Epimetheus

Percy shouldn't have come.

None of them would want him here should they notice he was.

The memorial service had been months ago and he hadn't attended that. No body meant nothing to memorialise. One could not pay proper respects unless there were flesh and blood and bone before him. It was illogical and improper to memorialise ghosts in the wind, and Percy was anything but illogical and improper. Percy was rational and right and righteous, thus he had kept his distance three months prior.

Besides, Father, Ginny, George, and Charlie wanted nothing to do with him and Percy accepted that, pride in one hand and perseverance firmly grasped in the other.

Today was different. It was not a memorial service.

It was a funeral, complete with body and blame.

The body, however, was not complete.

The coffin was closed, more symbolic than anything. From what Percy had gathered thanks to an article stuffed in a small corner on page 13 1/4 B in The Daily Prophet, Mad-Eye Moody had uncovered three strands of ginger hair, the heel of a palm, and a singed, burnt wand hilt deep in the forest behind Hogwarts. A special Ministry office did the proper testing and confirmed these bits were all that was left of Ron. Barely anything left enough to fill a tinder box, yet there the plain coffin sat atop Stoatshead Hill.

Percy shouldn't have come.

Ron wouldn't have wanted him here.

...it could be very damaging to your future prospects, and I am talking here about life after school too.

Ron hadn't heeded his word. Percy had warned him. Percy had warned them all, and look where their loyalties to Potter had got them? Mother, Bill, Fred, and finally Ron. Dead.

He shouldn't have come, but he had anyway.

Percy stood a good distance away from the proceedings, his presence masked by a gnarled, twisting tree so old it likely had been a seedling the day man first sensed magic within himself. The sky overhead was grey and grim. Suitable, Percy thought, and when it began to rain Percy almost laughed. Catharsis, the purging of fear and pity. Not that he'd much to wash away. He had long been finished with fear and he never, ever pitied. People made their own beds and had to lie in them, much like people made their own graves and had to do the same.

"You've some nerve."

Starting, his glasses slipped a few notches down his nose while his hand automatically went for the hilt of his wand. Heel digging into the earth, moist and soft, Percy turned to see a gaunt face, dark hair, and an even darker look in eyes as green as the grass beneath their feet.

"Harry," he said evenly, greeting him curtly with a nod.

"I said, 'you've some nerve'." Harry took a step closer.

Percy flinched. "Why aren't you with them?" he asked, nodding toward the funerary tent across the way.

"They asked me to be."

That hadn't been what Percy had asked, though he wasn't annoyed by Harry's response. He was hurt, and that confused him. He had long ago written off his family. True, he had briefly, tentatively reconciled with some of them during Scrimgeor's first year in office by request of the Minister. However, the reconciliation had been short-lived and London continued to be the closest thing he would have to home. It had been Percy's decision, and Percy's decision alone, to sever ties to the Burrow. In the end it hadn't mattered much, had it? Mother and Father had taken to Ron's mate Harry Potter moreso than they had ever taken to the likes of him.

(That isn't true and you know it.)

"Lovely," Percy muttered, whirling back to the tree, pressing a cheek against it as he watched the proceedings. He could just make out a low noise that sounded like Father and see the way Ginny's shoulders wracked up and down. "My sister needs you," he said stiffly, and Harry snorted.

"I've done enough already."

Yes you have, Percy thought. Yes you have.

He had warned them. He'd been right. Not about Umbridge, not about Dumbledore, not about a lot of things. But Percy had been right where it mattered; he'd been right about Harry Potter.

"Aren't you going to say it?" Percy wondered what the 'it' was, but he hadn't time to ask as he quickly became distracted by Harry's breath in his ear and Harry's hands placed against the bark of the tree on either side of his head.

"Harry," Percy protested, wand tumbling from his fingers as Harry pressed him roughly against the tree.

"Say. It."

"I– I'm afraid I don't–" He didn't know what to do. He'd dropped his wand, his family - whom very likely wouldn't hear him (or be inclined to save him if they could) - was too far away, and Harry could hurt him very badly - or worse - and very easily if he wanted to do so (and Percy more than suspected he did).

"You do, Percy," Harry choked, and Percy could feel Harry's chest tight up against his back. "I read your letter. You knew. You knew."

But he hadn't known. At least, he hadn't known this would happen. He hadn't known there would be nothing left.

"No." Percy shook his head, bark roughing, burning the plain of his cheek.

"Yes."

"L-leave off." Swallowing down the large lump that had risen in his throat, Percy budged a foot back, trying to gain some leverage. He shouldn't have come.

Harry ignored him, pressing closer to Percy still, his groin thrust up against Percy's backside. "You shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be here."

No, Percy agreed silently, I shouldn't be here. But he was, and so was Harry, and his body shouldn't be doing what it was doing all of sudden because it was all off and illogical and improper. It was Wrong.

It was wrong, and Percy ground his teeth together, flattening himself as best he could against the tree. That didn't help matters much; his body behaved of its own accord and Percy felt utterly, entirely, completely ashamed for the first time in his life. Digging the balls of his feet in, Percy bucked backwards. Though Harry's hands remained on either side of his head, his torso bowed back, and Percy twisted round in between the confines of Harry's arms.
"Say it," Harry said again, thrusting back. The back of Percy's head hit the tree sharply and he grunted as the tent in Harry's trousers ground against his. Percy grunted and screwed his eyes shut, wishing he'd had the foresight to simply avoid the whole affair as he'd done with all the previous ones.

Percy couldn't say 'it', wouldn't say 'it', and he wanted Harry to cease speaking, cease doing this, cease existing. If only Mother hadn't helped Harry at Kings Cross all those years ago.... Fisting his hands in Harry's robes, Percy dug his thumbs in soft indentations just below Harry's collar bone, thinking this would be the end of things. Harry would yelp and back off, Percy would take up his felled wand and Apparate, and they could both forget this and move on. At least, they could move on.

That was illogical thinking, actually, and the beginning of the end. Harry groaned, pressing his mouth against Percy's cheek, the sound wet and muffled against his skin. Percy abruptly forgot where they were, what propriety was and why he had always held his own in such high regard. His hands went slack, the fabric of Harry's jumper going free, and then he slid his hands down, down, farther down until – This isn't right; he'll pummel me, I know it. – his fingers wedged between Harry's skin and the waistband of his trousers. Harry didn't pummel him, though he did hiss a sharp intake of breath. Percy thrust his hand down beneath Harry's pants and wrapped a loose ring of fingers around him.

"Always knew you were a– oh–" Harry moaned, a low, keening sound, and Percy could feel Harry's cock twitch in his hands as he arched his own hips in and up against Harry's thigh. "Justlikethatyes–"

Percy's mouth fell open, breath thundering out, lungs contracting almost violently, and his head fell forward, pressing against Harry's. Between them he could Harry's cock, a loud angry red, its foreskin pushed back to reveal the shining head. Unable to stop himself, Percy swiped his thumb over it, flicking the slit, and Harry cursed. Harry cursed, Percy flushed, and he ground his palm against Harry's length.

"Fucking– traitorous– fuck," Harry rasped, his breathing just as erratic and quick as Percy's. Out of the corner of his eyes, Percy could see Harry's arms tremble, see pinks and reds blooming beneath his skin. Percy tightened his fingers, tugging roughly, so roughly he could hear wet smacking sounds above their pants and groans.

As Percy bit down hard on his bottom lip and rolled his hips against Harry's, a raw, guttural sound ripped forth from Harry's chest. The sound went right through Percy; he gasped and came in his trousers, wet sticky warmth spreading. Percy barely had enough time to register the warmth against his groin before Harry's cock began to pulse under his fingers, release spilling over them.

Carefully, cautiously Percy extracted his hand, righting his glasses with his free one. Harry didn't say a word, just mutely rearranged the front of his trousers, flicking his wand at the both of them to clean up the mess, his mouth set in a dangerously thin line.

-CRACK!- -CRACK!- -CRACK!- -CRACK!-

From somewhere behind them were the familiar sounds of Apparition. They were alone now. Ron, what had been left of him, had been buried.

Silence, and then:

"I've done enough," Harry choked and next, a -CRACK!-. He, too, was gone.

Crouching down, Percy retrieved his wand, staring at the contrast of the dark wand against his pale fingers. He straightened, slumping against the tree.

Percy shouldn't have come.

Now there truly was nothing left.