A/N This was incredibly fun to write. I've never done Percy before, but I think I might be writing more of him. This was written for the Crack Pairing/Potion Ingredient Challenge by Screaming Faeries with Percy Weasley & Fleur Delacour with pomegranate juice.
She would never notice him. Her wedding was tomorrow, after all, and she was getting married to none other than his own kin. He knew very well how wrong it was, but he was able to justify it to himself by saying that he was only looking, of course, and he hardly counted in that family anyway.
They were at the Ministry, because it would hardly be acceptable for him to watch her anywhere else. Her reason for being there did, admittedly, put a damper on things. But he was only looking.
She was there to inform the Ministry of her impending marriage. He knew that. He knew everything about her, from her fondness for swans to her hatred of his old haircut. He'd changed it the second he'd found out, but she hadn't noticed. She never noticed.
When he heard she was at the Ministry, he'd immediately headed for the lobby, desperate to have at least one glance at her left hand unmarred by a wedding band. As he looked, he could almost pretend her engagement ring wasn't there, so exactly did it match the creamy tone of her skin. She was alone as he walked behind her, keeping his distance to avoid being seen. It wasn't wise of her, not now, he knew, but he couldn't help feeling the swoop of joy in his stomach that there was no future husband, no brother, to catch him in this act of familial betrayal.
He watched as her beautiful, white-blonde hair swayed slightly across her back while she walked. He watched as she studied the map, deciding which floor she would need to visit in order to finish her business. He watched her summon the lift.
No, no, no! She was too far ahead of him. The grilles of the lift would surely close before he could reach her if he kept up at this pace. The thought of wasting just a moment of his precious time with her was so horrendous, he started jogging toward the lift. The doors were almost shut, he was almost too late-but at the last moment, she caught sight of him, noticed him, and waited. With a small murmur of thanks, he slipped into the lift.
"Your floor?" The question startled him out of his attempt to watch her without actually looking, and he jumped. Pushing his glasses, which had slipped, back up his nose, he struggled to find an answer.
"Oh, er, I was just... same as you, I suppose," he finished lamely, the back of his neck bright red. She was headed to a level three away from his own destination, but it didn't matter. He would see her through the entirety of her visit, whether she was aware of him or not.
And how aware she was of him at this moment! It was both terrifying and exhilarating at once that she was finally noticing him in this lift, this compressed space with it's tiny vents and paper memos flapping above them, relieving the silence a bit.
"Have you ever tried pomegranate juice?" In his effort to shift away the awkwardness, he had managed to come up with the strangest question he'd ever asked anyone.
After a brief moment of wondrous confusion, she answered. "No, I don't think so."
"You should." No, what are you doing? he asked himself. Don't give her an order, it will just give her more reason to hate you than her fiancé undoubtedly already has.
She didn't answer, didn't grace him with another word from her lips. Silently cursing himself, he willed the lift to break down, the Ministry to be attacked, for something, anything to happen and give him an excuse to show her that he truly wasn't as evil as his family had surely made him out to be. But it didn't. The grilles opened once more, and the two of them stepped out. He made sure to let her walk into the corridor before him, but she had barely paid him any attention.
"I suppose you're going to the contracts office?" The words slipped out before he could throw them away. She stopped and turned around, a doubtful look on her face.
"I would be, if I knew where it was." Here it was, the chance he had been waiting for. He snatched it with both hands.
"I could walk you there, if you like. It's on my way," he added when she looked apprehensive.
"That's very nice of you," she said. He started walking, going as slowly as he dared, attempting to stuff as many minutes with her into his day as he could get.
She smelled like vanilla. French vanilla. It was only fitting, he supposed, keeping as close to her as he could without letting his arm brush hers. He was taller than her, but only barely, and she would have towered over him had she been wearing anything other than worn-out flats on her feet. It was nice to have someone he couldn't look down on for once, he thought.
Too soon, they reached the correct door. He was tempted to walk right past it, say he'd gotten lost if she noticed they'd been walking for too long, become the hero as he wound his way through the maze that was the Ministry of Magic-but he didn't. He wasn't brave enough to have a conversation with her, let alone lie directly to her face.
"Here you are," he said.
"Thank you." They stood there for a moment as he opened the door for her. Just as she was about to walk inside, she paused. "Would you like to come in with me?"
His heart nearly stopped. He hadn't been expecting this, would never have guessed she'd offer something so valuable as her time to him. But her smile was inviting, and how could he possibly refuse?
"Er, all right," was what he told her as he followed her into the office and shut the door behind them. She sauntered up to the lone desk in the room, behind which a short and dumpy woman with graying hair sat, enchanting a spare memo to do tricks in the air.
"Hello," the woman said. "Here for your marriage contract?"
"Yes, thank you," she responded.
The woman handed her a small piece of paper. "You two look beautiful together."
His neck flamed again. "Oh, no, we're not, it isn't, you've got-"
But she only laughed and tossed her blonde hair behind her shoulder. "It isn't him I'm marrying, though you are close."
"Well, in any case," the woman said, and waved her away. "Come back when you've signed the thing."
He wasn't sure that was the correct protocol, but it didn't really matter. What was he going to do now? He couldn't just follow her back into the lobby, could he? She thought his destination had been this level. The following minute they spent walking in silence would be his last contact with her for the day, perhaps for the year, or his life. Who knew these days?
They reached the lift faster than he could ever have flown on a broomstick, it seemed. Far too quickly, he was waiting with her by the lift, having mutely insisted on accompanying her at least this far. Less than twenty seconds later, the grilles opened. This was it, he thought, his heart beginning to pound faster again, this would be his last glimpse of her.
Just before she stepped into the small box, which was empty again but for two memos, she stepped forward and lightly kissed him on the cheek. The spot where her lips had touched him burned, surely searing a scar that would remain until the end of time itself.
"Thank you, Percy," she said, as the grilles slammed shut with a final clang. The lift shuddered, and then began to move. The box was nearly out of sight when he spoke to her, and when he did, his voice was hardly above a whisper.
"Thank you, Fleur."