The Ballroom at Midnight

3.1.06-4.1.06

prompt: the ballroom at midnight 1/7

He told her he was going to be Minister for Magic one day. He had his head in her lap and she was stroking his hair and the words just spilled from his mouth before he had a chance to consider them.

"I expect you will," she murmured, twining short locks of red hair in her fingers.

It was very easy to talk to her, especially at night when things were dark and hushed, and there was no silliness and shouting around them. Percy lay stretched out on one of the Gryffindor benches in the Great Hall, staring up at the ceiling, all glowing stars and burnt orange comets.

He could imagine falling asleep like that, with his head in Penelope's lap and the starry sky above them. Of course he wouldn't, but the thought was not unpleasant.

...

Whispers and rumors spread before anyone had the chance to confirm them or deny them, hopefully deny them and say they were silly and unfounded and really, spreading rumors was tasteless and distracting.

A double attack, Muggleborns of course, one of them a prefect. A Ravenclaw prefect and it was as if someone had dumped him in a pool of ice cold water and wasn't letting him up to breathe.

He couldn't breathe, his chest was constricting and he was scrabbling for air. He thought he'd be rooted to the spot, but his feet were taking him somewhere and before he knew it, he was running. He could feel his footsteps pounding in his ears and if it was her-

If it was her-

He skidded into the hospital wing and was dimly aware of indignant shouting, but he had remembered to breathe again and the throbbing pounding wasn't going away, and it couldn't be her, that didn't make any sense, she was a prefect and it couldn't be her, it couldn't be her, it-

Everything stopped.

Sharp blinding focus.

She lay in bed, dark curly hair fanned out on the pillow, her face a frozen mixture of terror and shock.

His breath sounded very loud in his ears.

Someone was standing next to him, murmuring, murmuring, and maybe it was sympathetic and consoling, but he couldn't make out the words.

He tried to reach for her, but his arms didn't seem to want to move.

The person next to him was speaking again, something about returning to his common room, further announcements would be made then and the words drifted in and out, throbbing pounding in his ears, in his head, louder and louder.

He didn't remember how he made it back to the common room.

...

"I'm going to be an administrator, perhaps at Saint Mungo's," Penelope told him with a quiet sort of confidence. "I'll manage a wing first and move up from there."

"Yes," he echoed her words back, "I expect you will."

She lay back against him, his arms around her waist, and she entwined her fingers in his. Perhaps they should have gone back to their common rooms, it was the logical thing to do what with the recent attacks, but the Great Hall was dark and silent, broken up by the soft pattering of rain on the ceiling.

"Is there a bit of money to be found in administering?" Percy murmured sleepily into her hair. Not that the answer really mattered, but if they were talking, they weren't yet parting ways. He wasn't quite ready for that.

"Oh, quite." She squeezed his hand. He had told her about his family. "Mm, I expect I'll be quite wealthy."

"Really?"

"No." She smiled into the darkness and closed her eyes. "No, but I won't be hungry either."

He stifled a yawn. He wasn't ready to leave. "That's very nice."

She twisted around to face him, peered at tired eyes through his glasses. "You're half asleep, aren't you?"

"No." He shook his head. "Of course not."

"Yes, you are." She pressed her lips against his.

...

The Head of House was talking, clipped Scottish tones stunning the room into silence. New rules were in place, all very strict and exacting, and if the culprit wasn't caught soon...

Percy didn't catch all of it. The words rolled over his head and were drowned out by the dull roaring in his ears. He stared down at the floor, at the carpet, thick red woven with shiny gold strands.

He thought he heard one of his brothers speaking to him. Or maybe speaking about him. He didn't look up. If it was important, they'd repeat it.

They didn't and he continued to stare at the carpet, catching little spots where years of usage had worn the threads dull and flat.

It wasn't right.

It couldn't be right.

Why her?

...

"I'm going to take you to the cinema this summer," she told him breathlessly, whispering into the silence. She smoothed down the front of her robes and ran fingers through tangled hair.

"Muggle entertainment?" His hand wandered over the Ravenclaw table, searching for his glasses. When they were in place, he turned to look at her. Her curly hair seemed to glow faintly in the moonlight on the ceiling.

"You'll like it. We'll have Muggle sweets and I'll pick a film that's as loud as it is pointless." She straightened the crimson and gold badge pinned to the front of his robes, then wrapped her arms around his neck. "Your hair..."

He stopped, midway to her lips. "What about it?"

"It's a nest."

A smile played at the corners of his mouth. "It always is when I wake up."

Her nose brushed against his. "But we haven't been sleeping."

"No." He kissed her. "No, I suppose we haven't."

It had seemed pointless to straighten their robes to begin with.

...

He stood alone in the Great Hall at midnight, the room dark and still, quiet save for the faint rumbling of thunder on the ceiling.

He should have been back in the common room. Or patrolling the hallways with another prefect, the now preferred way of doing things.

The monster didn't want him. It had made a habit of attacking only Muggleborns.

He was safe.

He could walk quite alone and still be safe.

His mouth twisted into a bitter sort of smile.