“I didn’t give you a chance,” he murmurs in a tone that sounds torn between guilt and satisfaction.

Her foot hurts, which is common at night, and she has trouble putting her shoe back on. She is frustrated at various things by the time she does and snaps, “I didn’t need one. I’m not a child, Percy.”

“No, you’re not.” This time, his voice is soft and has traces of sadness, which make her look up at him. She’s only eighteen and feels decades older. She’s always been old for her age but the last year has forced her to grow up overnight. When she looks at him, she realizes that he sees her in a way few others ever have. He reaches out and brushes her hair off of her face. “You’re okay?”

He says it in a way that almost doesn’t sound like a question. She nods. “I’m fine,” she says, and her words are sincere. She’s sore and her skin still feels awkward, but she’ll be okay. She’s tougher than she looks, after all.

He accepts her words and drops his hand. She watches him pick up his robe and put it on, watches his long fingers elegantly fasten his necktie, and traces of the prissy Head Boy she once knew are finally visible as his stressful mission is complete. When he finishes, he looks at her. He hesitates a moment and then leans down to brush a gentle kiss against her swollen and torn lips.

“I need to go,” he tells her simply. He catches her gaze and almost smiles. “Take care of him, Miss Granger.”

When most people tell her that, they are thinking about Harry, the Savior, the one who will defeat Voldemort. She knows as she looks at Percy that Harry is the furthest thing from his mind. She thinks of Ron who hates Percy and curses him whenever his name is mentioned and wonders if he’ll ever know what Percy has gone through to help their cause. “I will,” she promises.

Percy removes his wand from his pocket and the alert suspicious nature slowly comes back as he prepares to reenter the real world. “Good-bye, Miss Granger. I assume there was a reason we met so I‘ll be in touch should I find anything else useful,” he tells her formally even as his gaze moves over her in a way that is far more intimate. “I trust that I have given you everything that you need this evening.”

With a slight bow, he walks away. She reaches up and traces her finger over the bite he left on her neck as she watches him leave. “Yes, you have,” she whispers softly, meaning far more than just the parchment safely put away in her pocket.