Boy-Man

by Nanami404

When Percy Weasley can't sleep, he goes to the only one who can help him - his littlest brother, a slumbering Harry Potter. Short and in Percy's POV. Could be considered Chimaeraverse, but no extra reading required (although "A Birthday in Bed" might be a wee bit helpful). Rated T for one swear.

A/N: Harry Potter and Percy Weasley are products of my own imagination, as are Fred, George and Bill Weasley.*

Slowly, steadily, consciousness returned to me. I blinked and rolled onto my side, the crickets chirping outside and the darkness enveloping me making me wonder why I was up at this odd hour. A snore rent the air and I started. Why wasn't I alone? Who, pray tell, had snuck into my bedroom and fallen asleep?

Then it hit me, and it hit me hard.

The war was over.

Fred was dead.

The explosion still rang in my ears even now, three weeks later, as if that moment were on loop, as if the battle were still raging just outside George's door. Finding myself unable to fall back asleep, I shifted, silent as a mouse, out from under the covers and through the door left ever so slightly ajar. Foot by foot I descended the stairs, desperate not to wake any of the ten other occupants in the creaky old tower I called my home. I stopped at the third door on the right off the first-floor landing – also conveniently ajar – and pushed it open. It creaked slightly, but no noise came from within, save for the soft, gentle breaths of the boy-man in what was once my bed, the boy-man who had seen things but who seemed smaller and more fragile than ever. The moonlight shone through the window, illuminating the mess of black hair atop his head. His features were peaceful in slumber, graced with a small smile.

I had come here just to watch this miracle of all miracles occur before my very eyes. The boy-man's magical peals of laughter were capable of lifting one's spirits, his heart-wrenching tears enough to make even I, the most controlled of all my siblings, want to, as the eldest of us would say, "club a bitch." So it came as no surprise that, a few minutes into watching him mumble gibberish in his sleep, I found my own eyes starting to droop. Smiling to myself, I tiptoed back up to George's and my room and curled back into what was once my now-late little brother's bed.

I was asleep the moment my head hit the pillow.

A/N: *Okay…maybe they aren't. Phooey.