Rating:: PG
House:: Astronomy Tower
Ships:: Hermione Granger/Percy Weasley
Characters:: Hermione Granger Percy Weasley
Genres:: Romance
Era:: Multiple Eras
Spoilers:: Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire Order of the Phoenix
Stats:: Published: 01/31/2005

Updated: 01/31/2005

Words: 8,035

Chapters: 1

Hits: 1,079

Thirteen Years of Christmas

NotMollyWeasley

Story Summary:: Percy and Hermione grow and then grow closer over 13 Christmases. Sometimes the best romances are the ones that seem like they should have been there all along.

Posted:: 01/31/2005

Hits:: 1,079

Author's Note:: This was originally written over a series of eight installments on Live Journal and dedicated to dezzikitty, to celebrate our love for this pairing. Thanks so much to those who read and commented there.

1992

Hermione Granger hitched her bag high on her shoulder once again as she hurried through the lavishly decorated but empty corridor, humming "Good King Wenceslas" under her breath and hoping to make it back to Gryffindor Tower before the new early curfew. Holiday celebrations were a bit restrained this year, as the threat of the Heir of Slytherin had put the entire school on edge. Most students were leaving the next day for the holidays and were glad to be taking a break from their studies, but she continued to be occupied with thoughts of ongoing projects. The potion she'd been working on for weeks would be ready soon, and with a spot of luck (and if Draco Malfoy was half the braggart she expected) they would have the mystery of the Heir solved in just a matter of days. Her imaginings of her glory were running wild in her head, (how shocked and impressed Professor Snape would be!) and so she faltered a little when she turned a corner and walked straight into a rather private scene.

Penelope Clearwater leaned against the wall and Percy Weasley slumped alongside her, the moonlight streaming in through the window gilding and shadowing both of them. They faced each other, his forearm braced against the wall just above her head until he shifted off of the wall to turn more completely toward her. They spoke quietly, and Percy reached out to draw his hand softly down the side of her face, and she beamed as he tenderly traced her jawline with two long fingers. Percy looked so much like Ron; they shared the same lanky body, the long straight nose and bright blue eyes, that shock of bright hair that gleamed in the candlelight. But it seemed impossible to imagine that Ron, with his clumsy fingers and loud manners, could ever be so gentle and careful and...graceful. Percy smiled down at Penelope and nudged up his glasses with one hand while he wrapped one of her curls around the index finger of his other hand, and Penny leaned her head back against the wall and softly smiled up at him. He leaned closer into her and whispered something in her ear, something that made her giggle and move to bury her face in his shoulder. He nuzzled his face against her hair and chuckled into her ear, pulling her tightly to him.

Hermione backed around the corner and leaned against the wall, using the quiet of the empty corridor to catch her breath. She'd never seen such romance so close, and it felt like hundreds of tiny butterflies fluttering in her stomach. She wanted someone to look at her like that.

1994

The Yule Ball

The Great Hall at Hogwarts had never looked grander, and Hermione Granger had never felt prettier, and the night was soft and dark and glorious.

She had taken refuge in a dark corner while Viktor found them something to drink, and her hand fluttered up to touch her hair for what must have been the hundredth time that night. It felt a bit odd, like someone had wrapped her head in satin, because her hair had never felt that smooth and soft. When she had first looked in the mirror she'd barely recognized herself, because that was really the face of her sophisticated aunt Caroline looking out at her, and she didn't FEEL like herself at all. The sweep of a breeze across her bare neck and shoulders was new, too, and she gathered her scrap of a shawl around her. She hoped the shawl could keep out the eyes, too; this was a prickle of attention she wasn't quite accustomed to.

Her eyes swept the room, hurrying past Ron and Padma and lingering on the top table. Percy Weasley sat there, looking ill-at-ease in freshly pressed robes of navy blue. His eyes skipped around the room, never stopping, and neither did his hands. They tugged at his collar, twisted his napkin, fiddled with his glasses. It was nice to see a familiar face as nervous as she felt, and she left her corner to talk to him.

He smiled as she approached and rose to greet her. He instantly told her about his promotion, and she congratulated him. She remarked on how spectacular the Great Hall looked, and he agreed. He smiled, and she smiled back. His glasses caught the sparkle of the candles, and his robes made his eyes look bluer, and for some reason, Hermione blushed when he told her that her hair looked nice.

A callused hand skimmed across her elbow, and she turned into Viktor's smile and let him lead her to her seat. He hadn't kissed her yet, but she knew he wanted to, and the way his eyes lingered on her mouth and her throat set the tiny snitches in her stomach to fluttering again. When he led her through the dances his hands felt so big on her waist, and she felt small and tiny and protected.

Later that night, when her hair had started to spring free and Viktor was coaxing a curl around his index finger, she remembered what it felt like to be breathless. When she opened her eyes after he kissed her, for just the tiniest moment, she was surprised to see that he wasn't wearing glasses, and a little disappointed at the way his dark hair absorbed all the light.

Christmas Day, 1995

Hermione slumped against the windowsill and pressed her forehead to the cold glass, watching it fog and clear as she breathed out and in. One heavy sigh obscured almost the entire pane, but when she drew even the biggest breath back in, she couldn't completely clear it. It was so easy to make changes, and so difficult to undo them. It reminded her of Neville's parents, who had changed so quickly and just couldn't seem to change back. Looking out the window, she watched Percy Weasley learning his own lessons about it.

Percy paced just outside the front entrance of St. Mungo's, a box of chocolates in his hand and a frown etched on his face. His fingers worried the wrapping curling up at the edges of the box as he stalked around the doors, muttering to himself. He took two steps toward the entrance, even pulling open the door before a grimace crossed his face and he turned away. Back and forth he went, obviously gripped by indecision, and Hermione thought that maybe there was a little regret there, too.

His father and entire family sat behind her in the hospital room, Arthur holding court and sharing Christmas with his family. They laughed and joked; they were a sedate but jolly group. But one of their number was missing and she couldn't help feeling like she and Harry were there in his place. They had chosen Harry instead of Percy, and she hoped they wouldn't come to regret that, because Percy couldn't seem to find a way back in, and she wasn't sure if they would reach out to bring him back.

Percy's letter to Ron had infuriated him and left her oddly disappointed in Percy. It seemed so small of him, so pathetic. And she'd been so proud of Ron, so loyal to Harry and so willing to stand by him. It wasn't that she didn't understand Percy's perspective, but if he thought that Ron would be willing to throw over Harry's friendship just when it was most needed, it was clear that he didn't really know his brother very well. In fact, she sometimes thought that Percy didn't understand any of his family at all. She knew the feeling; she and her parents grew more distant with every passing year. At home her parents harangued her about university admissions, and at school they would soon begin their career counseling. She would have to make her own choices soon.

With one final sad glance toward the front doors of St.Mungo's, Percy turned away and stomped off into the cold afternoon. She watched him go, and then returned to watching her breath on the window until Ron shuffled over to her. He elbowed her in the side with an "alright, then?" and she left the window and turned back to the noisy room. Her nose was getting cold, anyway.

1997

"Excuse me, is this chair taken?" Hermione asked for the third time in as many minutes.

A rather plump witch with frizzy hair and a pointed nose turned rather abruptly and dropped her shopping into the empty chair in question.

"Yes, it is," she snipped, lifting her chin and glaring at Hermione with a bit of manic defiance in her eyes.

Hermione nodded and, frustrated, shifted her shopping to her other arm as she turned to survey the crowded room one more time.

The Leaky Cauldron was overflowing with patrons, a bustle of tired holiday shoppers in search of a place to rest, a pot of tea or a mug of steaming hot rum, and a simple plate of sandwiches. It had proven near impossible to find an empty seat, and not for the first time that day Hermione found herself wishing that she were finished with school so she could pop home for a bit of lunch before she finished her shopping. Just as she had finally decided to go elsewhere and turned to leave, she spotted a near elderly gentleman leaving from a place near the door, and she rushed to take it before someone else could, nearly tripping over a rambunctious preschooler on her way there. ("Harold Benjamin, sit down and finish your fish fingers this instant, or your broomstick will be mine for a week.")

Finally dropping into the chair, she turned to the newspaper covering the face of the person tucked into the corner and asked, perhaps a bit more harshly than necessary, "All right, then?"

One corner of the paper turned down, revealing a glimpse of red hair and the glint of spectacles, before the whole paper crumpled to the table.

"Percy!" she exclaimed. "What a surprise to see you here!" She smiled broadly and dropped her packages at her feet, then leaned back in her chair and turned to study her boyfriend's older brother.

Percy looked tired, and he squinted at her for a moment longer, studying her as if he couldn't quite place her face. He nodded and folded his newspaper with an air of quiet resignation before he finally said, "Hermione. How are you?"

"I'm doing well enough, although my goodness it's crowded in here. You don't mind if I join you, do you?" Not that she had any intention of moving, mind you, now that she was settled and her toes had blood enough to wiggle again, but it seemed polite to ask again.

"No, not all," Percy insisted, although she wasn't quite certain he meant it. An awkward silence followed until he seemed to find something to say. "So, I hear you are this year's Head Girl. Congratulations again. How is old Hogwarts?"

Hermione was immediately awash in guilt, and she was relieved to be able to take a moment to request a large mug of tea and a sandwich from the barmaid twisting her way through the crowded tables before she had to respond.

"Oh, yes, Percy. I meant to thank you for your owl. Your congratulations and advice were...most welcome." At the time they hadn't been, exactly, as it had sent Ron into a sulk to see his brother's owl delivering a letter to his girlfriend, and not even a mention of himself. But at least Hermes's missive had been more neutral this time - just good wishes and reminisces of a former Gryffindor Head Boy, along with a bit of well-intentioned but unnecessary advice about not letting Malfoy get the better of her. "It's been an adventure, that's certain, but Malfoy has been surprisingly well-behaved. He's not a bad Head Boy, as these things go - a bit preferential to the Slytherins, obviously, but he's been remarkably civil to me. And actually, the year has gone by so quickly. I can scarcely believe that it's almost over," she trailed off.

He nodded. "I remember. So much to do in that last year, between preparation for N.E.W.T.s and planning for your future. How many are you taking?"

She beamed. "I'm sitting for seven, but we'll see, I suppose." She paused. "Yes, figuring out my plans for next year has been...challenging. It's....My parents insist that I attend university, you see - it was part of their conditions when I began at Hogwarts, only now that it's here it seems like an indulgence to stay in school for four more years while there is so much going on. It's part of why I'm home for the holidays rather than still at school revising. My parents demanded I come home so we could discuss it."

That was putting it lightly, actually. Death Eater activity had accelerated in the last six months or so, and watching Ron and Harry prepare to become aurors as she filled out essays and application forms left her feeling more than a little guilty. They were going to be leaving her behind, fighting a battle that was more important than any piece of paper could possibly be. And the arguments with her parents, with whom she'd never really argued much, had become rather heated lately.

Percy nodded, studying her again. "Well, my goodness, Hermione. You're well out of it, I should think. No matter what happens, it's sure to get even uglier for muggle-borns before it's all over, you must realize."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, I do realize. Yes, I know. Fine, Percy."

He was insistent and leaned forward a bit to press his point home. "Your parents must realize that as well, I'd imagine. They're likely just doing what they think is best for you. No, I think university is a fine choice for you. In fact -"

She couldn't hold her tongue any longer. "Oh, so I should listen to my parents then, should I? Yes, because we must agree that parents always know best."

Percy flushed and became a bit flustered. "Yes, well. Sometimes these things are difficult to see when we're in the middle of them, that's certainly true." He paused for a moment. "You're lucky to be attending university, though. I miss school terribly, and I certainly wouldn't mind a chance to be back in a classroom again. I was very good at it."

She paused, watching him. Yes, he had been good at school. And for all his seeming success in his first years at the Ministry, since Fudge had started to take the threat of the Death Eaters a bit more seriously Percy no longer seemed to be Fudge's right-hand man. He was turning to Aurors and other DMLE types much more often, and was never seen without a number of them as his closest advisors.

And there was that other thing, too. "So...you think you might have been mistaken about your parents' advice, then?"

He stiffened immediately and looked away, finding something in his cup of tea terribly of interest. "I. I didn't say that. I just think that it's hard - finishing school is a difficult thing, and it feels like everybody expects you to know everything and trusts you to do nothing with all of it. I remember that." He paused again, and finished his tea in one long swallow. "And it's difficult to mend those things, sometimes."

"Percy, I don't want to speak out of turn, but I know that your parents miss you." She watched him for a moment. "Ron does, too. He-" She broke off, not wanting to betray any confidences. "We're all having Christmas at The Burrow this year, you know. You should...well, I know you'd be welcome."

He watched her for a moment, his jaw shifting back and forth for a moment. "You think I'd be welcome. At their home. After...after everything."

She smiled at him. This, she understood. "Oh, yes, I do."

He looked away, clearly uncomfortable, and began to fidget. She took a bite of her sandwich.

The clock struck, and panic and relief washed over Percy's face in rapid succession. "Ah, Hermione, that's the end of my lunch hour. I'm going to have to leave you now." He paused, watching her hurry to chew and swallow. "It's been nice to see you. Good luck with your N.E.W.T.s, if I don't see you again."

She washed down the dry turkey with a swallow of already tepid tea, and nodded at him. "Likewise, Percy. And happy Christmas."

Watching him hurry away, apologizing as his elbows and his clunky bag got the worse of various diners, she noticed how much like his father he looked from the back - a bit lanky, mussed red head held high. She smiled, and hoped to see him again very soon.

1999

Percy was bored. Achingly, criminally bored. Bored in a way that he knew was not a credit to his own intelligence, because surely a brighter mind could find something of interest in the mass of paperwork he needed to shuffle and manage and forward and file.

It hadn't been that long ago that the thickness of cauldron bottoms had seemed a very important issue to him, and he still believed that the number of inferior imports flooding the market needed to be addressed. He just didn't especially care how. And anyway, all that particular piece of legislation had served to do was limit creativity in the domestic development of newer technologies. Six months ago, Hungarian craftsmen had developed new ceramic blends that promised better heat conduction combined with lighter weights, and now British potions makers were clamoring for the tariffs and restrictions to be lifted. Nobody was ever happy for more than 15 minutes with anything the Ministry did, anyway. He sighed and signed the paper and, with one stroke of a pen, undid months of his own work.

He shoved the roll of parchment into the only bin he ever seemed to use, marked "Vitally Important - Extremely Time Sensitive" and rose, shaking the creases from his robes and preparing for his hourly stalk-through-the-halls. If he was very lucky, he'd manage to take half an hour hand-delivering these reports and make it back to his desk just in time for his tea break.

The corridors were empty save for the swooping owls until he came to the lift. A rowdy crowd of witches and wizards were waiting for the next car to arrive, chattering about their work and their plans for the weekend. There was a ding, and the door swept open, and Hermione Granger bustled out, a few years older but essentially unchanged. Hair swept up into a loose bun, wavy tendrils falling around her face. An overstuffed messenger bag swung at her side, dotted with badges carrying overlong words like "Greenpeace" and "Amnesty International" and "End Globalization Now!". Ugly, heavy glasses perched upon a pert nose, doing nothing to hide broad and curious eyes.

He stepped back a little, eager to avoid being swept up in the rush of people eager to get somewhere. The hall cleared quickly, leaving just the two of them. She was still looking around, trying to get her bearings, and she seemed surprised to see him.

"Percy? Hello! It's...hi, Percy, it's Hermione." Her hand clasped to her chest, the other sweeping down to clutch at her bag.

"Of course; I recognized you right away. It's only been two years, after all." They were silent for a moment, just looking at each other. He'd never seen anyone more obscenely alive. "So...what are you doing here?" And he winced. Well, that had been rude.

She didn't seem to mind, though, and her smile was forgiveness. "Home for the holidays, and visiting your father today, actually. I haven't seen him in months and months, and I was in the area and just thought I'd stop by. Only, I'm a little confused about the way to his office."

He smiled. "Yes, it is a little confusing. As it happens, my last delivery" he waved the near empty bin at her vaguely "is just that way. Shall I...I can show you the way?"

Fifteen minutes and one enthusiastically awkward conversation later (the enthusiasm all Hermione's, as she's spilling over with details about university and courses and exams; the awkwardness was all on the part of the Weasley men in attendance, as they tried to follow the conversation and figure out how it was that this bookish girl had grown into such a vibrant and energetic young woman) Hermione and Percy found their way out of the office and back to the lift.

And Percy wasn't quite ready to go back to work. Damn.

"Hermione, would you care to join me for a cup of coffee? There's a cafeteria upstairs."

~~~

Percy stirred his coffee and looked across the table."Green tea? With rice milk? Don't they feed you real things at that school of yours?"

She gave him a put-upon smile. "Oh, Percy. It's so much nicer for you, and it's...well, it's quite lovely. Once you get used to it. And the places they grow coffee! And the economies it supports! Oh, it's as bad as meat, really - so terrible for indigenous peoples. Very exploitative."

"And the tea trade is better?"

She frowned into her cup a bit. "Well."

"So no meat either, then? Have you had supper at my parents' house recently, by any chance?"

She grinned at him. "Last week, actually, just me and Ginny and your mum. Why?"

He tried, very poorly, to keep a straight face. "Erm, no reason, really. I just wondered why my mother seemed so emphatic that we all eat our sausages when I was over for tea at the weekend."

Hermione's grin faded, as did the color in her face. "No. Oh, nonono. Buggerbuggerall."

Percy's shocked laughter cut through the clatter of the room, even as he turned it into a slight cough. "Hermione! Your language."

"What? Oh, yes. Courtesy of my roommate, I'm afraid. Sorry." She winced, sipped at her tea, and grimaced again.

"Seven years with Ron as your best friend and you've only now picked up such nasty habits. University has been good for you, then?"

She actually smirked. "Oh, I suspect it has. I feel like I've learned so much, and getting reacclimated into Muggle living has been interesting. I have to be discreet with everything, obviously, but...I like it. And my parents are happy." She paused for a moment. "It's been odd, finding my way there again, but after everything with Voldemort was over it seemed like just the right thing. I suppose I got lucky that things ended as well as they did for me, maybe. Luckier than most, anyway." She looked at him then, long and searching and sympathetic.

He was tired of those looks, because he'd been getting them for almost two years now and they were always about the same thing.

When Percy was just over a year old, his mother had become pregnant again. His first memories of his baby brothers were from toddlerhood, and none of them were distinct but it didn't exactly matter. All of the fragments were washed together and muddy, but they had a common theme - his mother was a very fractured woman, and the babies just made it harder. His older brothers were busy, doing their own thing together. He couldn't be a big boy yet, but he also couldn't get in the way and make more trouble for his harried mum who was struggling with colicky twin boys.

His favorite toys at the time had been a set of simple wooden blocks, made by Percy's uncles Fabian and Gideon for their first nephew, little Billy. Bill and Charlie had long outgrown the appeal of blocks, but although they were a bit battered and dented their colors remained true, and Percy had loved them. He never built with them, though. He just liked the feel of them, and the way they fit perfectly in his hands. For weeks after his beloved uncles had been killed, while his brothers stayed outside and his mother fell apart and his father tried to care for his wife and the new babies, Percy had sat in the corner and lined up his blocks. First by shape, then by color, then by size. It made things a bit more right.

He had hated that war, and he hated how nobody could help talking about it more than anything. That was all the house was about - the war and the babies. Even as an adult he'd hated thinking about it, and the only redeeming thing about it, the only thing worth talking about in Percy's opinion, was how it was over. When it had seemed ready to re-erupt again, and it was all his mother could talk about again, it had seemed the worst kind of betrayal, and so Percy had done the same thing. Pushing papers and worrying about cauldron bottoms was about as close to sorting blocks as a grown man could come, after all.

And then four years ago it had all exploded again in the most horrible way imaginable, injuring his father, of all people. And then two years after that it had taken one of his brothers, leaving Fred without George and the house forever quieter.

And so, the look.

"Yes, well," he began awkwardly. "I suppose it could have been worse for everyone." She was still watching him. "It's fine, Hermione. Didn't Mum seem well when you saw her?"

She sipped at her tea and cocked her head, considering. "Actually, she did. She seemed much better. She was very excited about Ron walking again; that has made an amazing difference, I think. And of course she couldn't stop talking about little Georgie and when Bill and Megan might have another baby - I think she's ready for more grandchildren."

"Have you seen him?"

"Who, Ron?" Hermione seemed surprised. "Oh, no. We're still not really talking much; it just makes things harder for him, I think, so I've stayed out the way. Harry thinks he might be ready to start seeing me again, but...." She shrugged. "That's really his decision. I hated not being able to be there, to help him, but I can't fault him for it."

Percy nodded. "Well, Harry would know. And Ron's really doing much better, Hermione. They've been hard years for him. You're a good friend to be so understanding."

She gave him a patient smile, and he wondered if he was giving her that same look. The look was tricky that way; it was still everywhere and almost impossible to avoid, even when you were trying.

He looked away then, and ended up immediately meeting the eyes of his direct supervisor who sat two tables away and was currently glaring at him over a roast beef sandwich. Just as Percy was preparing to make his excuses and go back to work, Hermione's bag began to chime and vibrate.

"Oh! Oh, Percy, that'll be Michael. Um, my boyfriend, you see. I'm supposed to meet him today." The chiming stopped, replaced by an intermittent beeping. "It's been lovely to see you but I'm really so late now." She stood and began gathering together her things, hoisting that enormous bag over her shoulder again.

He stood and nodded at her, handing her her paper to shove into a coat pocket. They walked back together to the lift, full of quiet conversations and "it's been good to see you"s and appropriate holiday wishes. And then she went back to Muggle London, and he went back to his desk.

His incoming tray was already full again.

Saturday, December 22, 2001

"I'm not interrupting you, am I?" Percy sounded hesitant.

Hermione turned from her stargazing, sparing a rueful smile for Percy. "What is there to interrupt?" She winced and rolled her eyes. "Don't mind me, I'll just be over here wallowing in self-pity."

He nodded, and dropped onto the bench next to her. Together they watched the scene before them there at The Burrow. The rest of the Weasley family was dancing, Molly leaning heavily against Arthur and glancing around her brood with obvious satisfaction. Bill's four-year-old daughter led him firmly, tramping on his toes and giggling. Fred tried to break into the dance, loudly arguing for equal time for poor bachelor uncles, and Ron held his wife of exactly 28 days in his arms, nuzzling his face into Lavender's pale hair and slowly swaying them back and forth, his crutch left behind beside the makeshift hearth as she helped support him. Ginny and Bill's wife Megan sat in one corner, where Megan held a tiny, fuzzy red head to her breast as Auntie Ginny cooed at her dozing niece. Greenery draped every surface, fairy lights twinkled from every corner, and candlelight made the entire scene glow

Hermione turned away abruptly, turning the movement into a long, languid stretch as she swung her legs back over the bench and returned her eyes to the sky. She gathered her coat closer around her. "Oh, I don't even know why I'm here. Your mum cornered me at the wedding and started talking at me and suddenly I was trying to invent plans for Christmas so that I could tell her no. You know how easy it is to say no to your mother," she said as she grinned ruefully.

"Ah, yes. She does have formidable powers of persuasion." Percy smiled back at her. "It will do you some good, Hermione. You don't need to be alone at Christmas." He paused and watched her for a long minute. "I saw you at the wedding, you know. You never danced then, either, did you?"

She forced out a laugh. "I hate dancing. I'm terrible at it, and I always feel like everyone's watching me." She knew she was blushing, and she willed it away. The constant blushing was a new thing, back again from her teenage years like inappropriate crushes and spotty skin, and oh how she hated it. Six months previous she'd been through a painful break up just as she was finishing up a particularly difficult term and the experience had shaken her confidence. She had recovered from the worst of it, but the blushing was a remnant of that and a reminder of her younger self, the one who never felt like she fit anywhere.

Percy smirked. "In this crowd? On your feet then. Don't make me dance with my sister. Again." He smiled and tugged on her hand. She stood and let him drag her onto a corner of the floor.

Percy's body was warm against her own, and he smelled like lavender soap and wood smoke and peppermint and ink. He smelled an awful lot like Ron, actually, and it was nice that she could think that without hurting over it, because it was a nice smell. His shoulder was wiry under her hand, and she could feel the muscles shift as he drew her closer. Hermione felt a bit awkward; she hadn't been held this way in a long time.

"Hermione?" Percy's voice rumbled low in her chest.

"Hmm?"

"Are you...are you all right, then?" Percy asked hesitantly.

"You mean about that?" She cocked her head toward the newlyweds wrapped around each other.

"Yes, that."

Hermione sighed a little and shifted her grip on Percy's palm. "Of course, I'm just fine."

He cleared his throat and shuffled them a little farther into their little corner. "I'm glad of that. You've been quiet."

She frowned. "Really, Percy. How did you feel after Oliver and Penny's wedding?"

He shrugged, and his face remained impassive, but she felt the hand in the small of her back pull against the fleece of her jumper as it balled into a fist. "It...well, it wasn't the easiest few months of my life, no. I suppose that's why I'm asking."

"Not because your mother told you to?" she asked peevishly.

He frowned at her but said nothing, continuing to lead her through the dance. They were silent for a few more moments until the music ended, and when he stepped away and spoke again his voice was low and tight. "No. I've been worried about you. I thought we were friends; I'm sorry if I was mistaken."

Hermione grimaced. "Percy, no, please wait." He just watched her. "I'm sorry; I'm afraid I'm not fit company." He continued to study her face, waiting. She sighed and drew her hand over her face. "I really am; I'm sorry." She gave him a wan smile.

He turned back to face the rest of the family, smiling slightly. "It's all right. Look at Fred, will you, trying to dance Mum around. He still never does stop clowning." Percy smiled at his brother's antics.

Hermione looked up at him in surprise. She'd never seen him smile just like that before, and she suddenly remembered the way she had once seen him smile at Penny. It looked nice on him; it always had.

"Happy Christmas, Percy."

He smiled down at her. "Happy Christmas, Hermione."

2003

"Hermione, do you want more of this tikka masala, or shall I finish it?"

"Umm...is there any more naan?"

Percy rustled through the carrier bags strewn over the counters. "Yes, just a little."

"Bring me that instead, will you? And you can finish the chicken."

"Fantastic," Percy mumbled to himself. He slid his plate into the sink and padded back into the lounge, balancing the last of the bread and his fork atop the open carton. "Could you pour me another glass of wine, please?"

Hermione upended the bottle into the pair of wineglasses they'd been drinking from, pushing the Go board back into the center of the table. They were just about to start working their way up a ladder, so it seemed as fine as a time as any to take a break. She took the bread from Percy with a nod and curled back into the sofa, pulling her legs under her and resting her head along the high back. A long draw of wine later, she shifted her body to face Percy a bit more head on.

"So, Perce. Tell me what happened, then. Why are we here tonight? I thought that you were meant to be taking Alex out this evening after the office Christmas party." She nibbled around the edges of the bread.

Percy snorted. "No, Hermione, you meant me to be taking Alex out tonight. I never really had any desire to do so." He stabbed at the last bit of chicken, repeatedly spearing the same piece that just refused to stay on the fork.

"Pssshhh," Hermione sighed. She clutched a pillow to her chest and slumped down on the sofa, dropping her head in Percy's lap as he dropped his fork and quickly slid the empty bowl onto the low table before them. He brought his hand up to her hair, twisting her frizz into curls with the idle habit of long practice, as she balanced her glass of wine on her stomach, one hand loosely anchoring the base.

"Look, she's a fine girl. I just...well. She isn't the right one for me, is she?"

"And how do you know that? You barely know her." She tilted her head back so she could watch his face. The lights from the Christmas tree reflected in his glasses, hiding his eyes behind a multi-colored glare.

His face remained impassive as he shrugged. "Well, I know what's most important. She's not the kind of woman with whom I feel comfortable."

Hermione snorted. "That's not exactly the point, though, is it? If all goes well you have years and years to become comfortable with each other. You said you liked her, that you were interested. You're...attracted to her, aren't you?"

"Yes, she's a very attractive woman; that's certainly true," he mumbled. His hand slid further into her hair to massage her scalp and she closed her eyes.

"Mmm, that's nice. So, what's the problem, then? Coming on two years now we've been friends and no romance for poor Percy. Not even a single second date." She opened her eyes and squinted up at her. "This isn't still about Penny, is it? I thought you were done with that."

"Don't be absurd."

"So...." she trailed off.

Percy sighed and frowned. "You know my parents. And even as much as Mum never lets up on him, never gives the poor man a moment's peace, Dad adores her, and beyond that he really likes her."

"Oh, lovely. Mother issues," Hermione muttered.

He responded with a sharp tug of her hair and went on. "And he respects her, even when so many people wouldn't. I can't feel that way about Alex. There aren't many women I could feel that way about, really."

"Hmm. Well, I don't know about that, you misogynist. What's missing? She's a very nice woman."

"Oh, don't go reactionary feminist on me, please. She's lovely, and she's very pleasant. But there's just...she doesn't have much to her, really, does she? A perfect Ravenclaw - cool, analytical. Like Penny, really, though I never thought of that." He paused, lost in his own thoughts for a second before he shrugged and resumed. "And I suppose I like that just fine. But I want something a bit more. Busier. Messier, maybe."

"You? Mr. Don't Fold My Vests Like That?" Hermione asked, a cocked brow and a slight smirk twisting her face.

Another pull. "They're easier to find that way. Laundry is serious business, woman."

She giggled, and then paused. "Percy...are you...you're not gay, are you?"

He shouted with laughter. "Hermione!"

"Because it would be all right, you know! I mean, we could talk about it. It's not a big deal-"

He snorted through his laughter. "No, I'm not gay. Definitely like women. Really."

She grinned at him. "Well, I am Harry Potter's best friend. It's not like I haven't been through this before. He seems very happy with Malfoy, heaven knows why, but I'm sure he'd be happy to help you find a very nice, messy bloke."

He rolled his eyes. "You've met my brothers. I am overrun with messy blokes. Sorry, Hermione, but I'm afraid it's a woman for me."

"Mmm, or not, as the case may be. Just as well, I suppose - any woman you were with could surely not live up to your exacting standards." She smirked at him and arched a little to stretch her back, upsetting the glass of wine she'd mostly forgotten about.

She shot up and grabbed at the paper napkins strewn across the table, muttering apologies and dabbing at their wet clothes.

"Well, there's what messy gets you - a spotty couch and a soaked pair of trousers."

"Yes, I suppose it does," Percy said as he mopped at her jumper with a gentle smile.

Christmas Eve 2004

"Hermione? Oi, Hermione! Do you think you could help me here?" Percy called, allowing more irritation to creep into his voice than he'd intended.

She whipped around with apology written on her face, more tendrils escaping the knot of hair to fly around her cheeks which were flushed with the cold. Her striped scarf was askew and more than half her hair had now come loose and only two of her coat buttons was done up and there was a smudge of ink on the thigh of her camel trousers and oh was she lovely with that eager smile on her face.

"I'm sorry, Percy. I got a bit distracted. Look at them all, will you? All these trees that won't have a home for Christmas. It always makes me a little sad."

"Of course it does. A pity you can't knit hats and scarves for them, too, isn't it?" And poking at her had always been far too easy. "Well, the bit with the house elves didn't work out all that well, but perhaps you could come up with a lonely Christmas tree rescue organization. You and the other three people left pining for the pines."

When he was this close to laughing, one withering look from her was all it took to set him snickering, and once she rolled her eyes at him he was a bit lost to it.

"Fine, then. You needed my help with something?" She cocked her hip and her brow.

"Yes. Your assistance is invaluable, as is your impeccable judgment on all things relating to trees. Help me choose one, then, will you?"

~~~

A few hours later they were back at Percy's flat putting the finishing touches on what surely must be the saddest tree in Christendom. In punishment for his mockery Hermione had bullied him into choosing a pathetic, drooping Blue Spruce that looked better fit for kindling than merriment, arguing that if they didn't take it home nobody would. And she was right, as she usually was - once decorated with fairy lights and brightly colored bits of paper and glass, it was absolutely lovely.

The room glowed with the lights and the firelight and soft music played as Hermione shuffled back into the lounge, balancing a plate of gaily decorated Christmas cookies atop a shifting pile of packages. Percy hurried from his spot near the tree to help her, snatching a jam tart from the edges of the plate before he placed it on the low table.

"There, that's everything that your mother sent over. Hot chocolate and coffee are ready in the kitchen. Presents, then?" She was bouncing on the heels of her feet, as excited as he'd seen her in ages.

"You're feeling very spirited tonight, aren't you?" smiling at her before popping the last bit of the tart in his mouth.

"I'm happy. It's going to be a good Christmas, I think. Mum and Dad are home and I'm looking forward to spending the day with them and relaxing." She paused, smiling at him. "And the tree looks fantastic, which I knew it would. And you have strawberry jam on your face and crumbs down your jumper. So, yes. Very spirited."

He reddened, licking at the corners of his mouth and she laughed, reaching over to wipe the smear from the corner of his mouth with her thumb. He rolled his eyes at her and cleared his throat.

"So. Presents, then?"

They both settled down into the low couch, each pulling their own gifts onto their laps. She smiled at him and pushed her own package toward him. "You first."

That was just fine with Percy. He'd chosen something a little unusual for her. They usually gifted one another with books, but this year he'd found something for her that was a little bit different and he wasn't sure how she would take it. Especially as her gift for him was that usual small, rectangular shape he'd come to expect from her - another book, then.

It was a book - a catalog from an exhibit on the Vikings they had visited together some six weeks previous. His heart pounded a little harder, knowing that she remembered that day as he had and excited that they had chosen their gifts to commemorate the same event. That day he had taken her hand to lead her through a particularly dense bit of crowds. They'd held hands through the rest of the exhibit, even after the need for it had long passed, and he'd only reluctantly let go of her when they'd finished the last of the displays and stepped out into the cool autumn afternoon.

"Hermione...." he started, but he barely knew how to finish. "How thoughtful. This - this is fantastic. And perfect. Thank you."

He leaned over to brush a kiss over her cheek, but as she shyly ducked her head his lips grazed over her temple. Her bushy hair brushed softly over his face and she smelled like herbs and lemons and flowers. He couldn't resist it - he nuzzled his face into her hair, breathing deeply of her, and so he felt it when she quite suddenly went very, very still.

Her breath caught and held for a moment before she sighed, exhaling warm and soft across his throat, and her hand lifted from the cushion to rest tentatively on his thigh. She shifted her weight just a little to lean into him and he took great pain not to jostle her as he pulled free the arm that was pressed between them to wrap it around her. She felt warm and soft and so much more fragile than she really was as he buried his face in her hair, kissing her head and murmuring her name and his thanks. He held her there for long seconds, just feeling her, and he knew that she must be able to hear his heart pounding and it scared him. She was so still, her head still bowed, and he was so lost to his own rising panic that it came as a shock when he realized that that warm softness on his throat was no longer her breath but her mouth, her beautiful, sharp mouth pressing tender and tentative kisses across the skin left bare above his collar.

His breath caught and he pulled back, pausing for a moment to disentangle his spectacles from her hair. He turned to drop them on the couch behind him, and when he turned back she was looking at him with a small, shy smile lighting her face. The firelight and the lights from the tree cast shadows across the room, but she was still there, and she looked so happy.

"So...that's fine, then? I wasn't sure you...." He trailed off, not sure he really wanted to finish that sentence.

"No. I mean, yes, that was very nice. And just fine." She looked back at her lap and frowned a little, biting at her lip. "So...should I open this, then?"

"Oh. Yes, please do." He watched as she carefully peeled back the bright paper to reveal a small white box. She looked at him quizzically and opened the box, revealing a bright silver and amber brooch nestled in white cotton.

"Oh! Oh, Percy, it's so beautiful," she whispered, lifting the pin from it's box and cradling it in her hand. She traced the ornate silver knotwork with her ink-stained forefinger. "I wanted this. I can't believe you remembered. Thank you."

"The amber," he stopped, clearing his throat. "The amber is very much like you, I thought. The color of your eyes, I mean. And. Well. It's like you. All sticky and difficult and complicating to begin with but over time it becomes more resilient and beautiful and valuable." He made himself stop rambling. "I just...I wanted you to have it." She was still quiet, running her fingers over the shining strands of metal and examining it and he forced himself to just watch her. And wait.

And it was worth the wait, he thought, because when she lifted her face to look at him again she was just beaming, so beautiful in the firelight.

"Thank you,"she whispered again, as she leaned toward him to softly press her lips against his.

The kiss was soft and tentative to begin with, and the slightest bit sticky as he felt the most tenacious bit of jam in history lingering between them, but as he took her more firmly in his arms and she leaned against him, he sucked her bottom lip between his own and heard her whimper in response. He pulled back, watching her, but her eyes were still closed and she leaned toward him again to eagerly recapture his mouth, and he knew, he knew that there was more between them than he had thought, more even than he had hoped for.

She finally pulled back just slightly from the embrace, and her breath fell quick across his wet mouth as she leaned her forehead against his. "Oh, Percy. Merry Christmas," she whispered, and then she kissed him again.