R. Mainly because I use the f-word once or twice. SCANDAL.
Word Count: .....25,421
Characters/Pairing: Percy/Harry, onstage Bill/Fleur, offstage R/Hr, Remus/Tonks
Read Part 1 Here
(20th July - Sunday)
Not good. Very very not good. Possible plot by Voldemort? Should've learnt Occlumency from Snape when I had the chance - still want to kill him a lot. Greasy hook-nosed murdering bastard. Should look into that.
Though if it was Lord Voldemort, would've been more along the lines of death and blood and gore, surely, and not...
Anyway, what would a mad dark wizard have to gain by planting homoerotic - SHIT NO NOT homoerotic, just...oh, fuck, really fucking sexy sex dreams about Percy bloody Weasley in my brain?
....Diversion? Mad plan to have me embarrass myself in front of Ron who will surely attack me if he thinks I have designs on every one of his family members and he might be next? Eurgh, no.
Oh, fuck, Ron will kill me if I try anything. Which I do not want to do. Because I am not queer, I have already reached my quota of membership in unfortunate minority groups, I do not need to add gay to that list.
....Moot point anyway, since Percy had that girlfriend at school.
Obviously straight.
....Chuh.
Harry bit his lip and tried not to look guilty of anything as he and Ron helped Hermione go over her notes for the seventeenth time. He skimmed over words without comprehending, trying to keep his mind on the mission or what they might have for lunch, or the times he kissed Cho, or the times he'd kissed Ginny.
Definitely not the time he'd kissed Ginny's older brother.
....Because that hadn't, according to Harry's (sometimes admittedly loose) grip on reality, actually happened.
....And he'd certainly never wanted it to.
Harry winced as the monster in his chest made a very pathetic, hopeful-sounding squeak as he thought too long about how he would go about removing another boy's glasses while they kissed. Think about something else. Breasts. Hermione's right there, she's got a pair, look at th - no, Ron will kill. Fleur, maybe. ...No, husband's a quarter-werewolf or something, just asking for tr -
"Harry?"
He glanced up, and was startled to notice Ron and Hermione both peering at him curiously. "You all right?" Ron asked, apparently repeating himself. Hermione gave him a bafflingly sympathetic look.
"Is it your scar again?" she asked, hushed.
"N...um," Harry said vaguely, considering his answer before he committed himself to it. "...It's not too bad," he murmured, biting his lip and rubbing the barely-raised ridge on his forehead.
"You just looked worried," Ron shrugged, glancing over at Hermione with a told-you-so smile.
Harry shrugged as well. "S'fine," he said shortly.
"You could take a break, if you wanted," Hermione suggested, making Ron splutter with indignation since he hadn't been offered a break for the past six hours. Grinning crookedly, Harry shoved himself up out of his chair, and stretched onto the balls of his feet.
"Think I might, actually." A plan had begun to formulate, in his mind - he wasn't about to let the opportunity to expand on it pass by. "...Ron, d'you mind if I borrow Pig? Hedwig's too noticeable, and it's for a short trip," he explained briefly. Hermione looked interested enough to ask questions, but Ron just shrugged and nodded.
"Yeah, sure. With any luck, he won't come b - OW, woman!" Ron squawked, as Hermione poked him with the point of her quill. He gave Harry a dark look. "Think you had the right idea, mate. Run before one of them manages to catch you," he muttered, but completely undermined his words in the next moment by grinning at the blush that had crept over Hermione's face.
Harry was grateful for Hermione's blush, since it'd distracted both her and Ron from noticing his own. Face still hot, he retreated hastily up to the attic bedroom, found a spare bit of parchment and a quill with a mostly-intact nib, and began to write.
Four frustrated attempts later, he surveyed his letter with satisfaction.
Percy:
All right?
Harry Potter
Cheered by the note (brevity being the soul of wit), Harry rolled the bit of parchment, sealed it, and moved towards the window, where Hedwig's and Pig's cages were kept. Hedwig was already shooting him a beady look, and he could barely make himself return her gaze. "Sorry," he murmured, feeling guilty, "Just you'll stand out too much with this one, I need to get Pig to send it."
She gave him a haughty hoot and swivelled her head to stare at the wall.
"...I'll let you out once he's gone," Harry offered as he fought to keep Pig still long enough to attach the note to his leg. Managing, finally, he wasn't able to entirely squelch his urge to throw Pig out the window instead of just letting him fly off; fortunately, the tiny owl spread his wings and flapped off before he could ricochet off any trees.
Opening Hedwig's cage, Harry had to spend another ten minutes abasing himself before she'd look at him again, and as she hopped over to the windowsill and launched off as well for a leisurely fly, he wondered where on earth he'd manage to get the rats he'd promised her.
If only Scabbers were still here, he thought, viciously. Sighing, he flopped down onto his messy bed, pulled the covers halfway over himself, and drifted off, wondering if he'd get a response.
He did, nearly three hours later. Pig dropped in through the open attic window and plopped directly onto Harry's chest, startling him out of the surprisingly deep sleep he'd fallen into. Reaching for his glasses on the bedside table, Harry peered at the little owl, who looked cheerful and mercifully tired-out. Pig submitted more easily to having the parchment taken off his leg this time, and flew over towards his cage, immediately fluffing himself up and hunkering down for a well-deserved rest once he got inside. Percy's reply (why was he nervous about that?) still in his hand, Harry got up and went over to close the cage door, and then returned, flopping down onto his bed again as he tore the seal open.
Harry Potter -
Fine, thankyou. Busy. Apologies if my behaviour last night was cause for alarm; I didn't intend it as such. I hope the evening improved once you returned home.
Incidentally, what on earth is this owl being fed? I had to hit it with an Immobilisation Hex just to get the letter; it's destroyed one of my paperweights. I thought you had a snow owl.
PW
Relieved that he'd not been told outright to bugger off, Harry read over the note two more times and considered his options. Sending Hedwig was a potential suicide mission, and therefore out of the question; Pig would never make it to London and back twice in one day; and he suspected that Ottery St. Catchpole lacked any shops that could cater to a wizarding mailing system.
He'd have to wait til tomorrow, to send a reply. Disappointed, Harry sat up and folded the note carefully, and shoved it into the back pocket of his jeans. Something about the sharp, careless accuracy of Percy's handwriting made him want more of it, more words to read and analyse. For not the first time that day, Harry genuinely wondered if he might be going mad.
Shrugging the thought off, Harry replaced it with a growing sense of anticipation for the next morning. He checked on Pig once more and wandered out of the bedroom, heading downstairs to find Ron and Hermione and help them in their quest to save the world. Again.
***
(21st July - Monday)
PW:
Yeah, I have a snow owl. Her name is Hedwig. Seems pretty obvious that if YOU can remember what my owl looks like, other unsavoury types might do as well. Don't want her turned into a pillow anytime soon. This is Pig, he doesn't bite. I've heard that the Ministry has owls its employees can use, might want to look into that. Sorry about the paperweight - was it ugly at least?
Your behaviour wasn't alarming. I just wondered.
HJP, TBWL, TCO
HJP (what does the J stand for?) -
1. I'm completely fine. As previously mentioned.
2. I'm also apparently "unsavoury."
3. Yes, the paperweight was very ugly.
4. Please take notice how well-behaved the Ministry owl returning this message is (a short finite incantatem will remv the Immobilisation Hex on Pig; I'd recommend putting him in his cage beforehand). Who trained the bird? Woefully lax.
5. "TBWL" is going to prove interesting when listed on your CV.
PIW
PIW:
You didn't seem completely fine. About unsavoury: dunno. Think it might be the glasses.
See, Pig did you a favour. And he's Ron's bird, so it might explain a lot. Don't think he was trained, he was a present from Sirius Black.
I was thinking of making that the header, actually.
Harry
ps - James
Harry -
I was fine. I am fine, and while it's very kind of you to want to make certain, it's unnecessary. I had wondered if my plan would end up backfiring; the twins' and my mother's reaction to their discovery wasn't exactly a shock to me. I regret that I involved you in the matter, but it's closed, and I should have known better than to try it. Again, I'm sorry. Please, don't worry about it anymore.
My glasses are perfectly serviceable, and not at all unsavoury.
Yes, Ron being his (her?) owner does explain a lot.
Re: TBWL: It would certainly be an attention-getter.
PW
Percy:
All right. Fleur got pretty hacked off with Bill when he said they'd return the sheets, if it helps at all.
Harry
***
(22nd July - Tuesday)
Harry -
Oddly enough, knowing that does help. A bit.
....Did Fleur happen to sprout wings?
PW
Percy:
Nah, no wings. Just a beak.
Looked a lot like Snape, actually.
Though I don't think Snape could fill the front of those dress robes quite the same.
TBWL
***
Percy attempted to cover a snort of laughter with a cough. From the other side of the office door, he heard Minister Scrimgeour pause in his firecall with the Minister for France. "Everything all right, Weasley?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Wouldn't mind fetching me a cup of coffee, would you?"
He smothered a sigh, and closed the file he'd been working through, as he stood. "Of course not, sir," he called, walking in the direction of the canteen, carefully folding a small piece of parchment in his hand and slipping it into his pocket.
***
(23rd July - Wednesday)
TBWL -
One never knows. Professor Snape did always wear very high collars. And many layers.
Percy
Percy:
You get to explain to Hermione and Ron and Ginny why I choked on my toast this morning.
Harry
Harry -
Choking on toast sounds like a personal problem to me.
It won't do; I can't in good conscience send another hapless owl all the way to the Burrow to deliver a one-sentence message. I'm not exactly sure what good filling up the rest of this scrap of parchment is going to do, however, other than assuage my guilty conscience and bore you to tears.
The cake was nice. I'm assuming my mother made it...? She taught all of us how to make things like beans on toast and pasta before we received our Hogwarts letters - she said she'd had enough of her brothers casually "dropping by" during mealtimes that she wanted to spare Ginny the same fate. Which was ironic, as Ginny was the worst cook of all of us. Don't tell her I told you that, please.
I do wish the Ministry canteen would invest in decent tea.
Oh, look, I've run out of room! Heartbreaking.
Percy
***
(24th July - Thursday)
Percy:
What's wrong with the Ministry's tea? Does it come in teabags? Is it not hand-picked by free-trade sherpas? Is it not packed loosely enough?
Only teasing. My aunt never bothered much with tea leaves. Of course, this may have been due to the fact that my cousin would have either attempted to eat them or smoke them if they weren't in a recognisable bag form.
The twins were actually allowed in the kitchen for purposes other than meals? When did that rule change? They won't go near it, now.
I'll try to make my notes longer too, I guess. Is it as hot in the city as it is here? We're all dying. Ginny says her freckles are melting off and Hermione's hair looks like the Flutterby bush on the front lawn. Think Ron's glad he has an excuse not to de-gnome the garden for your mum anymore.
Harry
Harry -
Actually, overly-loosely-packed tea leaves are exposed to more air and oxidise more quickly, which can negatively affect their flavour. And yes, it comes in teabags. Which makes the tea taste like paper and not like actual tea.
Also don't be ridiculous, sherpas are located in the more mountainous regions of India. Hardly any tea crops there.
Aha. Think the twins were banished from further lessons and the kitchen altogether, after the Noodle Incident of '89. Don't ask about this one. Trust me.
Yes, it is very hot here in the city. Luckily, the Ministry buildings are temperature-controlled. And I do manage to keep several cooling charms at home. Last night it actually got a bit chilly, I had to go search out another blanket.
Enjoy the attic!
Percy
Percy:
Coming to spend the night, then
Right, I am hijacking your bed
possibly with you in
So. Oxidisation rates of tea leaves. Sherpas in mountainous regions. Noodle incidents. All very interesting. Didn't find the remarks about cooling charms and temperature-controlled environments interesting or unfair at all.
If you come home and your flat has been overtaken by heat-exhausted and bad-tempered forces, do not be surprised. You've brought it on yourself.
Harry
Harry -
Sherpas are a proud and noble race. Noodle Incidents v top secret. Re: threats of invasion: remain undaunted. Exhausted, bad-tempered forces would be easi would surely hmmm would be easily overpowered. I have not yet begun to fight.
Percy
p.s. - as far as I know, the cooling charms I had set in my bedroom at the Burrow are still in working condition. If the lot of you are so miserable, why haven't you researched to find a way to better the situation?
***
The problem with cooling charms was that one had to effectively imagine being cool for the charm to begin working. He and Ron had tried them on the attic bedroom at the beginning of the summer, but had both complained so extensively about the already-oppressive heat that they found themselves unable to think about any sort of weather but the present oven-like conditions. Hermione had refused to take pity on them (mostly because of the ill-timed crack Ron had made about camping out in the girls' bedroom for three weeks out of every month).
It was really offensively Percy, Harry reflected as he stood on the unfamiliar landing that kept the doors to Percy's and Charlie's bedrooms, to have the foresight to begin casting cooling charms in late May when everyone else was enjoying spring. And to rub everyone's (translation: his) nose in it now that they were miserable.
"Like the ant and the fucking grasshopper," he mumbled, hand on the doorknob. Except the ant didn't offer to share the benefits with the grasshopper, did he?
Harry grumbled and shook the niggling voice of reason out of his head. Even as late at night as it was, the Burrow was still hot and humid, and he'd laid awake and sweating on his bed until Ron had begun snoring. Every step down the staircase had been a nightmare - he'd been sure the squeaks of the planks would wake the whole household. He still wasn't entirely sure what the little late-night adventure was supposed to accomplish - Percy might have been bluffing, or the charms might be gone. Still, though, the offer had been made, and Harry was never one to back down from an opportunity to do something without thinking it through.
He took his wand out and whispered an unnecessary alohomora, and turned the doorknob. The door creaked, so he winced and held it motionless for a long moment - or, at least, until he was relatively certain no Weasleys were going to come bounding down the staircase and begin asking questions. Sliding a hand inside the room, he fumbled for the lightswitch, and slipped inside as the light turned on.
The first thing he registered, as his eyes shut tight in the sudden brightness of the room, was how easy it was to breathe when the air wasn't body-temperature. Slowly, squinting, he cracked his eyes open enough to take in the rest of the room, shivering a little as the sheen of sweat on his body evaporated under the still-operating cooling charms.
It was tiny, for one thing. Harry's first thought was of the cupboard in which he'd spent the first decade of his life: Percy's bedroom was about half the size of Ron's, only big enough to contain a desk and chair, and a bed whose ends hit both walls. Harry shut the door gently behind himself as he looked over the rows of makeshift bookshelves fixed precariously above the bed - mostly empty, now, except for old NEWT-level Herbology and Ancient Runes texts that neither the twins nor Ron had needed.
There was a square four-paned window between the bed and the deskchair; it overlooked the Weasley's backyard and the trees beyond and, past that, the few winking lights left shining in Ottery St. Catchpole. There was nearly no moon at all - just a silver slip that was almost lost in the treetops, so that it seemed an extension of the town.
Harry set his wand down on the windowsill as he looked out, and perched on the edge of a lumpy mattress, suddenly a little nervous of his unfamiliar surroundings. The surface of the desk had a thin layer of dust on it; he reached over (he didn't have to get off the bed to do so) and wrote his name in it, in big loopy letters, so that it took up most of the free space. A few moving photographs and newspaper clippings were still stuck to the walls, but there was nothing indicative of the boy who'd occupied the room for nearly two decades - the thought made Harry inexplicably sad. Exhaling, he reached behind himself and began to turn down the covers, delighting in the coolness of the sheets, not minding the dampness that had got into everything since summer had hit.
"Nox," he whispered, giving another all-over shiver as he scooted down under the blankets, closing his eyes and taking off his glasses. He felt his hand over to the windowsill to set the frames down and sighed, nestling in, privately revelling in how not everything smelled like old socks, like in the attic bedroom. He turned a little, propping onto his side, and lazily opened his eyes again to take one more glance around - and sucked in a startled breath.
On the close walls and relatively low ceilings of the room, glittering in the darkness, were a few scattered groups of carefully-placed bright dots, like immobilised fireflies. Harry squinted at a cluster of them before he realised that they were in approximately the same formation as the Ursa Minor constellation. His eyes travelled over to the next group, which he quickly identified as Orion; and as he moved his gaze around the room and slowly identified more of the clusters as the constellations he'd lazily gone over during Astronomy, he imagined Percy, holed up in his room for hours, painstakingly reconstructing the star formations on his walls and then using them as a revision tool at night.
"...You are so weird," he muttered as he closed his eyes (he'd finally found Canis Major after ten minutes of searching, which made him simultaneously pleased and a little heartsick), but a few moments later, Harry fell asleep smiling.
***
(25th July - Friday)
Percy:
Ron and I have tried cooling charms, but they haven't worked. Hermione won't help because Ron demonstrated his powers of tact and communicative skills in her direction and she still hasn't forgiven him. Or me, by association. Thanks for telling me about your room. I might've taken that as an invitation of sorts, hope you're not offended. How did you not keep hitting your head on the doorframe?
I liked the constellations.
Harry
***
Percy returned home from work that evening via the Ministry Floo after almost four hours of overtime - he'd finished finalising the plans for a conference firecall with the Wizengamot and had had to wait nearly three hours for a signature from the last member. Frustrated and tired, he shucked off his Ministry robes and loosened his necktie as he strode through to the kitchen. Everything seemed too complicated for him to want to make the effort of cooking, and he was too exhausted to venture out, so he eventually settled on a sandwich. He ate while halfheartedly listening to the WWN inside the tiny kitchen, making sure to sweep crumbs into the sink.
The half-read book on the coffee table held a little appeal, but as he came back into the living room and slumped onto the uncomfortable wingback chair, Percy decided not to bother. Instead he pushed himself out of the chair and ventured back in the hallway, towards his bedroom, resigning himself to defeat and another early night in.
Hermes gave him a disgruntled hoot and a glare as the light was turned on in the room, and Percy clucked and apologised, immediately coming to check on his food and water and condition. Since the weather was holding (they were predicting thunderstorms for tomorrow afternoon, but not before), Percy carefully moved the cage nearer to the window, and eventually managed to shove the panes up. "Don't go too far, it's not safe," he admonished the owl, who seemed to roll his eyes in return. "I mean it. And no associating with pigeons. One never knows where they've been."
Giving another exasperated hoot, Hermes ducked his head and hopped out of the cage and onto the sill and was off, soaring above the lights and cars and the higher-storied buildings surrounding Percy's own. Percy watched him for a few peaceful minutes before he got back to the task at hand.
Closing the curtains (but leaving the window open; he didn't very well want his owl smacking into a pane of glass, he'd seen it happen to Oliver's poor bird half a dozen times during school - no wonder the thing flew sideways), Percy methodically removed his workclothes, folding them neatly and placing them in the hamper near the bathroom door. He began to turn to go back to the dresser to find some sleep clothes, when a scrap of folded parchment that had evidently fallen out of one of his pockets caught his eye. He recognised it after a second, and frowned as he bent forward to pick it off the floor. Harry's handwriting was slightly visible through the pores of the parchment, dark and thick and wholly confusing. Percy'd spent most of the workday fretting about how to answer it, and had yet to make anything resembling a decision on it.
....He was reading too much into the situation, of course; the idea of Harry Potter consciously writing anything at all suggestive to him was entirely laughable. The boy was just being inexplicably, disturbingly friendly. Which would indicate that he, Percy Weasley, needed to hurry up and return to reality.
That he was still a bit proud of the idea that Harry Potter had accepted an invitation to his bed, even though that bed was at least one hundred miles away and certainly not being occupied by his person while the invitation was issued, indicated that Percy's return to reality would not be happening in the very near future.
He frowned, and refused to let himself open the note and read it again, choosing instead to set it on his dresser and select the first pyjama bottoms and shirt he could find, regardless of whether or not they matched. Setting his glasses on the dresser's surface beside the note, Percy pulled the sleep clothes on, and tried not to let his stomach twist with that familiar combination of nausea and anxiety again.
....If it had just been the boy's status, an easily explainable sort of hero-worship that had made him so proud...
Percy's frown turned fierce, and he shook his hair into his eyes and finished dressing. A quick walk around the flat to check the wards and locks on the door, and to turn off the lights in the kitchen, distracted him for a few more minutes - as did cleaning his teeth and pulling the curtains back for Hermes when he returned. He flicked his wand toward the lightswitch as he drew the covers back, and fidgeted underneath the blankets of his bed, trying to get comfortable, trying to keep his mind blank.
It didn't work.
Percy frowned and rubbed his forehead. "Ridiculous," he murmured, to nothing in particular, as he threw an arm over his eyes and tried desperately not to think about green eyes or shoulders he hadn't remembered being that broad or the breath-catching cruel curve to a smirk that shouldn't have been that attractive. He'd known Harry as the Boy Who Lived at school, and that had been bad enough: the sweet naturally pensive expression, the surprise in his smiles and laughter, the absolute confidence in himself during Quidditch had all combined to give Percy more than one private attack of excruciating guilt and shame while he should have been patrolling hallways or concentrating on his schoolwork.
However, Harry as the Chosen One, the boy morphing into a man, was proving even more destructive to Percy's equilibrium. His almost entire removal from anything to do first-hand with Harry Potter had helped more than anything else, in his recovery, and the idea that he should have been so shaken by two ten-minute visits from the boy and a handful of casual notes was unspeakable. He was unspeakable.
As was even the thought of Harry in his childhood bed.
Percy twisted in the bedsheets and tried to untangle his legs as he cast around for another topic to think about, anything but Harry sodding Potter nestled between the familiar lumps of his old mattress, with dark hair curled on the pillow, framing his face.
....Or the long line of his body underneath the blankets, hipbone and shoulder creating rolling waves, troughing on the taper of his waist. Pink, bitten lips parted and slack with sleep, breath heavy and even in his thin chest. He'd probably have borrowed an old t-shirt from Ron, one stretched in the neck from use, so the end of a collarbone would be visible, a sharp line in the shadows. Smudgy dark lashes fanned on his cheeks and - oh, Percy had never seen him without his glasses -
Gasping, Percy forced his eyes open and shuddered softly, trying to stop the progression, beginning to recognise the fruitlessness of it. He bit his lip, toes curling in the sheets as he put up one last fight and then gave way, making one small broken noise as he shuffled farther under the covers and slid both hands under a few more layers of cloth.
Fifteen minutes later, flushed as much from embarrassment as from exertion, Percy reached for his wand to cast a few cleaning spells. Hermes hadn't returned, but his eyelids were growing heavy, and he'd have another long day at work tomorrow. The mental clarity in the aftermath of what had been...really a very powerful climax had given Percy what he felt was a solid plan of action for his, ahem, recurring problem. One which he would be able to implement first thing in the morning. ...Which would come a lot faster if he would just go ahead and fall asleep, he reasoned, as he drifted off into unconsciousness.
***
(26th July - Saturday)
...While I do appreciate the apparently genuine concern that's prompted you to continue this correspondence, I have to question its (frankly baffling) presence in our lives, and its origins. If any member of my family, or if any of their associates have requested that you attempt to keep some line of communication open with me/the Ministry, please say. I know you dislike me. Given my past behaviour, I can understand why.
I was wrong in my letter to Ron. I apologise for what I said about you. That shouldn't be taken as a blanket statement: I don't agree with my family's politics, and I'm not sorry for leaving as I did. However, the Harry Potter I knew in school didn't much corroborate with the Harry Potter that the Fudge administration tried to depict, and I should have supported the one I had known from Hogwarts.
Thank you for humouring my family and delivering their invitation, and for humouring me and attempting to deliver my gift. Please feel free not to humour me anymore.
Percy Weasley
p.s. - I accidentally overheard a comment from Miss Tonks in the Ministry canteen today. I suppose any request to look after Ginny would be superfluous, at this point - you've already done a better job of that than any of her brothers ever managed. I'm very glad for the two of you. - PW
p.p.s. - I'm glad you liked the constellations. Thank you. - PW
Unable to account for his bad mood (well, able to account for it, but unwilling), Harry slammed into the kitchen, startling Ron and Hermione and Ginny, who had gathered around the small table. Scowling, he gave them an abrupt wave as he opened the door to the ancient modified icebox and pulled out a bottle of pumpkin juice. He dropped into an empty chair beside Ginny.
"...Hi," Hermione attempted, looking a little nervous. Harry grunted what was, ostensibly, a greeting back. "Erm. Ron and Ginny and I were thinking about going to Diagon Alley sometime next week, for a change of scenery. Would you like to come?"
"Yeah, sounds great," Harry said sarcastically, slouching in his chair, folding his arms. "I'll owl Voldemort - oh, come off it, Ron, s'just a name - and let him know, in case he wants to arrange a greeting party to meet us there."
"That would be a shame," Ginny muttered, before taking a sip from her glass of juice. On the other side of Harry, Ron choked a little on the biscuit he was munching, and had to rush for water, eyes watering with a mixture of merriment and oxygen deprivation. Harry's frown deepened; the monster in his chest had been rumbling for a good quarter of an hour (ever since he'd read the Letter) and he had no idea what to do about it.
Especially since the bloody thing had decided without his permission to take a liking to a male. Moreover, a male who happened to be related to his first genuine ex-girlfriend. ...And his best friend. And who was currently estranged from them both.
And who, apparently, wanted nothing to do with him.
Harry growled. The other three sitting around the table exchanged worried looks. "I'm going back upstairs," he decided, shoving himself away from the table abruptly, wheeling to his feet. "Going stir-crazy here," he muttered. The fact that he could hear how sulky that made him sound only made him angrier.
"Hey, 're you saying you want to get out? Maybe to Diagon Alley? Maybe sometime next week? Great idea, Harry," Ron exclaimed, breaking into an infuriating grin. "Can we go too?"
Harry scowled, and invited Ron to go a few other choice places he could think of, and tilted his chin as Ron's face went red with embarrassment and anger. "Yeah? Maybe I will, be a bloody relief to get away from you for a bit," Ron shot back, eyes widening a little as he leaned back in his chair and awaited the fallout.
Harry glanced over at Hermione and Ginny, and sneered when he saw them leaning closer to Ron. "Don't bother. I'm not staying here," he decided suddenly, hit with an impulse. He began walking towards the staircase, determined to start packing. Finally get some peace and quiet, won't have to put up with Ron's snoring, and I can get whatever books we need from the library...
"Harry!" Hermione called after, finally finding her voice (she'd already shot a glare at Ron). "It's not safe, you know you c - "
"Yeah, actually I can. Sirius left me an entire house. If everyone around me's going to keep dying, might as well make use of what they leave behind," he snapped at her, whirling around to take the stairs two at a time, leaving her behind on the landing.
***
(27th July, Sunday)
After the sweaty, obligatory cheerfulness and utter lack of privacy that was life at the Burrow, Number 12 Grimmauld Place seemed a paradise for Harry's woebegot teenage soul. The halls echoed (the ones that weren't filled with Mrs. Black's shrieks, that is), the rooms were quiet and empty, and Harry had made sure to get rid of Kreacher by forcing him to take an extended holiday.
Mostly doxy-free, the drawing room on the second floor became Harry's immediate refuge. He'd taken his trunk up to Sirius's old bedroom (the one he and Ron had occupied two years before), and had been relieved to find that there weren't many reminders of his godfather in the place at all. Mrs. Black had, apparently, done a good job of erasing signs of her eldest son's existence before he'd completed the job for her a year ago. His previous night's sleep had been better than he'd expected, given the situation, and he'd woken up that morning grumpy, hungry, and itching to look over the house that had been bequeathed to him.
His survey of the rooms had been about as depressing as he'd expected - Sirius's mother had apparently invented new shades of black when she exhausted all decorating possibilities with the others. Pausing in front of the Black Family Tree, Harry rubbed his finger over the familiar char-mark where Sirius's name had been, and frowned. "You would've helped me with this," he said accusingly. "...Well, no, you'd probably have laughed and then teased me about it," he amended, "but then you would've helped."
He sighed, frustrated against the unfairness of it, and rested his forehead against the tapestry for a moment. He went a little cross-eyed as he tried to keep the charred bit in focus, but as he leaned back, his eyes began to wander outward. He snorted, quietly, at some of the names (poor Sirius's brother; Abelard was a really unfortunate middle name, even by this family's standards).
Intrigued by a few familiar surnames (ew, Parkinsons), Harry began to study the connections between Sirius's family and the rest of the wizarding world. He'd actually managed to find a few Weasleys a few centuries earlier (the tree automatically moved names up in the leaves to make room for the newest generation) when he became aware of noises coming from outside the room.
Probably just Kreacher, he told himself, still reaching in his back pocket for his wand as he moved towards the drawing room doors. He could definitely hear footsteps in the hall now, coming down towards him - they stopped, apparently just in front of the library door. Heart pounding a little unevenly in his ears, Harry waited, wand raised.
Then, from outside the door: "Merlin's trousers, Potter, either put it away or charge! No sense in wait-and-see in an ambush situation!"
Harry sagged with relief, and grinned a little bit as the door swung open, revealing the owner of the familiar gruff voice. Moody's magical eye swivelled wildly in its socket as he leaned on his good leg a bit. "Now, if you've finished, you might consider making your betters a pot of tea," he said, almost cheerfully for Mad-Eye standards, as he lurched out of the doorway of the library and towards Grimmauld Place's kitchens. Shrugging, Harry pocketed his wand ("ROBES pocket, Potter, remember! You'll sit sideways and people'll think you've got the wind!" Moody shouted, evidently watching him with the magical eye) and fell into step behind the ex-Auror. Moody contented himself with calling Harry useless, but he somehow managed to do so without malice, so Harry thought he might live.
"Too close for comfort, then, Potter?" Moody asked affably enough, once they both had cups of tea and were seated in the cramped house-elf chairs around the low table in the kitchens. Harry gave him a confused look, and then made a disgusted face as he tried to sip his tea. "S'the anti-poison charms. Tend to make the taste a little...off," Moody explained, shrugging a bony shoulder and taking a long swig. "...With your friends, I meant."
"Oh." Harry paused as he considered the question, then nodded. "Yeah, something like that." He smiled carefully. "Not much chance for privacy. Don't know how they all made it through intact." But they DIDN'T, did they? Not ALL. Harry frowned and shook his head clear of the thought, and glanced up, shrugging sheepishly as he caught Moody watching him with a thoughtful expression on what was left of his face. Harry shifted uncomfortably.
"What's got you spooked, boy?" Moody asked abruptly, training the eye on him, focusing so intently Harry was a little afraid the old man could see through his clothes and skin to the ribs and heart underneath.
"Nothing!" Harry said, too quickly. He winced and tried to recover. "Only a massive case of cabin fever." A possible escape suddenly occurred to him, so he continued quickly. "Things with Ginny were awkward." He shifted and hoped the ploy worked, uncomfortable with how...human Moody was being.
"The girl? Thought you two got on well enough," Mad-Eye observed, obviously out of the Order of the Phoenix gossip chain. He sighed, and regretted letting Molly harangue him earlier that afternoon into checking in on the boy and making sure he was still alive. Harry sighed, and regretted saying anything. "Small case of hero-worship, of course, but it's to be expected when you're her brother's b - "
"Actually," Harry cut in, backing away from the frown Mad-Eye shot him at being interrupted, "yeah, we got on all right. ...And then we got on really well. And now we're back to getting on all right, again," he said, vaguely, hoping that the old man would take a hint.
The eye Moody had been born with twinkled strangely. "Ah. Well. Define 'really well' in this context - nothing specific," he said, a small trace of a smirk twisting his lips.
Harry breathed a sigh of relief, and chuckled. "Not well enough for Ron to kill me, but well enough for him to consider it."
"Aha." Moody snorted. "Students never change, then, Albus was right about that. Throwing each other over left right and centre, Merlin knows when the lot of you'd have time to get any real schoolwork done - "
"I didn't 'throw her over'!" Harry replied hotly, blushing. "It was mutual."
"This sort of thing's never mutual, lad," Mad-Eye replied easily, taking a long sip of tea before he continued. "There's one person who says it's a good idea and then there's the other person who has to go along with it or look like an arse for getting summarily binned. Which were you?"
"...Um."
Moody smirked. "Thought so." He shrugged and slouched back in his chair as much as he was able, propping two heavy, well-worn boots on the table's surface. "Getting your practice in for the real heroics, I'd wager." He chuckled and drained the rest of his cup, then refilled it with a tap of his wand. "Setting up for the passionate reunion over You-Know-Who's ashes, eh? Ah, romance."
Harry gave the old man a suspicious glance. He'd never seen Moody enjoying himself so much; it was a bit disconcerting. "...Not likely," he muttered, going even redder, rubbing an arm uncomfortably.
"Never say never. Only you've got to remember to keep them in line," the old man advised, gesturing with the cup, which sloshed tea down his hand. Mad-Eye didn't seem to notice. "Not be overbearing, but you don't want to go 'round being henpecked. Look at old Arthur. Nothing but respect for Molly, o'course, but - "
"No, really, I don't think it'll be an issue," Harry said, desperate to get on another subject. He wondered vaguely if his face could get any hotter, and if it might spontaneously combust if it did. ...The idea was worryingly comforting.
"We-ell, but she'll've been raised in that atmosphere," Moody contested, ruminating on the subject and finding it more interesting (especially since he'd been the latest victim of Molly Weasley's Unquestionable Female Intuition). "Firm grip. Constant vigilance! ...And so on," he said, gesturing again, cursing as more hot tea spattered over his hand. "Anyway, best thing for you both, far too young to be - "
"My mum and dad were young, too," Harry countered, frowning. "Anyway, I don't think - "
"Well, there're exceptions to every rule. If your mum and dad hadn't got married, they'd've probably killed each other. Or everyone else," Mad-Eye chuckled. Harry paused as he tried to think of a reply, caught entirely off-guard by the comment, and by the sting of loneliness it caused deep in his chest.
"They loved each other, though," he said, the statement nearly a question. Moody seemed to pick up on it, and nodded.
"Aye. Never seen two people so devoted. Lived in each other's pockets, they did; they could finish each other's sentences. Seeing them make lunch or wash dishes," he reminisced fondly, turning thoughtful, "was like...watching a ballet." He shrugged a hunched shoulder. "Tremendous rows, all the same. Think they liked 'em. Making up gave them something to do." Mad-Eye gazed past Harry's shoulder, into the kitchen beyond, and seemed to lose himself for a moment before he snapped back to present day. Abashed, he cleared his throat gruffly, took another sip of tea. "Anyway."
Harry nodded, his throat threatening to close. He took a gulp of tea as well, and coughed as it burned on the way down, relieved at the distraction.
"That'll be you," Moody offered, guessing the boy's thoughts. Harry glanced up, and the wary carefulness in the old man's eyes made him suddenly snort with laughter at the ridiculousness of his situation. Moody bristled.
"Sorry. Thanks, yeah."
"With you and your girl, I mean."
"No, I know, just. Thanks, okay." Harry bit his lip to keep from grinning. It didn't work.
"What!" Mad-Eye grumbled, nonplussed at the reaction. "Sweet merciful Zeus, you try showing a bit of compassion and it comes back and bites you square in the ar - "
"A week ago I had a dream about Ginny's brother," Harry interrupted, desperate to stop the conversation. He immediately crimsoned once he'd stopped, but met Moody's gaze evenly all the same.
Moody gaped, but stopped talking, at least for a moment. "...er." He took his boots off the table, set them down with a clunk. "...Think you might be chasing the wind, there, that Granger chippie's got a pretty tight hold on his w - "
"Not that one," Harry interrupted, horrified. "Oh, hell. Forget it, it was a stupid thing to say."
"No, no." Moody paused, contemplative. He shrugged. "Actually, it makes sense, now that I think about it."
Harry glanced up from his teacup, looking about as indignant as he felt. "What d'you mean, makes sense?"
"We-ell. Hear-tell you kept a pretty close eye on Diggory during the Triwizard Tournament. Minerva thought it was sweet. And, by all accounts, the boy wasn't a pain to look at, even if he was thick as a wooden post," Mad-Eye shrugged. Harry squawked in outrage.
"That was because he didn't know about the dragons!" he yelped, scowling as Mad-Eye gave him an amused look. He didn't know whether to be more offended that the senior members of the Order of the Phoenix had been speculating about his lovelife for years, or for the slight against Cedric's intelligence. "Anyway, he wasn't stupid! And it wasn't like that!"
"Sure, and invitations to the Prefects' Bathrooms are pure and innocent," Mad-Eye teased. "That made Mona's year, when she heard." Harry was, by this point, nearly incandescent with embarrassment. "Nevermind, boy, I wasn't born yesterday. So, which one of the twins is it? Don't fault you your taste, m'just worried you won't make it out of the experience alive, frankly."
It was Harry's turn to gape. "...What?" he spluttered. "Neither!"
"Hmm. Well, you're too late for Bill, and he's a known ladykiller anyway, Molly's been turning a deaf ear to those rumours for near a decade. Charlie? Haven't seen him lately."
"No! Look, just. M'tired, thanks for the tea, think I'll go to my - "
"Well, you're fast running out of options, m'boy!" Moody interrupted, enjoying the guessing game. "If it's not Charlie or the twins, and if it's not Ron, then - " Mad-Eye's smile slowly vanished, and he gave Harry a traumatised look as he finally caught on. Harry didn't think it was humanly possible, but his face went redder. "The Ministry brat?"
"...He's not a brat," Harry found himself saying. For God's sake, where's Voldemort and a well-aimed Avada Kedavra when you need them?
Mad-Eye's nonmagical eye twitched. "...Huh." He considered Harry for a moment, then reached into his coat pocket. Harry flinched, wondering if he was about to be castrated or killed, then sagged with relief as Moody pulled out a small flask. He tipped a generous amount of firewhiskey into their tea. Harry took a cautious sip and was surprised to find the taste improved. "Think you'd best tell me how you got into this mess," Moody said, not unkindly.
Harry paused, then did.
There was one thing about Mad-Eye Moody, Harry decided four hours later, as he was staggering in what he sincerely hoped was the direction of Sirius's old bedroom: you could count on him to make you see the hilarity in any given situation. Even impending destruction.
After Harry's confession, the evening had quickly degenerated into a circular pattern of Mad-Eye cheerfully insulting Harry, telling stories about catching Death Eaters or the old Order Members (Harry'd had no idea Ron's uncles were so cool), and tapping their cups full of more tea-and-firewhiskey.
When Dung had shown up halfway through, things had just got worse. After Harry'd hit the unfortunate man with half a dozen effective Bat Bogey hexes, and after Mad-Eye had calmed them both down and refused to remove the hexes, opting instead to let them run their course since Dung deserved them, the three of them started trading stories about Hogwarts, pranks they'd been in on. Harry told them about the twins' dramatic exit from school the year before, until both men fell silent with appreciation.
And then - there'd been more tea. And firewhiskey. And stories. Around his seventh cup, Harry forewent any more refills and held onto the table for dear life, refusing to leave and let any of the stories (Merlin, Moody'd been a hellion during his schoolyears) pass him by. Once Moody and Dung started in on the snatches of filthy old tavern songs they could remember, however, Harry quickly decided he'd had enough and excused himself, if only to get away from Moody's unsteady bass.
Relieved to find Hedwig's cage and his Hogwarts trunk in the first bedroom he stumbled into, Harry barely managed to remove his glasses before he fell, face-first, into the nearest bed. He didn't even mind the clouds of dust that flew up from the impact; the pillow was soft and cool, and the mattress was beautifully free of any lumps, and he was snoring in seconds, sleeping the sleep of the just, emotionally exhausted, and entirely drunk.
Part Three
Giftee: emiime
Rating: PG-13, juuuuuust skirting R. Mainly because I use the f-word once or twice. SCANDAL.
Word Count: .....25,421
Characters/Pairing: Percy/Harry, onstage Bill/Fleur, offstage R/Hr, Remus/Tonks
Read Part 1 Here
(20th July - Sunday)
Not good. Very very not good. Possible plot by Voldemort? Should've learnt Occlumency from Snape when I had the chance - still want to kill him a lot. Greasy hook-nosed murdering bastard. Should look into that.
Though if it was Lord Voldemort, would've been more along the lines of death and blood and gore, surely, and not...
Anyway, what would a mad dark wizard have to gain by planting homoerotic - SHIT NO NOT homoerotic, just...oh, fuck, really fucking sexy sex dreams about Percy bloody Weasley in my brain?
....Diversion? Mad plan to have me embarrass myself in front of Ron who will surely attack me if he thinks I have designs on every one of his family members and he might be next? Eurgh, no.
Oh, fuck, Ron will kill me if I try anything. Which I do not want to do. Because I am not queer, I have already reached my quota of membership in unfortunate minority groups, I do not need to add gay to that list.
....Moot point anyway, since Percy had that girlfriend at school.
Obviously straight.
....Chuh.
Harry bit his lip and tried not to look guilty of anything as he and Ron helped Hermione go over her notes for the seventeenth time. He skimmed over words without comprehending, trying to keep his mind on the mission or what they might have for lunch, or the times he kissed Cho, or the times he'd kissed Ginny.
Definitely not the time he'd kissed Ginny's older brother.
....Because that hadn't, according to Harry's (sometimes admittedly loose) grip on reality, actually happened.
....And he'd certainly never wanted it to.
Harry winced as the monster in his chest made a very pathetic, hopeful-sounding squeak as he thought too long about how he would go about removing another boy's glasses while they kissed. Think about something else. Breasts. Hermione's right there, she's got a pair, look at th - no, Ron will kill. Fleur, maybe. ...No, husband's a quarter-werewolf or something, just asking for tr -
"Harry?"
He glanced up, and was startled to notice Ron and Hermione both peering at him curiously. "You all right?" Ron asked, apparently repeating himself. Hermione gave him a bafflingly sympathetic look.
"Is it your scar again?" she asked, hushed.
"N...um," Harry said vaguely, considering his answer before he committed himself to it. "...It's not too bad," he murmured, biting his lip and rubbing the barely-raised ridge on his forehead.
"You just looked worried," Ron shrugged, glancing over at Hermione with a told-you-so smile.
Harry shrugged as well. "S'fine," he said shortly.
"You could take a break, if you wanted," Hermione suggested, making Ron splutter with indignation since he hadn't been offered a break for the past six hours. Grinning crookedly, Harry shoved himself up out of his chair, and stretched onto the balls of his feet.
"Think I might, actually." A plan had begun to formulate, in his mind - he wasn't about to let the opportunity to expand on it pass by. "...Ron, d'you mind if I borrow Pig? Hedwig's too noticeable, and it's for a short trip," he explained briefly. Hermione looked interested enough to ask questions, but Ron just shrugged and nodded.
"Yeah, sure. With any luck, he won't come b - OW, woman!" Ron squawked, as Hermione poked him with the point of her quill. He gave Harry a dark look. "Think you had the right idea, mate. Run before one of them manages to catch you," he muttered, but completely undermined his words in the next moment by grinning at the blush that had crept over Hermione's face.
Harry was grateful for Hermione's blush, since it'd distracted both her and Ron from noticing his own. Face still hot, he retreated hastily up to the attic bedroom, found a spare bit of parchment and a quill with a mostly-intact nib, and began to write.
Four frustrated attempts later, he surveyed his letter with satisfaction.
Percy:
All right?
Harry Potter
Cheered by the note (brevity being the soul of wit), Harry rolled the bit of parchment, sealed it, and moved towards the window, where Hedwig's and Pig's cages were kept. Hedwig was already shooting him a beady look, and he could barely make himself return her gaze. "Sorry," he murmured, feeling guilty, "Just you'll stand out too much with this one, I need to get Pig to send it."
She gave him a haughty hoot and swivelled her head to stare at the wall.
"...I'll let you out once he's gone," Harry offered as he fought to keep Pig still long enough to attach the note to his leg. Managing, finally, he wasn't able to entirely squelch his urge to throw Pig out the window instead of just letting him fly off; fortunately, the tiny owl spread his wings and flapped off before he could ricochet off any trees.
Opening Hedwig's cage, Harry had to spend another ten minutes abasing himself before she'd look at him again, and as she hopped over to the windowsill and launched off as well for a leisurely fly, he wondered where on earth he'd manage to get the rats he'd promised her.
If only Scabbers were still here, he thought, viciously. Sighing, he flopped down onto his messy bed, pulled the covers halfway over himself, and drifted off, wondering if he'd get a response.
He did, nearly three hours later. Pig dropped in through the open attic window and plopped directly onto Harry's chest, startling him out of the surprisingly deep sleep he'd fallen into. Reaching for his glasses on the bedside table, Harry peered at the little owl, who looked cheerful and mercifully tired-out. Pig submitted more easily to having the parchment taken off his leg this time, and flew over towards his cage, immediately fluffing himself up and hunkering down for a well-deserved rest once he got inside. Percy's reply (why was he nervous about that?) still in his hand, Harry got up and went over to close the cage door, and then returned, flopping down onto his bed again as he tore the seal open.
Harry Potter -
Fine, thankyou. Busy. Apologies if my behaviour last night was cause for alarm; I didn't intend it as such. I hope the evening improved once you returned home.
Incidentally, what on earth is this owl being fed? I had to hit it with an Immobilisation Hex just to get the letter; it's destroyed one of my paperweights. I thought you had a snow owl.
PW
Relieved that he'd not been told outright to bugger off, Harry read over the note two more times and considered his options. Sending Hedwig was a potential suicide mission, and therefore out of the question; Pig would never make it to London and back twice in one day; and he suspected that Ottery St. Catchpole lacked any shops that could cater to a wizarding mailing system.
He'd have to wait til tomorrow, to send a reply. Disappointed, Harry sat up and folded the note carefully, and shoved it into the back pocket of his jeans. Something about the sharp, careless accuracy of Percy's handwriting made him want more of it, more words to read and analyse. For not the first time that day, Harry genuinely wondered if he might be going mad.
Shrugging the thought off, Harry replaced it with a growing sense of anticipation for the next morning. He checked on Pig once more and wandered out of the bedroom, heading downstairs to find Ron and Hermione and help them in their quest to save the world. Again.
***
(21st July - Monday)
PW:
Yeah, I have a snow owl. Her name is Hedwig. Seems pretty obvious that if YOU can remember what my owl looks like, other unsavoury types might do as well. Don't want her turned into a pillow anytime soon. This is Pig, he doesn't bite. I've heard that the Ministry has owls its employees can use, might want to look into that. Sorry about the paperweight - was it ugly at least?
Your behaviour wasn't alarming. I just wondered.
HJP, TBWL, TCO
HJP (what does the J stand for?) -
1. I'm completely fine. As previously mentioned.
2. I'm also apparently "unsavoury."
3. Yes, the paperweight was very ugly.
4. Please take notice how well-behaved the Ministry owl returning this message is (a short finite incantatem will remv the Immobilisation Hex on Pig; I'd recommend putting him in his cage beforehand). Who trained the bird? Woefully lax.
5. "TBWL" is going to prove interesting when listed on your CV.
PIW
PIW:
You didn't seem completely fine. About unsavoury: dunno. Think it might be the glasses.
See, Pig did you a favour. And he's Ron's bird, so it might explain a lot. Don't think he was trained, he was a present from Sirius Black.
I was thinking of making that the header, actually.
Harry
ps - James
Harry -
I was fine. I am fine, and while it's very kind of you to want to make certain, it's unnecessary. I had wondered if my plan would end up backfiring; the twins' and my mother's reaction to their discovery wasn't exactly a shock to me. I regret that I involved you in the matter, but it's closed, and I should have known better than to try it. Again, I'm sorry. Please, don't worry about it anymore.
My glasses are perfectly serviceable, and not at all unsavoury.
Yes, Ron being his (her?) owner does explain a lot.
Re: TBWL: It would certainly be an attention-getter.
PW
Percy:
All right. Fleur got pretty hacked off with Bill when he said they'd return the sheets, if it helps at all.
Harry
***
(22nd July - Tuesday)
Harry -
Oddly enough, knowing that does help. A bit.
....Did Fleur happen to sprout wings?
PW
Percy:
Nah, no wings. Just a beak.
Looked a lot like Snape, actually.
Though I don't think Snape could fill the front of those dress robes quite the same.
TBWL
***
Percy attempted to cover a snort of laughter with a cough. From the other side of the office door, he heard Minister Scrimgeour pause in his firecall with the Minister for France. "Everything all right, Weasley?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Wouldn't mind fetching me a cup of coffee, would you?"
He smothered a sigh, and closed the file he'd been working through, as he stood. "Of course not, sir," he called, walking in the direction of the canteen, carefully folding a small piece of parchment in his hand and slipping it into his pocket.
***
(23rd July - Wednesday)
TBWL -
One never knows. Professor Snape did always wear very high collars. And many layers.
Percy
Percy:
You get to explain to Hermione and Ron and Ginny why I choked on my toast this morning.
Harry
Harry -
Choking on toast sounds like a personal problem to me.
It won't do; I can't in good conscience send another hapless owl all the way to the Burrow to deliver a one-sentence message. I'm not exactly sure what good filling up the rest of this scrap of parchment is going to do, however, other than assuage my guilty conscience and bore you to tears.
The cake was nice. I'm assuming my mother made it...? She taught all of us how to make things like beans on toast and pasta before we received our Hogwarts letters - she said she'd had enough of her brothers casually "dropping by" during mealtimes that she wanted to spare Ginny the same fate. Which was ironic, as Ginny was the worst cook of all of us. Don't tell her I told you that, please.
I do wish the Ministry canteen would invest in decent tea.
Oh, look, I've run out of room! Heartbreaking.
Percy
***
(24th July - Thursday)
Percy:
What's wrong with the Ministry's tea? Does it come in teabags? Is it not hand-picked by free-trade sherpas? Is it not packed loosely enough?
Only teasing. My aunt never bothered much with tea leaves. Of course, this may have been due to the fact that my cousin would have either attempted to eat them or smoke them if they weren't in a recognisable bag form.
The twins were actually allowed in the kitchen for purposes other than meals? When did that rule change? They won't go near it, now.
I'll try to make my notes longer too, I guess. Is it as hot in the city as it is here? We're all dying. Ginny says her freckles are melting off and Hermione's hair looks like the Flutterby bush on the front lawn. Think Ron's glad he has an excuse not to de-gnome the garden for your mum anymore.
Harry
Harry -
Actually, overly-loosely-packed tea leaves are exposed to more air and oxidise more quickly, which can negatively affect their flavour. And yes, it comes in teabags. Which makes the tea taste like paper and not like actual tea.
Also don't be ridiculous, sherpas are located in the more mountainous regions of India. Hardly any tea crops there.
Aha. Think the twins were banished from further lessons and the kitchen altogether, after the Noodle Incident of '89. Don't ask about this one. Trust me.
Yes, it is very hot here in the city. Luckily, the Ministry buildings are temperature-controlled. And I do manage to keep several cooling charms at home. Last night it actually got a bit chilly, I had to go search out another blanket.
Enjoy the attic!
Percy
Percy:
Coming to spend the night, then
Right, I am hijacking your bed
possibly with you in
So. Oxidisation rates of tea leaves. Sherpas in mountainous regions. Noodle incidents. All very interesting. Didn't find the remarks about cooling charms and temperature-controlled environments interesting or unfair at all.
If you come home and your flat has been overtaken by heat-exhausted and bad-tempered forces, do not be surprised. You've brought it on yourself.
Harry
Harry -
Sherpas are a proud and noble race. Noodle Incidents v top secret. Re: threats of invasion: remain undaunted. Exhausted, bad-tempered forces would be easi would surely hmmm would be easily overpowered. I have not yet begun to fight.
Percy
p.s. - as far as I know, the cooling charms I had set in my bedroom at the Burrow are still in working condition. If the lot of you are so miserable, why haven't you researched to find a way to better the situation?
***
The problem with cooling charms was that one had to effectively imagine being cool for the charm to begin working. He and Ron had tried them on the attic bedroom at the beginning of the summer, but had both complained so extensively about the already-oppressive heat that they found themselves unable to think about any sort of weather but the present oven-like conditions. Hermione had refused to take pity on them (mostly because of the ill-timed crack Ron had made about camping out in the girls' bedroom for three weeks out of every month).
It was really offensively Percy, Harry reflected as he stood on the unfamiliar landing that kept the doors to Percy's and Charlie's bedrooms, to have the foresight to begin casting cooling charms in late May when everyone else was enjoying spring. And to rub everyone's (translation: his) nose in it now that they were miserable.
"Like the ant and the fucking grasshopper," he mumbled, hand on the doorknob. Except the ant didn't offer to share the benefits with the grasshopper, did he?
Harry grumbled and shook the niggling voice of reason out of his head. Even as late at night as it was, the Burrow was still hot and humid, and he'd laid awake and sweating on his bed until Ron had begun snoring. Every step down the staircase had been a nightmare - he'd been sure the squeaks of the planks would wake the whole household. He still wasn't entirely sure what the little late-night adventure was supposed to accomplish - Percy might have been bluffing, or the charms might be gone. Still, though, the offer had been made, and Harry was never one to back down from an opportunity to do something without thinking it through.
He took his wand out and whispered an unnecessary alohomora, and turned the doorknob. The door creaked, so he winced and held it motionless for a long moment - or, at least, until he was relatively certain no Weasleys were going to come bounding down the staircase and begin asking questions. Sliding a hand inside the room, he fumbled for the lightswitch, and slipped inside as the light turned on.
The first thing he registered, as his eyes shut tight in the sudden brightness of the room, was how easy it was to breathe when the air wasn't body-temperature. Slowly, squinting, he cracked his eyes open enough to take in the rest of the room, shivering a little as the sheen of sweat on his body evaporated under the still-operating cooling charms.
It was tiny, for one thing. Harry's first thought was of the cupboard in which he'd spent the first decade of his life: Percy's bedroom was about half the size of Ron's, only big enough to contain a desk and chair, and a bed whose ends hit both walls. Harry shut the door gently behind himself as he looked over the rows of makeshift bookshelves fixed precariously above the bed - mostly empty, now, except for old NEWT-level Herbology and Ancient Runes texts that neither the twins nor Ron had needed.
There was a square four-paned window between the bed and the deskchair; it overlooked the Weasley's backyard and the trees beyond and, past that, the few winking lights left shining in Ottery St. Catchpole. There was nearly no moon at all - just a silver slip that was almost lost in the treetops, so that it seemed an extension of the town.
Harry set his wand down on the windowsill as he looked out, and perched on the edge of a lumpy mattress, suddenly a little nervous of his unfamiliar surroundings. The surface of the desk had a thin layer of dust on it; he reached over (he didn't have to get off the bed to do so) and wrote his name in it, in big loopy letters, so that it took up most of the free space. A few moving photographs and newspaper clippings were still stuck to the walls, but there was nothing indicative of the boy who'd occupied the room for nearly two decades - the thought made Harry inexplicably sad. Exhaling, he reached behind himself and began to turn down the covers, delighting in the coolness of the sheets, not minding the dampness that had got into everything since summer had hit.
"Nox," he whispered, giving another all-over shiver as he scooted down under the blankets, closing his eyes and taking off his glasses. He felt his hand over to the windowsill to set the frames down and sighed, nestling in, privately revelling in how not everything smelled like old socks, like in the attic bedroom. He turned a little, propping onto his side, and lazily opened his eyes again to take one more glance around - and sucked in a startled breath.
On the close walls and relatively low ceilings of the room, glittering in the darkness, were a few scattered groups of carefully-placed bright dots, like immobilised fireflies. Harry squinted at a cluster of them before he realised that they were in approximately the same formation as the Ursa Minor constellation. His eyes travelled over to the next group, which he quickly identified as Orion; and as he moved his gaze around the room and slowly identified more of the clusters as the constellations he'd lazily gone over during Astronomy, he imagined Percy, holed up in his room for hours, painstakingly reconstructing the star formations on his walls and then using them as a revision tool at night.
"...You are so weird," he muttered as he closed his eyes (he'd finally found Canis Major after ten minutes of searching, which made him simultaneously pleased and a little heartsick), but a few moments later, Harry fell asleep smiling.
***
(25th July - Friday)
Percy:
Ron and I have tried cooling charms, but they haven't worked. Hermione won't help because Ron demonstrated his powers of tact and communicative skills in her direction and she still hasn't forgiven him. Or me, by association. Thanks for telling me about your room. I might've taken that as an invitation of sorts, hope you're not offended. How did you not keep hitting your head on the doorframe?
I liked the constellations.
Harry
***
Percy returned home from work that evening via the Ministry Floo after almost four hours of overtime - he'd finished finalising the plans for a conference firecall with the Wizengamot and had had to wait nearly three hours for a signature from the last member. Frustrated and tired, he shucked off his Ministry robes and loosened his necktie as he strode through to the kitchen. Everything seemed too complicated for him to want to make the effort of cooking, and he was too exhausted to venture out, so he eventually settled on a sandwich. He ate while halfheartedly listening to the WWN inside the tiny kitchen, making sure to sweep crumbs into the sink.
The half-read book on the coffee table held a little appeal, but as he came back into the living room and slumped onto the uncomfortable wingback chair, Percy decided not to bother. Instead he pushed himself out of the chair and ventured back in the hallway, towards his bedroom, resigning himself to defeat and another early night in.
Hermes gave him a disgruntled hoot and a glare as the light was turned on in the room, and Percy clucked and apologised, immediately coming to check on his food and water and condition. Since the weather was holding (they were predicting thunderstorms for tomorrow afternoon, but not before), Percy carefully moved the cage nearer to the window, and eventually managed to shove the panes up. "Don't go too far, it's not safe," he admonished the owl, who seemed to roll his eyes in return. "I mean it. And no associating with pigeons. One never knows where they've been."
Giving another exasperated hoot, Hermes ducked his head and hopped out of the cage and onto the sill and was off, soaring above the lights and cars and the higher-storied buildings surrounding Percy's own. Percy watched him for a few peaceful minutes before he got back to the task at hand.
Closing the curtains (but leaving the window open; he didn't very well want his owl smacking into a pane of glass, he'd seen it happen to Oliver's poor bird half a dozen times during school - no wonder the thing flew sideways), Percy methodically removed his workclothes, folding them neatly and placing them in the hamper near the bathroom door. He began to turn to go back to the dresser to find some sleep clothes, when a scrap of folded parchment that had evidently fallen out of one of his pockets caught his eye. He recognised it after a second, and frowned as he bent forward to pick it off the floor. Harry's handwriting was slightly visible through the pores of the parchment, dark and thick and wholly confusing. Percy'd spent most of the workday fretting about how to answer it, and had yet to make anything resembling a decision on it.
....He was reading too much into the situation, of course; the idea of Harry Potter consciously writing anything at all suggestive to him was entirely laughable. The boy was just being inexplicably, disturbingly friendly. Which would indicate that he, Percy Weasley, needed to hurry up and return to reality.
That he was still a bit proud of the idea that Harry Potter had accepted an invitation to his bed, even though that bed was at least one hundred miles away and certainly not being occupied by his person while the invitation was issued, indicated that Percy's return to reality would not be happening in the very near future.
He frowned, and refused to let himself open the note and read it again, choosing instead to set it on his dresser and select the first pyjama bottoms and shirt he could find, regardless of whether or not they matched. Setting his glasses on the dresser's surface beside the note, Percy pulled the sleep clothes on, and tried not to let his stomach twist with that familiar combination of nausea and anxiety again.
....If it had just been the boy's status, an easily explainable sort of hero-worship that had made him so proud...
Percy's frown turned fierce, and he shook his hair into his eyes and finished dressing. A quick walk around the flat to check the wards and locks on the door, and to turn off the lights in the kitchen, distracted him for a few more minutes - as did cleaning his teeth and pulling the curtains back for Hermes when he returned. He flicked his wand toward the lightswitch as he drew the covers back, and fidgeted underneath the blankets of his bed, trying to get comfortable, trying to keep his mind blank.
It didn't work.
Percy frowned and rubbed his forehead. "Ridiculous," he murmured, to nothing in particular, as he threw an arm over his eyes and tried desperately not to think about green eyes or shoulders he hadn't remembered being that broad or the breath-catching cruel curve to a smirk that shouldn't have been that attractive. He'd known Harry as the Boy Who Lived at school, and that had been bad enough: the sweet naturally pensive expression, the surprise in his smiles and laughter, the absolute confidence in himself during Quidditch had all combined to give Percy more than one private attack of excruciating guilt and shame while he should have been patrolling hallways or concentrating on his schoolwork.
However, Harry as the Chosen One, the boy morphing into a man, was proving even more destructive to Percy's equilibrium. His almost entire removal from anything to do first-hand with Harry Potter had helped more than anything else, in his recovery, and the idea that he should have been so shaken by two ten-minute visits from the boy and a handful of casual notes was unspeakable. He was unspeakable.
As was even the thought of Harry in his childhood bed.
Percy twisted in the bedsheets and tried to untangle his legs as he cast around for another topic to think about, anything but Harry sodding Potter nestled between the familiar lumps of his old mattress, with dark hair curled on the pillow, framing his face.
....Or the long line of his body underneath the blankets, hipbone and shoulder creating rolling waves, troughing on the taper of his waist. Pink, bitten lips parted and slack with sleep, breath heavy and even in his thin chest. He'd probably have borrowed an old t-shirt from Ron, one stretched in the neck from use, so the end of a collarbone would be visible, a sharp line in the shadows. Smudgy dark lashes fanned on his cheeks and - oh, Percy had never seen him without his glasses -
Gasping, Percy forced his eyes open and shuddered softly, trying to stop the progression, beginning to recognise the fruitlessness of it. He bit his lip, toes curling in the sheets as he put up one last fight and then gave way, making one small broken noise as he shuffled farther under the covers and slid both hands under a few more layers of cloth.
Fifteen minutes later, flushed as much from embarrassment as from exertion, Percy reached for his wand to cast a few cleaning spells. Hermes hadn't returned, but his eyelids were growing heavy, and he'd have another long day at work tomorrow. The mental clarity in the aftermath of what had been...really a very powerful climax had given Percy what he felt was a solid plan of action for his, ahem, recurring problem. One which he would be able to implement first thing in the morning. ...Which would come a lot faster if he would just go ahead and fall asleep, he reasoned, as he drifted off into unconsciousness.
***
(26th July - Saturday)
...While I do appreciate the apparently genuine concern that's prompted you to continue this correspondence, I have to question its (frankly baffling) presence in our lives, and its origins. If any member of my family, or if any of their associates have requested that you attempt to keep some line of communication open with me/the Ministry, please say. I know you dislike me. Given my past behaviour, I can understand why.
I was wrong in my letter to Ron. I apologise for what I said about you. That shouldn't be taken as a blanket statement: I don't agree with my family's politics, and I'm not sorry for leaving as I did. However, the Harry Potter I knew in school didn't much corroborate with the Harry Potter that the Fudge administration tried to depict, and I should have supported the one I had known from Hogwarts.
Thank you for humouring my family and delivering their invitation, and for humouring me and attempting to deliver my gift. Please feel free not to humour me anymore.
Percy Weasley
p.s. - I accidentally overheard a comment from Miss Tonks in the Ministry canteen today. I suppose any request to look after Ginny would be superfluous, at this point - you've already done a better job of that than any of her brothers ever managed. I'm very glad for the two of you. - PW
p.p.s. - I'm glad you liked the constellations. Thank you. - PW
Unable to account for his bad mood (well, able to account for it, but unwilling), Harry slammed into the kitchen, startling Ron and Hermione and Ginny, who had gathered around the small table. Scowling, he gave them an abrupt wave as he opened the door to the ancient modified icebox and pulled out a bottle of pumpkin juice. He dropped into an empty chair beside Ginny.
"...Hi," Hermione attempted, looking a little nervous. Harry grunted what was, ostensibly, a greeting back. "Erm. Ron and Ginny and I were thinking about going to Diagon Alley sometime next week, for a change of scenery. Would you like to come?"
"Yeah, sounds great," Harry said sarcastically, slouching in his chair, folding his arms. "I'll owl Voldemort - oh, come off it, Ron, s'just a name - and let him know, in case he wants to arrange a greeting party to meet us there."
"That would be a shame," Ginny muttered, before taking a sip from her glass of juice. On the other side of Harry, Ron choked a little on the biscuit he was munching, and had to rush for water, eyes watering with a mixture of merriment and oxygen deprivation. Harry's frown deepened; the monster in his chest had been rumbling for a good quarter of an hour (ever since he'd read the Letter) and he had no idea what to do about it.
Especially since the bloody thing had decided without his permission to take a liking to a male. Moreover, a male who happened to be related to his first genuine ex-girlfriend. ...And his best friend. And who was currently estranged from them both.
And who, apparently, wanted nothing to do with him.
Harry growled. The other three sitting around the table exchanged worried looks. "I'm going back upstairs," he decided, shoving himself away from the table abruptly, wheeling to his feet. "Going stir-crazy here," he muttered. The fact that he could hear how sulky that made him sound only made him angrier.
"Hey, 're you saying you want to get out? Maybe to Diagon Alley? Maybe sometime next week? Great idea, Harry," Ron exclaimed, breaking into an infuriating grin. "Can we go too?"
Harry scowled, and invited Ron to go a few other choice places he could think of, and tilted his chin as Ron's face went red with embarrassment and anger. "Yeah? Maybe I will, be a bloody relief to get away from you for a bit," Ron shot back, eyes widening a little as he leaned back in his chair and awaited the fallout.
Harry glanced over at Hermione and Ginny, and sneered when he saw them leaning closer to Ron. "Don't bother. I'm not staying here," he decided suddenly, hit with an impulse. He began walking towards the staircase, determined to start packing. Finally get some peace and quiet, won't have to put up with Ron's snoring, and I can get whatever books we need from the library...
"Harry!" Hermione called after, finally finding her voice (she'd already shot a glare at Ron). "It's not safe, you know you c - "
"Yeah, actually I can. Sirius left me an entire house. If everyone around me's going to keep dying, might as well make use of what they leave behind," he snapped at her, whirling around to take the stairs two at a time, leaving her behind on the landing.
***
(27th July, Sunday)
After the sweaty, obligatory cheerfulness and utter lack of privacy that was life at the Burrow, Number 12 Grimmauld Place seemed a paradise for Harry's woebegot teenage soul. The halls echoed (the ones that weren't filled with Mrs. Black's shrieks, that is), the rooms were quiet and empty, and Harry had made sure to get rid of Kreacher by forcing him to take an extended holiday.
Mostly doxy-free, the drawing room on the second floor became Harry's immediate refuge. He'd taken his trunk up to Sirius's old bedroom (the one he and Ron had occupied two years before), and had been relieved to find that there weren't many reminders of his godfather in the place at all. Mrs. Black had, apparently, done a good job of erasing signs of her eldest son's existence before he'd completed the job for her a year ago. His previous night's sleep had been better than he'd expected, given the situation, and he'd woken up that morning grumpy, hungry, and itching to look over the house that had been bequeathed to him.
His survey of the rooms had been about as depressing as he'd expected - Sirius's mother had apparently invented new shades of black when she exhausted all decorating possibilities with the others. Pausing in front of the Black Family Tree, Harry rubbed his finger over the familiar char-mark where Sirius's name had been, and frowned. "You would've helped me with this," he said accusingly. "...Well, no, you'd probably have laughed and then teased me about it," he amended, "but then you would've helped."
He sighed, frustrated against the unfairness of it, and rested his forehead against the tapestry for a moment. He went a little cross-eyed as he tried to keep the charred bit in focus, but as he leaned back, his eyes began to wander outward. He snorted, quietly, at some of the names (poor Sirius's brother; Abelard was a really unfortunate middle name, even by this family's standards).
Intrigued by a few familiar surnames (ew, Parkinsons), Harry began to study the connections between Sirius's family and the rest of the wizarding world. He'd actually managed to find a few Weasleys a few centuries earlier (the tree automatically moved names up in the leaves to make room for the newest generation) when he became aware of noises coming from outside the room.
Probably just Kreacher, he told himself, still reaching in his back pocket for his wand as he moved towards the drawing room doors. He could definitely hear footsteps in the hall now, coming down towards him - they stopped, apparently just in front of the library door. Heart pounding a little unevenly in his ears, Harry waited, wand raised.
Then, from outside the door: "Merlin's trousers, Potter, either put it away or charge! No sense in wait-and-see in an ambush situation!"
Harry sagged with relief, and grinned a little bit as the door swung open, revealing the owner of the familiar gruff voice. Moody's magical eye swivelled wildly in its socket as he leaned on his good leg a bit. "Now, if you've finished, you might consider making your betters a pot of tea," he said, almost cheerfully for Mad-Eye standards, as he lurched out of the doorway of the library and towards Grimmauld Place's kitchens. Shrugging, Harry pocketed his wand ("ROBES pocket, Potter, remember! You'll sit sideways and people'll think you've got the wind!" Moody shouted, evidently watching him with the magical eye) and fell into step behind the ex-Auror. Moody contented himself with calling Harry useless, but he somehow managed to do so without malice, so Harry thought he might live.
"Too close for comfort, then, Potter?" Moody asked affably enough, once they both had cups of tea and were seated in the cramped house-elf chairs around the low table in the kitchens. Harry gave him a confused look, and then made a disgusted face as he tried to sip his tea. "S'the anti-poison charms. Tend to make the taste a little...off," Moody explained, shrugging a bony shoulder and taking a long swig. "...With your friends, I meant."
"Oh." Harry paused as he considered the question, then nodded. "Yeah, something like that." He smiled carefully. "Not much chance for privacy. Don't know how they all made it through intact." But they DIDN'T, did they? Not ALL. Harry frowned and shook his head clear of the thought, and glanced up, shrugging sheepishly as he caught Moody watching him with a thoughtful expression on what was left of his face. Harry shifted uncomfortably.
"What's got you spooked, boy?" Moody asked abruptly, training the eye on him, focusing so intently Harry was a little afraid the old man could see through his clothes and skin to the ribs and heart underneath.
"Nothing!" Harry said, too quickly. He winced and tried to recover. "Only a massive case of cabin fever." A possible escape suddenly occurred to him, so he continued quickly. "Things with Ginny were awkward." He shifted and hoped the ploy worked, uncomfortable with how...human Moody was being.
"The girl? Thought you two got on well enough," Mad-Eye observed, obviously out of the Order of the Phoenix gossip chain. He sighed, and regretted letting Molly harangue him earlier that afternoon into checking in on the boy and making sure he was still alive. Harry sighed, and regretted saying anything. "Small case of hero-worship, of course, but it's to be expected when you're her brother's b - "
"Actually," Harry cut in, backing away from the frown Mad-Eye shot him at being interrupted, "yeah, we got on all right. ...And then we got on really well. And now we're back to getting on all right, again," he said, vaguely, hoping that the old man would take a hint.
The eye Moody had been born with twinkled strangely. "Ah. Well. Define 'really well' in this context - nothing specific," he said, a small trace of a smirk twisting his lips.
Harry breathed a sigh of relief, and chuckled. "Not well enough for Ron to kill me, but well enough for him to consider it."
"Aha." Moody snorted. "Students never change, then, Albus was right about that. Throwing each other over left right and centre, Merlin knows when the lot of you'd have time to get any real schoolwork done - "
"I didn't 'throw her over'!" Harry replied hotly, blushing. "It was mutual."
"This sort of thing's never mutual, lad," Mad-Eye replied easily, taking a long sip of tea before he continued. "There's one person who says it's a good idea and then there's the other person who has to go along with it or look like an arse for getting summarily binned. Which were you?"
"...Um."
Moody smirked. "Thought so." He shrugged and slouched back in his chair as much as he was able, propping two heavy, well-worn boots on the table's surface. "Getting your practice in for the real heroics, I'd wager." He chuckled and drained the rest of his cup, then refilled it with a tap of his wand. "Setting up for the passionate reunion over You-Know-Who's ashes, eh? Ah, romance."
Harry gave the old man a suspicious glance. He'd never seen Moody enjoying himself so much; it was a bit disconcerting. "...Not likely," he muttered, going even redder, rubbing an arm uncomfortably.
"Never say never. Only you've got to remember to keep them in line," the old man advised, gesturing with the cup, which sloshed tea down his hand. Mad-Eye didn't seem to notice. "Not be overbearing, but you don't want to go 'round being henpecked. Look at old Arthur. Nothing but respect for Molly, o'course, but - "
"No, really, I don't think it'll be an issue," Harry said, desperate to get on another subject. He wondered vaguely if his face could get any hotter, and if it might spontaneously combust if it did. ...The idea was worryingly comforting.
"We-ell, but she'll've been raised in that atmosphere," Moody contested, ruminating on the subject and finding it more interesting (especially since he'd been the latest victim of Molly Weasley's Unquestionable Female Intuition). "Firm grip. Constant vigilance! ...And so on," he said, gesturing again, cursing as more hot tea spattered over his hand. "Anyway, best thing for you both, far too young to be - "
"My mum and dad were young, too," Harry countered, frowning. "Anyway, I don't think - "
"Well, there're exceptions to every rule. If your mum and dad hadn't got married, they'd've probably killed each other. Or everyone else," Mad-Eye chuckled. Harry paused as he tried to think of a reply, caught entirely off-guard by the comment, and by the sting of loneliness it caused deep in his chest.
"They loved each other, though," he said, the statement nearly a question. Moody seemed to pick up on it, and nodded.
"Aye. Never seen two people so devoted. Lived in each other's pockets, they did; they could finish each other's sentences. Seeing them make lunch or wash dishes," he reminisced fondly, turning thoughtful, "was like...watching a ballet." He shrugged a hunched shoulder. "Tremendous rows, all the same. Think they liked 'em. Making up gave them something to do." Mad-Eye gazed past Harry's shoulder, into the kitchen beyond, and seemed to lose himself for a moment before he snapped back to present day. Abashed, he cleared his throat gruffly, took another sip of tea. "Anyway."
Harry nodded, his throat threatening to close. He took a gulp of tea as well, and coughed as it burned on the way down, relieved at the distraction.
"That'll be you," Moody offered, guessing the boy's thoughts. Harry glanced up, and the wary carefulness in the old man's eyes made him suddenly snort with laughter at the ridiculousness of his situation. Moody bristled.
"Sorry. Thanks, yeah."
"With you and your girl, I mean."
"No, I know, just. Thanks, okay." Harry bit his lip to keep from grinning. It didn't work.
"What!" Mad-Eye grumbled, nonplussed at the reaction. "Sweet merciful Zeus, you try showing a bit of compassion and it comes back and bites you square in the ar - "
"A week ago I had a dream about Ginny's brother," Harry interrupted, desperate to stop the conversation. He immediately crimsoned once he'd stopped, but met Moody's gaze evenly all the same.
Moody gaped, but stopped talking, at least for a moment. "...er." He took his boots off the table, set them down with a clunk. "...Think you might be chasing the wind, there, that Granger chippie's got a pretty tight hold on his w - "
"Not that one," Harry interrupted, horrified. "Oh, hell. Forget it, it was a stupid thing to say."
"No, no." Moody paused, contemplative. He shrugged. "Actually, it makes sense, now that I think about it."
Harry glanced up from his teacup, looking about as indignant as he felt. "What d'you mean, makes sense?"
"We-ell. Hear-tell you kept a pretty close eye on Diggory during the Triwizard Tournament. Minerva thought it was sweet. And, by all accounts, the boy wasn't a pain to look at, even if he was thick as a wooden post," Mad-Eye shrugged. Harry squawked in outrage.
"That was because he didn't know about the dragons!" he yelped, scowling as Mad-Eye gave him an amused look. He didn't know whether to be more offended that the senior members of the Order of the Phoenix had been speculating about his lovelife for years, or for the slight against Cedric's intelligence. "Anyway, he wasn't stupid! And it wasn't like that!"
"Sure, and invitations to the Prefects' Bathrooms are pure and innocent," Mad-Eye teased. "That made Mona's year, when she heard." Harry was, by this point, nearly incandescent with embarrassment. "Nevermind, boy, I wasn't born yesterday. So, which one of the twins is it? Don't fault you your taste, m'just worried you won't make it out of the experience alive, frankly."
It was Harry's turn to gape. "...What?" he spluttered. "Neither!"
"Hmm. Well, you're too late for Bill, and he's a known ladykiller anyway, Molly's been turning a deaf ear to those rumours for near a decade. Charlie? Haven't seen him lately."
"No! Look, just. M'tired, thanks for the tea, think I'll go to my - "
"Well, you're fast running out of options, m'boy!" Moody interrupted, enjoying the guessing game. "If it's not Charlie or the twins, and if it's not Ron, then - " Mad-Eye's smile slowly vanished, and he gave Harry a traumatised look as he finally caught on. Harry didn't think it was humanly possible, but his face went redder. "The Ministry brat?"
"...He's not a brat," Harry found himself saying. For God's sake, where's Voldemort and a well-aimed Avada Kedavra when you need them?
Mad-Eye's nonmagical eye twitched. "...Huh." He considered Harry for a moment, then reached into his coat pocket. Harry flinched, wondering if he was about to be castrated or killed, then sagged with relief as Moody pulled out a small flask. He tipped a generous amount of firewhiskey into their tea. Harry took a cautious sip and was surprised to find the taste improved. "Think you'd best tell me how you got into this mess," Moody said, not unkindly.
Harry paused, then did.
There was one thing about Mad-Eye Moody, Harry decided four hours later, as he was staggering in what he sincerely hoped was the direction of Sirius's old bedroom: you could count on him to make you see the hilarity in any given situation. Even impending destruction.
After Harry's confession, the evening had quickly degenerated into a circular pattern of Mad-Eye cheerfully insulting Harry, telling stories about catching Death Eaters or the old Order Members (Harry'd had no idea Ron's uncles were so cool), and tapping their cups full of more tea-and-firewhiskey.
When Dung had shown up halfway through, things had just got worse. After Harry'd hit the unfortunate man with half a dozen effective Bat Bogey hexes, and after Mad-Eye had calmed them both down and refused to remove the hexes, opting instead to let them run their course since Dung deserved them, the three of them started trading stories about Hogwarts, pranks they'd been in on. Harry told them about the twins' dramatic exit from school the year before, until both men fell silent with appreciation.
And then - there'd been more tea. And firewhiskey. And stories. Around his seventh cup, Harry forewent any more refills and held onto the table for dear life, refusing to leave and let any of the stories (Merlin, Moody'd been a hellion during his schoolyears) pass him by. Once Moody and Dung started in on the snatches of filthy old tavern songs they could remember, however, Harry quickly decided he'd had enough and excused himself, if only to get away from Moody's unsteady bass.
Relieved to find Hedwig's cage and his Hogwarts trunk in the first bedroom he stumbled into, Harry barely managed to remove his glasses before he fell, face-first, into the nearest bed. He didn't even mind the clouds of dust that flew up from the impact; the pillow was soft and cool, and the mattress was beautifully free of any lumps, and he was snoring in seconds, sleeping the sleep of the just, emotionally exhausted, and entirely drunk.
Part Three