Not Quite What We Seem
The evening air was cool as Hermione walked through the narrow side street leading to Percy’s flat, the familiar rhythm of her boots against the cobblestone road echoing in the quiet of Diagon Alley’s back corners. The bustling crowds of the main thoroughfare were a world away, and here, in this tucked-away street, the noise of the wizarding world seemed muffled, as if even the city had taken a breath. She hadn’t bothered to change out of her Ministry robes—she’d only had time to stop by her office to gather a few things before making her way to Percy’s place. The long day had worn her thin, but the thought of spending the evening with Percy, however complicated the situation had become, still felt like a welcome reprieve.
When she reached his door, she hesitated for a moment, smoothing the fabric of her robes before she knocked. The soft click of the door opening immediately followed, and Percy stood there, as composed as ever, but his eyes softened when he saw her.
“Hermione,” he greeted her, his lips curving into a slight smile, “right on time. Come in.”
She stepped inside, the warmth of his apartment wrapping around her like a blanket. It was small but charming, with neat shelves of books and framed photographs scattered around the room, giving it a lived-in feel. The fire in the hearth crackled softly, adding to the cozy atmosphere. Percy stepped aside to let her in, his gaze lingering on her for just a beat longer than necessary before he closed the door behind her.
“I wasn’t sure what you’d prefer, so I brought both,” he said, holding up two bottles. One was a bottle of firewhiskey, the other a bottle of wine. “You mentioned before that firewhiskey wasn’t your thing, so I thought I’d get something else for you.”
Hermione smiled, touched by the thoughtfulness. It had been one of those small details she hadn’t expected him to remember—during one of their Ministry outings, when everyone else had been sipping the whiskey, Hermione had discreetly mentioned that she preferred wine. And now, here he was, remembering it.
“I’ll take the wine, thank you,” she said, a playful glint in her eyes as she took the bottle from him. “You’re right about the firewhiskey. I don’t think I’m quite ready for it.”
Percy set the firewhiskey aside and grabbed a glass for her, pouring the deep red liquid with a practiced hand. They moved to the small sitting area near the fireplace, and Hermione sank into the settee, relaxing into the warmth as she took a sip from her glass. It was good wine—better than she had expected—and she let out a contented sigh as she set the glass down on the low coffee table between them.
“So,” she began, her tone shifting slightly as she leaned back in her chair, her gaze turning thoughtful, “I suppose we should talk about the article.”
Percy followed her lead, settling next to her with his firewhiskey in hand. He didn’t speak immediately, taking a slow sip from his glass and giving her a faint, amused smile. The firelight flickered between them, casting long shadows and giving the room an intimate, almost confessional feel.
“You know,” he said, his voice light but with an edge of humor, “this is the second time in a week that we’ve been branded as a ‘power couple.’ Should I be getting a publicist for us? Or perhaps a new wardrobe?”
Hermione couldn’t help but laugh, the sound rich and genuine as it filled the small space between them. “You know, I think we’re a bit beyond the ‘power couple’ moniker at this point. I mean, the Prophet is practically writing our love story for us.”
“Seems like it,” Percy agreed, his smile widening just a little. He leaned back, stretching his legs out in front of him as he took another sip of his drink. “I suppose it’s working, though. It’s not like we’re going to let the truth get in the way of a good story, are we?”
Hermione grinned, nodding as she swirled the wine in her glass, watching the red liquid catch the light. “No, I suppose not. But... they’re taking it a bit far now, aren’t they? First they have us engaged, and now they’re writing about us as if we’re some kind of magical power duo.”
Percy raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by her reaction. “Well, we did agree to play along with the first article. It’s not surprising they’re running with it.” He paused, then added with a small smirk, “At least they’re not getting too creative yet. Though I’m sure the next article will have us engaged in some exotic location, or—”
“Fighting off dark wizards side by side,” Hermione interrupted with a laugh, her fingers tightening around the stem of her wine glass. “Knowing the Prophet, they’d make us out to be heroes in a dramatic showdown, right?”
“Absolutely,” Percy said with a dry chuckle. “Perhaps next time we’ll get a headline about us thwarting a Ministry scandal together—after all, we’ve apparently got the whole ‘saving the day’ thing down.”
Hermione paused, taking a small breath as she set the glass down. Her expression softened, the playful edge to her words giving way to something more thoughtful. “But, honestly, Percy... do you ever wonder how long we can keep this up?”
Percy’s smile faded a little, and he studied her for a moment before answering. “You mean the whole act? The pretending we’re this perfect couple?”
Hermione nodded, her eyes meeting his, searching for something in his gaze that might tell her what he really thought. “I know it’s for appearances, but the more we go along with it, the more... complicated it feels. Like we’re crossing lines that weren’t supposed to be crossed.”
Percy’s expression shifted, a flicker of understanding passing between them. He placed his glass down, his fingers tapping lightly on the rim of the table. “I won’t pretend it hasn’t crossed my mind, Hermione. It’s a fine line we’re walking, isn’t it? Acting like we’re something we’re not. But... I guess we’ll figure it out when the time comes.”
As the evening wore on, the wine had done its work, loosening the tension in Hermione's shoulders and warming her cheeks. She and Percy continued to sip their drinks, talking in that easy, comfortable way that had started to feel less like an act and more like something real. There were moments when their laughter came freely, and when their conversation veered into more personal territory, Hermione found herself more intrigued than she’d expected.
The fire crackled softly in the hearth as she leaned back in her chair, cradling her wine glass, and then, without thinking too much about it, she turned the conversation in a different direction.
“So,” Hermione began, her tone playful yet edged with curiosity, “I have to ask. What’s the deal with you and relationships?” She leaned forward slightly, her fingers gently tracing the rim of her wine glass as she studied him. The room felt warmer now, the evening creeping in, and her mind was starting to drift in a different direction—one that didn’t have to do with articles, work, or their charade.
Percy, who had been swirling his firewhiskey in his glass, paused, his brow furrowing as he glanced up at her. There was a flicker of surprise in his eyes, as if he hadn’t expected the question. He set the glass down slowly, his attention now fully on her. “What do you mean?”
Hermione tilted her head, her gaze playful but also thoughtful. “Well, we’ve talked about work, and we’ve talked about—well, everything else, but I’ve never actually heard much about your love life. Are you secretly married with three kids, or is it more of a ‘no time for romance’ thing?”
Percy let out a dry laugh, the sound rich with amusement. He shook his head, clearly not expecting such a direct question from her. “I’m definitely not secretly married with three kids, Hermione,” he replied with a teasing glint in his eyes, his lips curling into a half-smile. “And as for romance… I suppose I’ve always been focused on work. It’s just the way things are, I guess. I never really made the time for anything else.”
Hermione nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful as she processed his words. She hadn’t expected him to answer quite so honestly, but something about the way he spoke made her wonder. “That makes sense. You’re always so busy. But you must have some idea of what you want in someone, right?” she asked, her voice quiet now, more serious. She leaned back into her chair, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as if trying to decipher something in his response.
Percy shifted in his seat, clearly considering the question more seriously now. His eyes met hers, and there was a soft vulnerability there that she hadn’t expected. “I suppose I do,” he said, his voice more reflective than usual. “I’ve always been drawn to someone who’s… well, passionate. Someone who has her own convictions. Someone who knows what she stands for, you know?” He paused, his gaze drifting for a moment, as if he were gathering his thoughts.
Hermione held her breath for just a moment, her wine forgotten as her focus sharpened on him. She wasn’t sure why she felt so suddenly invested in his answer, but the curiosity gnawed at her. “And what else?” she pressed, leaning a bit closer, her tone almost coaxing him to share more.
Percy hesitated for a moment, his fingers playing absentmindedly with the edge of his glass. He gave a soft, almost wistful smile as he seemed to collect his thoughts. “She’d have to be smart. Someone who can keep up with me—someone who challenges me, makes me think. I’ve never been interested in someone who just goes along with things. I need someone who’s… not afraid to make me question myself, to open my eyes to things I might miss.”
Hermione’s heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t expected him to be so candid, so... open. She was still hanging on every word, but now it felt like something else was stirring in her—a mix of surprise and unease. The way he was describing this person, it felt too familiar, like he was sketching out the perfect match for her. She shifted in her seat, trying to hide the quickening of her pulse, but something in his gaze made her feel like he could see right through her.
“And…” Percy continued, his voice growing a little softer now, as if he were picturing the woman in his mind. “She’d need to be someone who isn’t afraid to be vulnerable. To let her guard down when it matters.” He paused, looking directly at her for the first time since the beginning of the conversation. His gaze was steady, intent, and it made her heart race. “Vulnerability is hard to come by, but I think it’s important. It’s when you see who someone really is.”
Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. The words were striking too close to home—too close to who she was, what she valued, and what she had been trying to keep hidden. She had asked out of pure curiosity, but now that she was hearing it, the words felt almost like a mirror being held up to her. Vulnerable? That was the last thing she wanted to be. She felt the warmth of the wine in her veins, the subtle buzz of alcohol making her braver than usual, and before she could stop herself, she found her voice growing bolder.
“And humour,” she added, her lips curling into a teasing smile. “Don’t forget that. You can’t take everything too seriously, right? There has to be laughter, even when things get tough.”
Percy’s lips curved upward at her comment, a small chuckle escaping him. “Absolutely,” he agreed, his voice lightening just a touch. “I think it’s important to have someone who can find the humour in anything, even when life doesn’t go as planned. Someone who’s strong, but who knows how to laugh at herself.” His eyes softened then, and there was something more in his expression, something that made Hermione’s breath catch again. “Laughter can be the best way to get through anything, I think.”
The words settled heavily in the air between them. Hermione could feel her pulse quicken as he spoke, each description of the woman he wanted hitting too close to home. His words were building this picture of someone—someone she could almost see in her mind now. The kind of person who was strong, smart, vulnerable, passionate. Someone who didn’t just go along with things. Someone who could challenge him and laugh with him. And as the realization began to settle on her, her breath hitched, and a tight knot formed in her chest.
The perfect person, the woman he described so carefully... was her.
The realization hit her like a tidal wave, and her mind spun in a thousand different directions, but she didn’t say anything right away. Instead, she looked at him, trying to keep her composure, even as her heart raced. Her hand trembled slightly around her wine glass, and she swallowed hard. It was impossible, wasn’t it? He was just describing some ideal version of a person—a woman who could be anyone.
But there was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes now, and suddenly the room felt smaller, the space between them closing in. She could feel her confidence faltering as the alcohol made her feel too daring, too exposed. It was a strange, vulnerable feeling—one that made her both anxious and oddly at peace.
Hermione opened her mouth to say something, anything, but the words were stuck. Percy’s gaze lingered on her, his expression unreadable for a moment, before he casually shifted, reaching for his glass once again. The moment between them stretched, like a long breath held before being released. “Anyway,” he said, his voice quieter now, “I suppose that’s what I look for.”
Hermione nodded, though her mind was still reeling. “Right,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Sounds like a good match.”
Percy gave her a faint smile, not quite meeting her eyes. “Yeah. I think it would be.”
The air between them had shifted, and now, it seemed, neither of them was quite sure how to fill the silence.