InsaneJournal

Always the Practical One


“When he hangs over the cauldrons like that, it’s a wonder our potions don’t explode from excess grease.”

“That’s not even possible, not with anything we ever make,” said Percy, always the practical one.

“It’s . . . Percy, it’s a joke. J-O-K-E, a noun meaning something funny. Get over yourself, why don’t you?”

He shrugged slightly. “I just don’t think it’s funny to joke about people’s appearance. I’ve got red hair, freckles, and glasses, and I’m all gangly. My eyes are the color of vomit.”

“They are?” said Wood, leaning across the gap between their chairs. “They are!” he started laughing in his half-chuckle, half-giggle that Percy found so odd.

“Anyway,” said Percy, rolling his eyes.

“It’s Snape’s fault—” started Katie.

“Professor Snape.”

She said even more pronouncedly, “—Snape’s fault that he looks the way he does.”

“You know, Katie? Sometimes there are things far more important than appearance.”

She just stared at him.

“Like athletic ability,” said Wood with a slight nod.

“Like brains,” said Percy.

“Well that should be no problem for Snape—in fact, sometimes he’s a bit too smart.”

Percy sighed. Why did he even try? His friends were just so superficial.

It was precisely that conversation, one in a long line of similar ones about Snape, that made him realize that he was one of the very few that stuck up for the professor. Snape was his teacher, was a teacher of all the students at Hogwarts from years one through five (and even past that for the N.E.W.T. level classes). Couldn’t anyone else see through his evil façade? Percy certainly could. But then again, Percy felt like there was a lot he could see in the world that others were incapable of seeing.



Graduation came, and with it the pang of realization that he would never be anything special to Snape, would always be another face in the crowd. He didn’t mention that to anyone—no one would understand it, really, he didn’t think. So time went on.

At the Yule Ball, looking smart in new navy dress robes, he stepped out to get a bit of air. He was an introvert by nature, after all, and it was a lot of people even by Hogwarts standards. It amused him to see Snape blasting apart rosebushes. If there were any indication that the man was in no way a romantic, it should have been that.

“Evening, Professor,” he said with a smile, feeling it was safe to approach him because of the gleeful tone of voice he was using to yell at the students and take points. He held out his hand.

Professor Snape turned to look at him and pocketed his wand. “Good evening, Mr. Weasley.” He looked as if he were going to shake the hand, but frowned distastefully instead, crossing his arms.

“I’m here in Barty Crouch’s stead,” said Percy proudly.

Snape just stared at him blankly, then apparently realizing this was supposed to be a positive thing, made a low, noncommittal sound.

Percy’s expression threatened to droop a little, but he stubbornly held it in place. “Doing alright, then?”

He got a suspicious glance for the query, and then Snape looked at the surrounding shrubbery again, eyes calculating, searching. Percy thought that if Snape were an animal, his ears would have perked. “As fine as ever.”

“I’m doing great as well. First set of dress robes,” he said, smoothing them down over himself, knowing he was babbling a little. “Too busy in there, too loud, after a while. I’m catching some fresh air.”

“As long as you are not catching a snog.” He had been peering at a bush near them for some time, and now blasted it apart.

Percy ignored that Snape was telling him whether or not to snog someone. “Is someone going to be angry about the bushes? Professor Sprout or Professor Hagrid?”

Snape stared at him again. “I fail to see where that is my concern.”

Percy just smiled at him. “Well, anyway.” He turned and moved back toward the castle, feeling refreshed, and just a bit more pompous. He’d had a conversation, a real, live conversation with Snape. Not that he would ever brag about it, mind you, as he’d find himself teased, more than likely.



Before he knew it, he’d severed all ties with his family in his pursuit of greatness. All ties. Sometimes he’d wake up in the middle of the night and think, Percy, Percy, Percy . . . what have you done? Then he would spend a moment convincing himself, whether through logic or repetition (it depended on the night), that it was his family’s fault, all of it, for being so gullible, that he’d had to have left for the good of his future and his sanity. He’d discovered long ago that If he couldn’t be right about everything, he’d much rather be sure of himself in all things. He couldn’t stand wishy-washiness, waffling. Being stubbornly set to believe what he would believe reminded him of Snape. He liked that fact.

There was a point in Percy’s life where he felt like the lowest of the lowest of lows, and just wanted, well, a strong, fatherly hand on his shoulder, or a quick, motherly embrace to tie him over in his lonelier days. He hadn’t been with Penelope for a long time. She’d dumped him while he was still working under Crouch, just before the Yule Ball. He’d had no time to procure a suitable date and therefore had gone alone.

He was at his peak of loneliness when the Ministry was taken over by the Death Eaters, by a Lord Voldemort who was never supposed to have come back, much less gain power. Percy’s new job would have made him sick to his stomach, had it not been for one man and one man alone: Snape.

He held in his hands a letter from Umbridge explaining his role in the big grand scheme of things. He was nearly shaking as he was led into the school and allowed the password to Dumbledore’s old office. He soon stood, staring at Snape.

Snape nodded to the chair in front of his desk. Percy stood in front of it, reaching to shake his hand before he sat down. This time it was returned, albeit reluctantly. Percy offered a wavering smile. This was most definitely not returned—Professor Snape did not smile.

Percy handed Snape the letter. “If you’ll look here, Headmaster Snape, you will see that I am to,” he swallowed, “inquire you about all the students’ bloodlines and about how things are being done here at this school.”

“I can read.”

Percy shut up, waiting for Snape to say something.

“You’ve heard things about how Hogwarts is running nowadays?” he said, voice suddenly soft.

He straightened his glasses. “A bit, Sir.”

“This is Hogwarts’ darkest hour.” Snape glanced up at the portraits of sleeping headmasters and headmistresses within his sight.

Percy had no idea to respond, and didn’t even know if a response was required. If Snape seemed so upset, why didn’t he take up the reins? He was Headmaster after all, wasn’t he?

It was in that moment Percy decided Snape must know Legilimency. Unfortunate, for he in no way knew Occlumency. “Do you see this?” said Snape, peeling back the sleeve of his robes. A skull stared at him, and a winding snake. He recoiled. “You’re disgusted,” said Snape, sounding amused. He did not lower his sleeve. He sounded smug.

“I don’t like snakes much, Sir,” said Percy, cringing as he tried to regain control of himself.

Snape raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, covering the snake and the skull back up. “The point is,” he said slowly, as if he were speaking from far away, “that in youth we are all stupid and irrational.”

Percy suddenly wanted to kiss him. Snape seemed to jump when he met Percy’s eyes, obviously sensing the desire. “I knew you were good,” he whispered, tears seeming to come out of nowhere to cloud his vision. He almost pulled the handkerchief out from his robes pocket, but was unsure if he’d need it or not. His voice cracked a little.

“It’s not for anyone else’s ears,” said Snape quietly.

“Why mine?”

“You’re the only Weasley who can keep a secret.”

He gave a soft chuckle. It was more or less true. “I might as well not be a Weasley anymore,” he added as an afterthought. “Split with the family over politics.”

“You don’t know your family very well, then, do you?” he smirked a damnable smirk.

“What?”

Snape just laughed, a rich, low laugh that Percy was sure hardly anyone had ever heard. “I assume you’re afraid of them holding a grudge?”

“I said some horrible things. What’s so funny?” Snape just laughed a little more.



“I assume the information you received last time was satisfactory?”

Percy nodded.

“Grand. Whiskey, Weasley?”

Percy shook his head.

Snape just poured more for himself. “You heard about your sister, I suppose.”

Percy nodded slowly. He felt very uncomfortable talking about his family like this, but at least it was Snape and not someone he actually knew.

“Brave.”

“Yes, she is,” said Percy hesitantly.

“I’m sure your brother’s out who-knows-where with Harry Potter, avoiding the Death Eaters alongside Miss Granger.”

“Yeah . . . .” his weakness was his two younger siblings. “Enough about them, though,” he said in a tone more stern than he’d ever used with Snape. Snape’s eyes met his and he looked very surprised.

“Of course, of course. What would you have us talk about, Mr. Weasley?”

“You could call me Percy for a start.”

An eyebrow raised.

“Percival?”

“Fine,” Snape waved off the request with a hand. “I trust you’ll not call me Severus.”

“No, Sir, I won’t.” He seemed to relax now that Snape wouldn’t keep calling him Weasley.

“One of Albus’s middle names was Percival.”

Percy looked up. He hadn’t wanted to broach the subject of the old headmaster.

“He made me kill him.”

There was a pause, and then Percy pulled out his roster of the students and listened to what Snape had to say about each one’s bloodline. He knew it made Snape feel just as ill deep down.



“You know more about me than anyone else alive.” What a greeting.

Percy did not move, just stared at him, not knowing what he meant by saying it.

“Just an observation.”

“Yeah . . . .”

“You’re one of the best former students I ever had.”

“Sir?”

“You remind me of myself when I was younger.”

“Yes, like we talked about on the first day?”

Snape just went on. “You desire me.”

Percy gulped. “Well, sir—”

“We are both lonely.”

Percy just stared. Snape, lonely? He’d thought so, but to hear him say it . . . .

“I like red hair. A lot. On the right person.”

Percy nervously adjusted his glasses. He was the right person? How utterly bizarre. “So . . . you have a bed, Professor?”

A wordless “come here” gesture that he was loathe to ignore or disobey. He thought, for a startling moment, that he might have followed Snape anywhere.

The headmaster’s suite had a small bed, but the lines on the floor indicated a much larger one had been there before. Snape made the bed a little larger, bedding and all, but Percy thought he saw a hint of sadness. Maybe the other bed had disappeared because it reminded Snape of Dumbledore?

A slow slide of clothing. Then Snape slid onto the bed, and it amazed Percy how the stern robes seemed to have attributed so much to the stern man Snape usually was. Now he seemed quiet and flexible and forgiving. Percy was practically salivating at the idea of a Snape that was so special and hidden, and now so utterly his.

Snape was strewn across the bedclothes. He was laid out like some flower that was Percy’s for the picking. So, naturally, Percy had to pick him. He lost all sense of decorum at that point, really, Percy, and grasped the dark hair at the back of Snape’s head so he could lean in and nip at his oddly pink lower lip. He made a sort of growl low in his throat. “I’m going to take you so hard that you will never move again,” said Percy quietly, “And then Voldemort will give up on you and you’ll be free.” It was quite possibly the most romantic thing he’d ever said.

“Only if I get to ride you until you’re a Weasley again,” said Snape in a dangerous, growling tone of his own.

So it was a fight for dominance, a surprisingly short one. Snape seemed so utterly tired of life in general, and so needy for Percy’s affections. He probably didn’t have the strength to make good on his threat to ride Percy to completion. Percy would just have to make all the movement for him.

Just as he looked into glittering, black eyes and mentally debated trying to find some lube or not, Snape said, “In the drawer,” in a surprisingly husky tone. Percy did not hesitate, moving to the bedside table to draw out some lube.

“Seduce old students often, Snape?”

“That was hardly a seduction.”

Percy smiled, closing the drawer to the bedside table and getting back onto the bed. “Really, did you have someone in here?” he noted that the nozzle had overflowed a bit and left residue in the cap.

Snape looked at the nozzle too, seeing now why Percy had asked such a question.

“You really want to know?” he seemed to purr.

Percy squeezed some into his hand, nodding after a moment’s pause.

“I was very much alone, rest assured.” Percy did actually seem to look a bit relieved. “I was considering this,” he said, gesturing between them.

Percy just stared, a drop of lube falling from the nozzle and hitting the bedspread. His mouth was open slightly, and his glasses were about to slip. Snape moved forward and pushed the glasses back up onto his face. Percy made a sound that could only be called a whimper.

“I think I’ve fallen in love with you. Bastard,” he muttered affectionately. Snape looked utterly too pleased with himself at that admission. Percy would just have to make sure he was even more pleased with him.

“How long has it been?” he asked.

“You don’t want to know,” he said dryly. Snape’s sarcasm really did have no bounds, it seemed. Percy just smiled and moved a slick finger downward.

“You look good like this,” said Percy. He didn’t mention the image he had of a little, white blossom.

“There is no Ministry regulation requiring you to talk, is there?” a quirk of the lip.

“If I don’t keep talking, how will I know once you’ve reached incoherency?”

A shocked glance, then a leer. But all Snape could do was groan as a second finger breached him. Percy drew them in an out, scissoring to widen the entrance.

“Is that good enough? No don’t look at me like that . . . . Fine, here, one last finger.” Finally Snape deemed it enough, and Percy was slipping into him. Tightest blossom ever, really. He groaned.

Snape made no sound, but his eyes were lit with a feral sort of lust. Percy pulled out some, and pushed in even farther than he’d been. He continued in this pattern until he was all the way inside and just held Snape for a moment.

Snape scowled, but allowed it so long as Percy would move soon. And move Percy did. He began to thrust into Snape with harder thrusts than he’d ever used in his lifetime. Snape moaned, actually moaned and Percy shivered at the sound. Snape was stuck holding his own legs folded up against himself, gripping at them with each new thrust.

“Geez, who . . . on earth . . . told you . . . could . . . could . . . .” . . . be this tight, his mind finished.

“In . . . coherence,” grinned Snape from beneath him. Percy laughed as much as he could through his harsh breathing. He reached down and grasped Snape’s shaft, stroking it as roughly as he was thrusting into him, to a withering glare from the man.

“Fine.” Percy slowed his thrusts down.

Snape shook his head. “No!”

Percy grinned. Then he thrust hard and fast, and stroked at him nicely and sweetly. Snape didn’t stand a chance. He came, whining, “Percival,” and if that wasn’t the most amazing way he’d heard anyone say Percival, he had an appallingly terrible memory.

He gave into the contractions around him, emptying himself deep inside this man, this blossom. He didn’t even know what name he shouted. He caught his breath and pulled out.

“Told you not to,” said Snape, eyes closing as he rolled onto his side, straightening his legs with a pained look at first, massaging and stretching them for a moment.

Percy frowned. “Not to what?”

“Not to call me Severus.” He was smiling, though.

“In other words, you love me too.”

His eyes blinked open. “What?”

“Yeah, I get it.” He just smiled and spooned behind him. “We have to do work eventually, you know.”

“All work and no play . . . .”

“You don’t call this play, Snape?”

Snape laughed softly.



“And we’re all going to sit together in the section for Fred,” said Mr. Weasley. “It’d mean a lot to your mother.”

“I can’t,” said Percy, fumbling with his black dress robes.

“What do you mean you can’t?” said George in a dangerous tone.

“I’m going! Don’t worry. I’ll just be sitting in another section.”

“Dare I ask who?” said Bill.

“No, you don’t dare.” But they all looked at him expectantly. “You can’t laugh.”

“We promise, Percy,” said Charlie, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Okay . . . I have to sit in the section for Snape.”

Ron guffawed and George snickered, but then the laughter died down and everyone just stared at Percy, whose color rose.

“Look, you don’t know anything about it!”

“They’re just shocked, is all,” said Charlie.

“We all are,” said Bill.

Ron let another small titter out and Percy rounded on him. “Shut up!” There was a stunned sort of silence, and then Percy went on. “He told me to try and mend things between all of us. And . . . and . . . those memories used to clear his name? I saw them before anyone else did, even Harry. I’d seen Snape laugh, and seen him cry, and heard him say ‘I love you.’ So think before you laugh, because you probably don’t know anything about it!” He was absolutely furious. Besides Percy’s, there was not a face that was not completely shocked.

“I’m sorry, Percy,” said George solemnly.

“Yeah, sorry,” said Ron, ears reddening just like his father’s did at times.

Mr. Weasley placed a strong, fatherly hand on his shoulder and he fought the impulse to weep.



“You must have really cared about him,” said Bill.

Percy just bowed his head, clutching a black rose. He placed it on the grave. “The rose . . . it’s an inside joke.”

Bill raised an eyebrow, but motioned for him to go on.

“During the Yule Ball he was blasting apart rosebushes to take points from snogging couples.” He chuckled softly at the memory. “I asked him if Hagrid or Sprout or someone would be mad, and he said that wasn’t his concern. I thought he would have,” he felt his throat constrict, “would’ve enjoyed the irony.”

Bill nodded thoughtfully. “You’re a clever one, aren’t you, Perce?”

Percy shoved his hands into the pockets of his robe with a smile that was the essence of bitter-sweet.