#Alex and Andy both blame each other when their eleven year old comes home from school drinking coffee daily

[dark-elf-writes]

I know I jokingly mentioned Fawn Spots Harry being homesick when he goes to Hogwarts, but this kid would be homesick.

More under the cut because this grew legs.

The longest he had ever been away from his parents is the odd weekend where he was being watched by Josh, May, or on one rather thrilling occasion joining Aphrodite on a leg of her tour that was close to home, and he has never been separated from his brother for more than a day since Jason was born. He had tried of course, had even managed the occasional sleepover with some of the other kids whose parents work at H.E.R.A. but he was always glad to go home in the morning.

Hogwarts is different.

He is half a world away from his family, can’t call them, and surrounded by people who take too much of him. (He will never forget the first time someone casually called him Harry seconds after meeting him. Will never forget the fourth year Hufflepuff who asked him if he remembered his parent’s dying. Will never forget the third year that grabbed his chin so hard it ached to touch his scar and the bubbling of fear in his throat before Fred had all out tackled the older student away from him.)

Harry doesn’t sleep much those first few weeks.

Boredom drags him out to the common room and away from the snoring of the other first year gryffindor boys. Not that sitting in one of the plush chairs in front of the fireplace and watching the flames is much more interesting, but it’s better than Ron mumbling about his great aunt’s doilies in his sleep.

It’s Percy that finds him, and for a second Harry is struck with that old terror of breaking a rule (mum and Bibi told him he was allowed to make mistakes. That he wouldn’t be locked away or hurt for telling them. But they weren’t here.) but the older Weasley brother just settles on the couch next to Harry’s chair and pulls out a textbook.

The turning of pages and soft scratch of Korean is so familiar Harry cries. Percy is kind enough not to mention it, though Harry can feel eyes on him, watching to make sure he is okay.

An odd, quiet friendship is formed in those late nights. They never talk about it during the waking hours, not even when Harry slowly gravitates closer and closer until he is leaning against Percy’s side while he studies. Sometimes Harry manages to fall back asleep between the warmth of the fire and the steady sound of Percy breathing. Others he cries, silent and hardly daring to move. Others still he works up the courage to ask about Percy’s homework. Percy doesn’t mind, he claims that explaining it out loud helps him learn it better. “Teaching is the ultimate Mastery, Potter, “ He says with a soft smile and softer eyes behind those glasses.

(Percy never takes, not even when Harry grows close to his brothers, not even when he catches Harry breaking rules outside of their late night meetings. Harry gives Percy his name in the middle of one of his lessons on spells years ahead of Harry. He catches Percy’s smile out of the corner of his eye before the older boy continues his explanation.)

He isn’t sure what makes him talk one night. Isn’t sure but is helpless to stop once he starts.

“The castle smells wrong.”

Percy hums, marking his place in the textbook and turning to give Harry his full attention. “Wrong?”

“Wrong!” It’s perhaps a bit too loud considering the late hour, but Harry keeps going. “It’s all stone and wind and potion ingredients. And it’s quiet! It stupid! I shouldn’t miss the sounds of sirens and car alarms in the middle of the night but it’s like the whole world is holding its breath! There’s no music other than the frog choir! It’s all quiet! Like it’s dead!” Harry realized with a start his face was wet with tears, weeks of frustration and loneliness bubbling over. “And it’s so dumb that phones don’t work here! Why not? It’s magic! I should be able to call anywhere! From the bottom of the lake with the stupid squid! I should be able to never have to pay for phone service or wifi ever! Instead it’s just a bunch of nosey people in a castle that smells wrong!”

Percy nods sagely. “I always thought it should smell more like bread.”

It draws Harry up short. “Bread?”

“Mum cooks a lot. The house always smells like bread and bacon grease.” It shocks a laugh out of Harry. It makes him cry harder. It makes him feel a little less alone. Percy leans back against the couch and stretches an arm out along the back in a way that is all the twins and looks so weird on him. Like when Jason tried to mimic Harry. Harry settles against Percy’s side pressing his face into his comfy knit sweater.

“What do you think it should smell like, then?” Percy’s voice is quiet. Barely louder than the crackling of the fire.

Harry closes his eyes. “Like coffee and lemon cookies,” He says, looking at the flames. “My mum bakes a lot and she and Bibi are addicted to coffee.”

Percy snorts. Harry feels a hand in his hair that was so familiar a fresh wave of tears hit him. “How American.”

“Bibi is Greek, actually.”

The hand in his hair tugs gently on a stray lock. “Do you know Greek then?” Harry nods, pressing back against Percy’s hand like Jason’s puppy aura, eager for pets if only to drive away the spike of feeling in his chest.

“That’s worse than the quiet I think,” Harry admits. “It all English unless it’s spells.”

Percy hummed, then pointed to the fire with his free hand. “What’s fire in Greek?”

So Harry teaches him.

(The next morning Harry has to bite back tears when he sees a plate of lemon cookies and a carafe of coffee waiting at his usual seat. Percy toasts him with a fresh cut slice of bread and a smile when he looks up the table. He adds enough sugar and cream to his coffee that it’s nearly white, but the first sip feels so much like home the ache in his chest lessens just a bit more.)