Percy's room was small, like every room in the Burrow, but it was neatly organized, aside from the mess of papers on his desk and a small stack of textbooks in one corner. It smelled faintly of cologne. He had a large area-carpet covering most of the floor, a decent-sized bed with smooth, blue, tucked-in sheets (aside from the one corner he got in and out of), with a nice wooden bed frame, and a closet hung with neatly pressed robes. She didn't know how long it'd taken him to collect these things. There was an owl cage there too, on a stand by the window, but its occupant - Hermes - seemed to be out for the night.

It all felt familiar to her. It was like her room at home. Yet upon looking over his things, Hermione couldn't help but feel contempt for it. It was all so intentional. It was like he was trying so hard to show how different he was from the rest of the family, that it came off as farcical and pathetic. Honestly. What was he trying to prove? Did he think Mr. and Mrs. Weasley doubted of him? Was he forcing himself through his studies, just to prove he could do it?

She went over to the desk. The sense of trespass grew. Percy would be enraged to find her here. But she'd known the Weasley family for years… if he got mad at her, it was his own damn fault. He shouldn't have kept his door open. And he if he grabbed her, and became furious… desire rekindled in her core. Maybe that'd be a good thing.

Still waiting, she went to explore the desk. Aside from papers, it held a standard size, pewter cauldron, a wiry clamp-looking instrument (which had to have been a thickness gauge), quills and an inkwell, several technical books, and… an old copy of a thank-you note, addressed to the Norwegian Department of Magical Agriculture.

She snorted. Idiot Percy. He must've brought it out after the news earlier and had been stewing in embarrassment ever since. Several of the lines were savagely crossed out in splattered ink. Absolute bellend.

"Hermione?"

She whirled around, tucking her arms into her armpits to show she hadn't touched anything. Percy stood in the doorway, eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. He actually had sort of a pretty-boy face, she thought, in this lighting - narrow, angular, but adorned with those horn-rimmed glasses he favored instead of a personality.

"What are you doing?" he said. "You should be in bed."

"I'll be wherever I like, thanks."

It came out snappier than she'd intended, but she stuck with it.

"Well not in my room, you won't."

He came in. Her heart beat in her chest.

"If you didn't want me in," she said, as he diverted toward his desk, "you ought to have closed your door. Besides, you were taking an age in the bathroom. What else was I to do?"

He rolled his eyes and ignored her, looking at his cauldron report.

"What took you so long in there, anyway?" she went on, voice shaky. She was so tired of being brushed off. "Having a wank, were you?"

He gaped at her.

"Hermione! That's completely inappropriate."

"Yeah?" she said, sniffing. "Well what were you doing, then?"

Idiot question, she thought.

"Hold on," said Percy, getting a look at her face. Avoiding his gaze she looked down, inadvertently looking at the lump in his briefs.

"Have you been crying?"

"That's really none of your business," she said, cheeks turning warm. "You don't just ask a girl if she's been crying. Talk about inappropriate."

He came nearer, and her heart beat faster.

"You okay?"

"As if you care."

"What's that mean?" he said, irritation creeping in.

"Well Percy," she said, forcing herself to look at him, "when someone cares about others, they tend to be interested in them, don't they? They spend time together, and talk, instead of being cooped up in their room."

"What are you -?" he closed his eyes, touching his temple. "I don't need you to tell me what 'caring' means, Hermione, I know that. What I want to know is what you're talking about. Are you wanting me to care about you, or something?"

"No," she laughed. "No, not me. I couldn't give a shite if you cared about me. Which is good, because you don't. You don't care about anyone. Not even your family."

"That's too far," he said.

"I don't know if it is," she said, bullying on, despite not knowing where the words were coming from. But some part of her urged her on, wanting to see what would happen. "I think it's about time you heard it. Look at you, shutting everyone away. Leaving dinners whenever you please, to go off and stick your nose in your books. It's quite rude. Very prattish, honestly."

He opened his mouth, but instead of saying anything he suddenly went and shut his door. Fear climbed, but she drowned it in contempt and desire.

"Now listen to me, Hermione," he said, putting his face an inch from hers. His breath smelled like tea, and the ache rose in her belly. "You don't know a thing about me."

"Oh, don't I?" she said, waving an arm at his room. She wanted him to grab her. "Tell me, what more is there to know? You talk for hours about stupid, shitey cauldrons, but when it comes to normal conversation you just fall short."

"Keep your voice down."

"It's no wonder everyone thinks you're such an arse," she went on. "No wonder Fred and George sent you dung in the mail. You ever think about that? Well let me tell you, there's a reason for it. You're a prat. With a big head. It's so swollen you don't even realize you've got nothing to show for yourself. You're the least interesting person I've ever met."

He grabbed her elbow and pulled her in - "You don't talk to me like that," he said. Her need surged.

"Don't touch me," she said, trying to jerk her arm free.

"And keep your voice down," he growled, fingers digging in. She could feel hot anger radiating from his face. "People are sleeping."

She stared at him, heart hammering. The non-crazed part of her recognized he was probably a foot taller than her, and who knew how much stronger. But the other part of her got excited at that all the more.

"And what if I don't want to?"

A muscle twitched in his jaw.

"What would you do?" she said.

"Now you listen," he breathed. "You don't know a thing about me."

"Yeah?"

"What I do, I do for my future. Nobody else thinks about that."

"No?"

"Everyone loves Fred and George, but they're the ones with nothing to show. No ambition. They don't think about things! They want their joke shop, but where are they going to get money? Mum? Dad? Unless they somehow get landed a fortune, it's a complete waste of time. It's a delusion."

"I don't know about that, they're pretty clever. More clever than you."

"I report to Mr. Crouch himself, I'll have you know."

"Yeah?" she said. "Are you his tea boy?"

"Shut up, Hermione," he said, grabbing her at the shoulders. His breath was warm. "You're really pissing me off."

"Am I?" she said, fear and desire rampaging inside her. "What are you going to do? You can't run away to your room! I'm already here."

He stared at her.

"Then I'll clear you out," he said, and pulled her toward the door.

"No!" she said, desperation surging. She planted her feet and tried to pull herself free, but he was too strong. This absolute moron. She lost footing and took a few steps forward. "Let me go," she said, wrenching at his grip. "You bastard. You're hurting me." She kicked at his leg, but the blow glanced off and she fell into his arms.

"You need to be quiet," he said, seizing her.

His hold was like iron bars. She struggled, twisting in his grip, turning away from his red face. The ache roared full-force as her back came into contact with his belly. It overpowered her contempt and sense of fear. She didn't care what he was going to do - she shoved her butt at his groin, pressing against him as she feigned struggle, rubbing at the lump in his undergarments.

"Stop it!"

"No. Make me."

Suddenly, she was shoved forward across the room, stumbling atop bed. He clambered atop her, his weight flattening her into the mattress. Fucking. Finally.

"I won't have you speaking to me like that," he said, grabbing her hair and pulling her head to the side. His breaths were hard, puffing at her neck, and his elbow pressed into her back, shortening her breaths. "I'm done with your cheek."

He was angry. Just angry. How thick could you be?

"I think I know what your problem is," she said, face pressed into the bedspread fabric. She moved her legs up, arching her back and pushing her butt at his groin. "You haven't had a lay in your life. You're too much of a bloody coward. No wonder you've got to wank in the dead of the night, nobody wants you."

He didn't move. She strained her neck, looking back at him, and saw him looking at her body. It was hard to tell, but she thought she could feel him thickening.

"I bet you've never even made a move," she breathed, dropping her stomach and pressing herself. Her face was hot in the bedspread. "You limp-dick son of a bitch."

Her mother's words, from her mouth.

"I'll show you," said Percy.

Still tearing her hair to the side, he tugged down her drawers in one go. Her arse became exposed to the cold air of the room.

"Finally gotten the hint, have you?" she huffed.

"Shut up," he said, digging at his waistline.

She thought he was getting himself out, but instead saw his wand in his hand. Uncertainty spiked.

"What are you doing?"

By way of response, he cast quieting charms around the room. Maybe he wasn't such a dunce after all. She watched him throw off his shirt, and took in what she could of his stomach and torso. Then, single-handedly, he got himself out and cast the Slipping Jinx.

"Someone's clever," she said.

"Shut it."

He was poking at her arse. She bristled.

"Hey!" she said, swinging to the side. "No! Not there."

Percy loomed over her, pressing her into the mattress.

"That's where it's going," he growled, tea-breath in her ear. Her stomach fluttered. Well, if he said it like that…

Again, he made contact, this time slipping inside. All the way. She yelped at how sudden it was. And before she knew it he was moving, thrusting at his own pace, using her. His legs pounded at her backside. Her hair let go.

"Fuck," she said, getting to her hands.

Percy's cock plunged inside her, rocking the whole bed.

"How's this for limp-dicked?" he growled.

She rolled her eyes, but didn't respond, instead extricating her own shirt off her body. Her breasts hung in the air, and she slid a hand past them, grabbing at herself as Percy filled her bunghole. She tried not to think about the spikes of pain, or needing to shit, only his thickness squirming inside her. She started to relax.

"Don't know why you're being such a bitch," he said.

"Maybe because I feel like it," she said, breathy.

It wasn't perfect, but her ache was starting to work out, and with her rubbing herself the pleasure was building. Then Percy slowed.

"Well don't take it out on me," he said.

"I'll take it out however I feel like it. Keep going."

"I don't want to hear it."

"Too bad."

He stopped. He'd gotten his wand.

"You're going to Silencio me?" she hissed, indignant.

"Something like that."

"No," she said. "Absolutely not. I'll leave."

"Then go."

"Fuck you."

"You either don't talk, Hermione, or don't be here."

He thrusted again, harder, filling her, slamming against her. She gasped, but kept quiet.

He cast the jinx. Some part of her recognized it as the Floating Hand Charm - a summoning of magical, ghostly hands that pulled your ears and flicked your nose. What was he playing at?

One appeared in front of her, transparent and colorful with Percy's magic. Before she knew it, it clamped over her mouth.

"Mmph!" she said, face twisting in rage - he'd actually done it!

Its fingers stuck in her mouth.

"Ammk!" - What?

She jerked her head, trying to throw it off, but it kept with her. The fingers shoved in further, pressing at her tongue, going for the back of her throat. She gagged.

But actually… she thought, as the fingers lodged into place... this might do it for her. Hesitant, she went back to rubbing herself.

Percy nailed her. The fingers pressed at the back of her tongue. Her mouth filled with saliva, dripping down her lips, her chin. Percy held her at the hips, his hands securing her. Pleasure rushed. It billowed like wildfire, catching at his points of contact and flaring white-hot. She collapsed forward on the bed, dropping her face in the wet spots and sucking. The fingers went deep, and she gagged. Her body surged. Her eyes fluttered.

Percy's hands went up her. He felt up her back, her sides, her ribs, found her breasts and squeezed. Fire burned through her body. She moaned sloppily, breathing through her nose, her hand jerking away at her crotch as Percy stretched her.

"Yeah, you like that?" he said.

"Fugg you," she sputtered.

Percy's magic hand slid out from her and slid down her stomach, leaving a trail of cold saliva. It squeezed into her legs, pushing her own hand aside, and she let it, breathing. It went to work, fingers probing into her.

"Hu-uhh," she said, planting her hands on the mattress again and getting up.

"I thought I told you," said Percy, fingers slipping into her hair, "to mind how you speak to me."

"I'll talk as I please," she breathed.

He wrenched her head back.

"No, you won't," he said.

Fuck yes.

"I can say whatever I want," she said, as he thrusted.

"Not in my room."

"I'm good enough to do it."

"No, you're not."

"I am."

"Shut up!"

"I'm the best in my year."

There was a pause.

"You're awful," he said, taking the hint. "Never seen someone struggle so much."

"The professors love me," she said.

"They're disgusted by you," he said, getting back into rhythm.

"I'm a great witch."

"You're a filthy Muggle."

"I deserve to be here."

"You're kidding yourself."

"I'm magical."

"You're completely delusional."

"People love me and care about me. They want me around."

"Everyone's embarrassed at you. You're disgusting."

The magic fingers probed into her, and she gaped, heaving breath. Drool went down her chin, but she didn't wipe it away. Percy penetrated her, filling her, and told her she was a waste of space. That everybody thought she was a fool. That she'd never measured up to a real witch.

Her arms shook, and she let herself faceplant. She couldn't pick herself up if she wanted to - her core was clenching too much as an orgasm rocked her body. Percy kept telling her awful things, and she grabbed a breast, squeezing. She bit her lip and sucked on it. Fuck, she thought.

Suddenly, the door opened, and a wash of cool air entered the room. Ginny was there.