Pairing: Harry/Percy.

Rating: NC-17.

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. Characters owned by J.K. Rowling.

Summary: Post-OotP. Percy offers himself up as the next professor for Defence Against the Dark Arts, but not everyone is entirely pleased with the situation. Extendable Ears, angst, Harry taking the mickey, rimming- what more could you want?

Things Percy Weasley will never admit to:

That Penelope broke up with him right before the Leaving Feast in his seventh year. They were snogging in an unused classroom on the fourth floor and he had slid his freckled hand under her skirt and into her underpants. The strange wetness he found there made him panic with the realization of going that far! His face turned a bright scarlet and Penelope slapped him when he yanked his hand away. “You prick,” she said.

That sometimes he appreciated Fred and George’s pranks at face value. Especially when they arranged for the mail order dragon’s dung to be sent from Norway to his cramped office desk at the Ministry. He was secretly pleased with their cleverness, even if his office never quite recovered from the smell of it. The monotony of international cauldron bottom regulations had nearly got to him.

That he hates his mother’s favourite meatloaf.

That he would sometimes check out Oliver Wood’s arse in the dorm showers on Saturday mornings. Until Oliver got suspicious and avoided showering with the other boys in their fifth year.

That he had an ulterior motive for applying for the Defence Against the Dark Arts teaching position when it opened the year following Dolores Umbridge’s abrupt departure.

All that summer Fudge had bemoaned the loss of Dolores at Hogwarts. What was he to do now, to keep an eye on Dumbledore? On That Potter Boy? Percy had, of course, nodded intently and noted on his clipboard to look into the situation later. “Yes, sir” and “Certainly, Minister,” were his every breath. And after the Ministry had admitted that You Know Who was indeed back, Percy had begun to get a little worried. Not for the Ministry, but for his family. The last time he had seen any of them, was his mother that past Christmas. Slamming his flat door in her face had been strangely satisfying that day, but he hadn’t heard of them since. Were they even still alive? He was starting to get…a little antsy, amongst other things.

He never admitted this either.

But when he saw the ad in The Daily Prophet one morning over a bowl of stale breakfast cereal, those occasional guilty flutterings in his stomach that he got whenever ‘Arthur Weasley’ or ‘That Potter Boy’ were mentioned built up full force and before Percy donned his official Ministry robes for work, Hermes was flying north with his CV.

Nothing was said at work about this, save Fudge’s grumblings that he hoped a supporter of the Ministry would be hired at Hogwarts. However, Dumbledore had taken measures to ensure that the Ministry could not override his decisions in regards to Hogwarts, so there was little Fudge could do except watch and wait. This time Percy only smiled at his superior, knowingly, and muttered a curt “Yes, sir.”

Hermes didn’t return to Percy’s Shepherd's Bush ninth-floor flat until a week before the school term was to begin. Percy knew the date because he kept a keen eye on his office calendar. Unlike the old one he had brought with him from The Burrow, it was a 365-day calendar that worked, not a 348 one that shriveled up when people wandered too close.

The reply had the official red wax seal of the school.

He had his bags packed by half past seven that evening.

Fudge, naturally, heard about it the next morning. Percy had yet to finish practicing his internal resignation speech.

“Good thinking, Weasley!” the Minister had said. “That is exactly why I hired you as my personal assistant. The younger generation is so much more innovative.” Fudge tipped his bowler hat at Percy. “Carry on with the good work.”

Fudge had never said so much in praise of Percy before, so he took the compliments in his stride. “Sir,” he nodded, feeling the tips of his ears turn the famous Weasley red. He allowed himself to pompously strut around the office a bit more than usual that day. It was a good feeling.

But it would be even better to see his family again. To at least see two of them soon.

“You’ll be my eyes and ears, there, eh?” Fudge winked and told Percy to clean out his desk by noon the next day.

Percy refused downright to take the Hogwarts Express on September 1st. He arrived by Floo powder into the quaint little depot at Hogsmeade and walked up to the castle, his bag stiffly in tow behind him with a hovering charm.

Good thing, too, because there was a Dementor sighting at Platform 9 and 3/4, or so The Quibbler reported. Percy much preferred the trusted journalism of The Daily Prophet, but it was best to keep abreast of all the news- real of not- in the wizarding world.

At the Welcoming Feast, Percy wasn’t greeted with collective clapping from the students, or stifled groans either. His brown eyes were focused intently on two individuals, sandwiching a black haired boy. Both had red hair, dropped jaws and pink cheeks. Embarrassed cheeks. Ashamed looks. ‘That Potter Boy’- as Fudge had called him- was there, too. Only he was glowering darkly at Percy.

So was Snape, but then he had always scowled at the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professors for as long as Percy had known. It wasn’t Snape that made Percy shift nervously, adjust his glasses and straighten his back.

Percy’s first classes of the week were all younger years. None of them recognized him- except for the name and hair, and he cringed at that- and he was glad for the most part of this. They all respected his authority and (generally) didn’t ask too many questions about his teaching methods. Percy was grateful for that because he had never taught anything in his life, except for the one time he tried to teach Ron to read when he was seven and Ron threw a dungbomb at him.

Professor Weasley, as he introduced himself to the students, knew the material well enough from his own schooling- hardly that long since- but despite achieving an O on his OWL, he felt that he had always fared better on the written aspect rather than the practical, so he focused his teaching on that.

It wasn’t until he had to teach the sixth years, on Tuesday, that he ran into any problems.

First thing Tuesday morning were the Slytherins, a notoriously unpleasant lot. Most of them only sneered or rolled their eyes as they filed into the classroom and saw ‘a Weasley’ seated behind the oak desk at the front.

As Percy began his introductory speech that he kicked off every class of his so far- listing his course aims and syllabus on the blackboard- he heard the distinctive sound of student snickering. Even as a neophyte professor, the sound was unmistakable.

It was That Malfoy Boy. The son of the current Azkaban prisoner, Lucius Malfoy. He was seated in the third row, centre aisle. His text was rudely closed and neither quill nor wand was out.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Percy puffed his chest out as he said this. It was a bit of a good feeling to speak down to a Malfoy, “did you have something you wanted to share with the class?” Percy used his Ministry Voice. Which was also his Fred and George Shut It Voice; his ‘pompous’ voice.

“No, sir,” That Malfoy Boy smirked. Percy wanted to Scourgify it off. “I was simply telling my friend here,” He motioned to a brown-haired girl with an upturned nose seated next to him, “what an interesting teacher the Ministry supplied the school with this year.”

“The Ministry didn’t have anything to do with my hiring,” Percy stated firmly. “Turn to your texts on page seventeen and familiarize yourselves with the passage on the two mutual shield spells we will be learning.”

That Malfoy Boy’s smirk faded. To be replaced with a sneer and the words ‘cheap Weasley’ mouthed.

Had Percy not been busy dreading his Gryffindor sixth years the next period, he would have happily assigned the twit detention, or lines at lunch, for interrupting his lesson.

When the Gryffindors filed in the next period, Percy didn’t know quite what to expect or how to handle the situation. He did, however, want Ron to smile at him and say ‘Hullo, Perce.’

Percy felt the blood drain from his face, leaving his freckles stark against the white. He had his fingers crossed under his desk.

He certainly wasn’t expecting the prefect button on his youngest brother’s chest to bounce light from the torches and gas lamps along the room’s perimeter. Well, he knew about it, but actually seeing it on Ron’s chest was something completely different. Torn between sheer dread at facing some of his family and brotherly pride, Percy muttered his own “Hullo, Ron.”

Ron turned his head the other way as he walked by. To Harry Potter, who was sniggering close by and playing with something in his hands. Harry stared unblinking at Percy with those green eyes. The colour of Avada Kedavra. The colour of death. Hard and bitter and unyielding.

Percy turned sharply away himself. Fine then!

“Good morning, Gryffindors,” he said some minutes later when the class had settled at long last. “I am Professor Weasley, as I’m sure some of you will recall from-”

There it was again! Snickering. In the third row. By the centre aisle.

The dread Percy had in the pit of his stomach knotted itself and sunk further. He had expected better behaviour from them.

“Do you have something you’d like to share, Mr. Potter? Mr. Weasley?”

Ten sets of eyes fell on Percy. He wouldn’t let old familiarities get to him, though. He wasn’t Umbridge nor was he Snape, but he wouldn’t let childish snickering continue behind his back.

“Well?” he demanded, his wand tapping with hollow irritation on the desk.

Hermione Granger wasn’t all that quiet either when she hissed “Ron!” under her breath. “I thought you two put that away?!”

Percy’s wand tapped faster, waiting for an explanation.

Percy nodded once, even though he knew his brother was unnerving his air of authority in the classroom. He wanted in his family’s good books again, so he’d have to cut some slack here and there. His mouth tightened as Ron’s curled into a satisfied little smile. He waited for Harry Potter’s own explanation, but the boy was silent. Then Percy caught sight of a flesh-coloured string in Harry Potter’s fist.

Percy’s eyes darted about the classroom. What did professors do next?

“Give that to me!” he snapped as he strode over to Harry’s desk. Harry obligingly opened his fist and gave the string to Percy.

Percy held it up to the light. It was stretchy and skin-coloured. “What is this?”

Harry Potter glanced over to Ron quickly, and then he shrugged. “An Extendable Ear?”

Where had Percy heard that name before? He pocketed the toy for safekeeping. “I’ll have none of this in my classroom.”

Harry was silent, though he had a strange smile on his face. It was rather creepy.

“Have you got something to say for yourself, Mr. Potter? Hmmm?” Percy folded his arms across his chest and raised an eyebrow.

“Actually, sir,” Harry began slowly, “I don’t.”

Percy stopped his pacing. “What?” Where was his bashful explanation? His cringing in embarrassment? This Harry Potter sounded sneaky and bitter and confident.

“I said I don’t have anything to say.”

Percy’s nostrils flared. “That is not acceptable.”

Harry Potter just shrugged sullenly. “Whatever.”

Percy had had just about enough of that. “Detention. Six o’clock!” he sputtered. He did not have to take that sort of disrespect from any student, even if they were considered nearly family by his mother. He had received enough lack of respect by his younger family members at home. Clearly it was foolish to think they would have welcomed him back at Hogwarts with open arms.

“Harry!” Hermione said under her breath loudly, “Not again.”

Percy ignored her. She was annoying anyway.

“Sorry, sir. I have an appointment. With Snape.” Harry seemed quite pleased with himself over this.

“With Snape? What for?” Percy couldn’t believe his own ears that anyone would rather spend an evening in detention with Snape than an evening in detention with him. The Ministry hadn’t corrupted Percy, as his father had claimed once.

“He doesn’t think that my Legilimens casting is strong enough. He has to teach me Occlumency again this year.” Harry’s eyes narrowed when he said ‘again’.

Percy wracked his brain to try to figure out what Harry Potter was talking about. “Occlumency?” he asked stupidly. Should he know this too? Was it a Dark Art? Was it necessary for Defence Against the Dark Arts professors to teach a defence from it?

“To fight Voldemort.” Percy cringed, along with everyone else in the room except Harry. His voice was dead serious. He stood up in his desk and looked ready to duel at any moment. To strike.

Percy didn’t move. Was Harry Potter testing him? Or just trying to take the mickey? He had heard snippets last year in Fudge’s office from Dolores Umbridge about the boy’s cheek and disregard for authority. Was this what she had meant?

Harry must be testing him because several of the students, including a round faced boy and a sandy-haired boy Percy thought was named Seamus, looked warily between him and Percy then back to Harry. Several of the other students held their chins up high and the words ‘Defence Association’ were muttered.

Percy just sighed. “Sit down, Mr. Potter. Your detention can wait until tomorrow then.” He flicked his wand to the left and his syllabus appeared on the blackboard. “But I want a signed note from Professor Snape that says you were there.”

Harry didn’t say anything more to that, but Percy felt that it wasn’t too shabby of dealing with disciplining a student for the first time in his career.

Besides, Harry brought the note the following evening. He handed it wordlessly to Percy.

Percy glanced over the note. It was short, curt and to the point.

Weasley,

Potter was in Occlumency lessons with me. Don’t ever request a note like this again.

Snape

Nothing less than he had expected. “Good,” he mumbled absently, crumpling the parchment into a ball and tossing it into his wicker wastebasket.

Percy sat down behind his desk. He hadn’t bothered to redecorate the office since acquiring it. There were no personal touches of his own there- no posters, no My Favourite Teacher, no family photos. Nothing. There was a lone plate on the wall- a kitten with lime green fur and roaming eyes. It was rather creepy, to be honest. Percy figured it was a relic of some previous professor, maybe that werewolf one, Lupin.

Needless to say, Percy tried to spend as little time in his office as possible. But since he had Harry in detention, he thought he would use the time to get some marking done and finish the stack of his third years’ essays- Kappas and Their Characteristics.

He pulled out the thick stack of papers from his briefcase and a bottle of red marking ink for his quill. He was nearly halfway through the first essay when he felt an usual pricking at his neck. His head shot up in vexation and Harry was still standing there, rucksack in hand from his last class.

Percy couldn’t figure out what the boy was doing. He was in detention. He shouldn’t be standing there and looking confused. “Don’t you have something to be doing?” he shot. Percy’s evening was ruined by having to watch a student in detention in an office with creepy kitten plates that was the last place he’d want to be on his time off, even if he was only marking essays.

“Professors normally tell their students what to do during a detention.” Harry’s tone was equally irritated.

Percy blinked. “Oh.” He hadn’t thought of that. He’d never had a detention as a student, so he wasn’t fully sure how they worked. “Well…sit down,” he motioned to the chintz guest chair, “and…read your text.” He adjusted his horn-rimmed glasses that were starting to slide down his nose and went back to the essays.

“Bloody better than that Umbridge woman…” he heard Harry mumble distinctly.

“I’m sorry?” Percy cleared his throat. “Did you have something to say about my predecessor?” So much as Percy had heard rumours Dolores Umbridge was a wretched toad, he had yet to rectify them. Perhaps it was the attitude of the students towards a Ministry-appointed teacher that was the real issue.

Harry had the audacity to ignore him. “So the Ministry sent you too, Percy?”

“Mind your manners!” Percy hissed. “I am your professor here, not your friend.” He nearly added ‘and never was’ but held his tongue. His family was at stake.

“Sure. Right.” Harry looked down at his textbook, but Percy could see that the boy’s eyes were slitted and unmoving.

Percy sat up and puffed his chest out pompously. “I won’t tolerate that kind of attitude, Mr. Potter. And none of your teachers should either.” Percy added lowly, “Though they’re probably all members of that Order to boot…”

A pair of emerald eyes glared at him. “That’s right.” Harry slammed his book shut with a thud. “Maybe they are. Better go run back and tell Fudge, Perce. Better go run back and tell him what lies I’m telling everyone!”

The tips of Percy’s ears went pink. How dare he insult Minister Fudge like that! But his family…

Harry Potter was nearly unrecognizable from the boy he had been last when Percy had known him. “Should I make the presumption that you require further discipline, Mr. Potter?” he snarled. Family or not, this boy was changed.

Harry’s shoulders twitched. “Your choice.”

The boy was worse than his brothers!

“Do you act this way around all of your professors? Snape? Dumbledore, too? I hope they don’t put up with it, because I won’t!”

Harry shrugged again, but deliberately kept his green eyes on Percy. They were rather unnerving and his resolve was beginning to fade. Percy could only hope that he didn’t get…uncomfortable. Because when Weasleys- or rather, him - get uncomfortable, involuntary things happen. Red ears. Pink cheeks. Getting hard.

Percy squirmed in his chair and squeezed his thighs together, just in case.

Those green eyes bore into his skull like the eclectric drill his father brought home once from a raid. Percy began to get uncomfortable. He swallowed and hoped his student wouldn’t notice.

“Snape doesn’t, but he has to put up with me anyway,” Harry said with a smirk. He pulled his wand out of his trouser pocket, twirling it casually over his fingers with a sort of arrogance that was both intriguing and irritating.

“Oh?” Percy shifted in his seat. “What do you do in your…lessons?

Distract the boy. Distract the boy.

Harry stepped closer to Percy’s desk and Percy went unnaturally stiff, crawling back into his chair further. “Want me to show you?”

That smile was simply not helping matters.

“Fine,” Percy choked.

“Legilimens!”

Percy didn’t know quite what was happening next, save for the flashes of mostly forgotten memories zipping through his mind.

…he was ten and Fred and George were laughing at him. His skin was blue and he whinnied like a horse…

…he was thirteen and it was a summer Sunday. His mother had woken him up in the aftermath of a wet dream. She winked when she saw the wet spot in his sheets…

…he was fifteen and walking through the hallways at Hogwarts on a patrolling round as a prefect. Terrence Higgs snickered past, “Poof”…

…he was eighteen and on the lift to his office at the Ministry. An older witch noticed his red hair and patched cloak and muttered, “Oh, its Weasley’s son.” Percy hated his father for that…

…it was Christmas and snowing out. His mother was at his flat door. He saw her smiling face and slammed the door as soon as it had opened. Then he went back to his sole meal and stifled a shuddered tear when he noticed the smiling picture of his family on the kitchen counter…

…he was nearly twenty and reading the newspaper. His eye caught the ad in it: ‘Professor Required!’…

STOP!

Percy couldn’t figure out what had happened just then. He had been fine until Harry shouted that spell, then the snippets of memories from the dark recesses of his mind were as clear as the day they had occurred. Had Harry seen them too? Is that what Legilimens did?

All he knew for sure was that he was half-cowering, half-sprawled across the cool flagstone floor. His breathing was ragged and his face unnaturally wet. He brought a shaky hand up to it only to discover his cheek was covered in his own tears.

There was a worried voice echoing faintly in his ears. “Percy,” it said quickly. “Percy, are you okay?”

He opened his eyes and wide green eyes behind glasses were blinking and staring at him intently. Percy closed his eyes again. He didn’t need to deal with the mortification of crying and having his worst memories seen by one Harry Potter.

Then, a rough, calloused, warm hand brushed awkwardly against his cheek to clear the tears away. It cupped his face. Percy was reminded of his mother’s touch and another tear fell down. He leaned into the familiarity, wanting to relish the brief opportunity of his past.

Another hand moved to his back, rubbing it gently, comfortingly, sensually. As though it knew what to do then. Had experienced the horrible memories, the mortification itself. Had Percy not still been as distraught, he would have braced himself at such a raw display of tenderness from another person to himself.

“I’m…er….sorry,” the voice whispered in his ear, tickling the little ginger hairs along the shell, “I didn’t mean for that to happen. Well, not quite like that.”

Percy gave a shuddered sigh and opened his eyes, once more meeting those haunting green depths. He didn’t know how to respond without digging himself further into a pit of complete and utter mortification. He said nothing, no response from his mouth.

Harry had one instead.

A mouth was brought to Percy’s and kissed him. Percy inhaled a sharp gasp at the contact of lips on lips and Harry took the reaction as an opportunity to further press moist lips into Percy’s with more force. It was a delicious, sinful pressure, one that Penelope would have never dared. One that only another boy would. A confident boy. Percy parted his mouth willingly, wanting more of whatever this could be and moaned a little as a tongue slid in.

A hand was brought from his back down to rest lightly on his waist as tongue met tongue and they slid together in a slippery, silky sort of battle of the mouth. Harry’s tongue was faster, stronger, more demanding and as much as Percy would have ideally liked to keep up to the pace, he gave in to Harry’s natural dominance. Instead he brought a still-trembling hand to the back of Harry’s neck, where his hair barely touched his collar and Percy grasped the hot skin there firmly.

“Guhn…” was Harry’s response to the tug and he launched his lips into a frantic, deeper movement. Percy knew his mouth would be bruised and swollen later, but that thought was diminished as thoughts of ‘wow, Harry is really good at this’ settled into his blood, which settled itself in turn in the region of his cock.

Abruptly, Harry pulled back. Their mouths separated with a squelchy noise that should never be heard from a professor’s office during a detention with a student. But maybe that was the whole intention.

The hand that had moved dangerously close to cupping Percy’s rested on his upper arm. “Percy- Professor Weasley I mean- was that…okay?”

Percy blinked rapidly and nervously fixed his glasses, which had skewed themselves and got a little smudged.

“I mean, I shouldn’t have done that.” Harry pulled his hand away immediately and adjusted his scarlet and gold tie, refusing to meet Percy’s eye.

“What?” Percy managed to get out.

Harry’s eyes were dark with lust, black pupil obscuring the jade. Percy wondered if his eyes looked anything like that. With as much Gryffindor bravado as he could muster, he said firmly “I hardly see why that should stop. After all, Mr. Potter, you are in detention and you have yet to finish it to…my desires.”

A little smile played on Harry’s lips and curled the corners. They were puffy and red and ravishable. “Yes, sir,” he said obediently as he leaned over to kiss Percy again.

This kiss was deeper, longer, harder. Something so much more. Harry pressed his chest against Percy’s, leaning into and pushing and forcing the older of the two onto the floor completely. Part of Percy was going to start panicking when Harry roughly grabbed his hips and ground something hard into his own straining erection.

But the other part, the part that won out, started to snake Percy’s hands around to cup Harry’s arse- which was quite nice, if smaller and less pleasantly squishy than Penelope’s- and moaned.

“You. Like. This.” Harry mumbled as he feathered dry, hot, fast kisses along the arch of Percy’s neck.

Percy gargled, “Unh…”. His hands, unlike the rest of him, were still thinking and kneaded Harry’s bum. Harry seemed to like that as he gasped once or twice and pushed and rubbed and rolled his hips into Percy’s.

He was starting to become incoherent. There was something about Harry Potter and the way he moved so naturally into what they were doing. Percy couldn’t help the shallow pants that emerged from his mouth, then the low moans that followed.

Harry mumbled something as he licked Percy’s jaw line. He pressed his hips into Percy’s with even more force. So much that Percy distantly wondered about bruising. But that was pushed to the back of his mind when Harry rolled his erection around Percy’s thigh. He nearly screamed in pleasure.

Percy’s groin was on fire when cock met cock through the thin layers of clothing that seemed to grow to cement between them. Nothing had ever felt so good, so pleasurable as this. He didn’t notice when Harry started to peel away his robes, unbuttoning the little black clasps all the way down his neck and sternum, one by one.

All Percy could feel, could focus on, was the twin erection, pressing and meeting his own. Two pieces of living fire that branded the other. Lips and tongue were peppered down his chest and belly and his erection stiffened impossibly. He’d never been this hard before. He never thought it could be this glorious.

Then he let out a guttural groan and Harry fully pushed his body off Percy’s, as though to survey his work.

“Well, it seems you’re one of those wizards who likes a healthy breeze between his privates.” Harry circled a lazy fingertip around Percy’s navel, right before the thin strip of hair started its downward descent.

Percy turned red everywhere and his hands flew to cover himself. No one had ever seen him before…like this. In this way. His ears were flaming and he closed his eyes tightly.

And screamed when he felt hot, wet breath on his cock! On his cock! Harry hadn’t bothered to slowly kiss his way down Percy’s belly, no, he went straight for the goods. Hands flew to pull at black, messy hair and hips surged forward with near enough force to flip them both over.

“You do like that, don’t you?” Harry ran a sinuously tongue slowly over the head of Percy’s cock.

Percy threw his head back, hitting the stone floor and nearly screamed again. “Yesss…”

“Good.” That sinful tongue. That hot, sweet, wet, wonderful tongue dipped lower, tantalizing him. Those parted, blood-filled pink lips kissed and sucked at his balls. One, then the other. The suction was heaven, it was hell. Percy wanted to come right there and he was so hard he didn’t care if it was going to get all over Harry’s robes.

Then the mouth stopped.

Percy’s eyes flew open from their tight squeeze and he immediately looked down at the sable-haired boy between his legs. Had he done something wrong?

“Flip over,” Harry demanded in a tone reminiscent of Percy’s own Authority Voice.

Percy blinked. Sometime during the process his glasses had been knocked off. The world was fuzzier, softer, hazier. Like Harry’s expression.

Percy waited a moment. He was so hard; he didn’t want to turn over. Why did he need to? Unless…

A hard lump in his throat formed and he swallowed. He was getting increasingly uncomfortable.

“It shouldn’t hurt at all,” Harry said. A finger caressed his cheekbone and Percy shivered at the light touch. “Honest. Now, come on, on your stomach.”

Percy nodded and slowly, deliberately, arranged himself on his discarded robe, flat on his stomach. He half-turned his head over his shoulder. “This g-good?”

Harry crawled over to him on his hands and knees, catlike, ferally. There was a glimmer in his eyes that hadn’t been there before, but maybe that was because one of the torches seemed to have snuffed itself out by now.

“You look lovely, Percy Weasley. Now,” Harry straddled one leg over each side of Percy’s upper thighs, “relax.”

Percy closed his eyes, gripped his robe tightly in his fists, and braced for the inevitable.

The first contact of wetness and warmth at the top of Percy’s arse made him tense and suck in a lungful of air. It was the weirdest, most slimy feeling he had ever experienced.

It’ll be fine…

Then there was a brush of hair and…a tongue?

This wasn’t right. This wasn’t it. What was Harry-

“Oh, God!” Percy moaned. There was a tongue. Licking, touching, tasting his arse. His arse! And it was amazing. He never knew such sensations were possible there. That he could feel so much that way.

Percy was moaning, writhing, twisting under Harry’s tongue. His head was floating, his body was burning. He didn’t care anymore how disgusting it must be, it was simply too wonderful to do anything more than turn to a boneless pile of mush.

Except for his cock. Every swipe of that tongue, those lips and Percy could feel the blood pulse, pulse, pulse through his cock. He was so close, so close. Rubbing, humping the floor didn’t help alleviate matters. It only added to the agony that he needed to-

“Oh, God! Oh Fuck!” Percy stiffened, his toes curled, his neck craned, his stomach clenched and it hit. It had never been this hard, this amazing, this long. He didn’t know if he was coming for hours, seconds, minutes. It lasted for an eternity. The world spun, it went black, it went white. He screamed, he moaned, he writhed.

He came.

When his panting grew less ragged and his bones more weighty, Harry pulled Percy onto his side and wriggled up to face him. They kissed briefly, softly. Almost sweet and chaste after what they had just done.

“So, Professor Weasley, how was doling out your first detention? Ready to go back to the Ministry yet?”

Percy laughed in spite of himself. Harry had a dark shine to his eyes, as though he knew too much. As though he wanted too much from Percy.

Late that night, when Percy arrived back at his private chambers, Fudge’s head was waiting impatiently in the brick fireplace for a bit of late night Floo reconnaissance. Percy didn’t attempt to fix his finger-combed hair or his rumpled robes.

“Well, Weasley,” Fudge asked, “what news do you have on Dumbledore? Any on That Potter Boy yet?”

Percy had his fireplace disconnected from the Floo network three days later.