Work Text:
Percy slipped through the side door, lighting up a cigarette.
Stepping outside didn’t bother him. The muggle health codes made sense.
The Ministry’s justification, however—
He exhaled. Contraband muggle artifacts . He took another drag. Predictably, his brother appeared.
“Percy!”
“Don’t, Fred.” Percy blew smoke through Fred. “Not now.”
“Lighten up!” Percy saw worry lining the ghost’s face, but heard the same old echoes of childhood.
He sighed.
Prat. Prig. Arse-licker.
“You joked once.” Fred looked pained. “What happened?”
Percy eyed the ghost. “ Honestly ?” He scrubbed a hand over his face, wishing the guilt disappeared as easily as the tears. “What do you want, Fred?”
“You. Happy.”
“So you made a fool of me? In front of Auror Longbottom?”
“Still can’t call him Neville?”
“That’s not your business, Fred.”
Neville’s hand fell on his shoulder. He tensed, uncontrollably. He wanted to lean in, he did. This was Neville. But as always, he froze.
Neville turned him around, smiling.
“Is it true?”
Percy straightened his spine, intending to prove his sorting.
“Yes.” He braced for rejection.
“Then, I accept.”
“Of course—complicates—working relationship. Y-you accept?”
“Yes.” Then, Neville did the impossible. He gently, achingly gently, brushed his lips across Percy’s own.