A/N: Hello, dear readers. This fic is in answer to the Room of Requirement competition over at the HPFC. I was given a character (Percy Weasley) who had to discover the Room. This fic kind of ate my mind until I wrote it, so I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it :)

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maybe somewhere else will not be half as cold as me

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Of all the ridiculous things, Percy Weasley was bored.

He knew that he had absolutely no reason to be. It was, after all, his N.E.W.T. year, and he fully expected to receive as many as he possibly could. Even with his course schedule, however, even with his homework overload, even with Head Boy duties, even with a girlfriend…he was bored. He simply couldn't help it.

He reflected on this situation as he patrolled the corridor one evening. It was a little past nine, so students were getting up to leave the library and head back to their common rooms, yawning sleepily. He took a bit of pleasure in helping direct a first-year Hufflepuff to the nearest loo. Head Boy Percy, always doing right by the people. (No, he never said that out loud. In fact, he was even a bit embarrassed when he thought it to himself).

As he got farther up stairs, to the upper levels of the castle, his footsteps became louder and louder. The corridors were emptying; it was mostly just him, alone, patrolling. He sighed when he came to the seventh floor. It's a bit of a useless job, patrolling, he decided. Filch was bound to catch any out-of-bed students before Percy was, and half the time he thought Percy was an out-of-bed students. {At which point Percy politely flashed his badge, Filch had the decency to look embarrassed, and they parted ways}. Then again, he had few better things to do with his time. He would have loved to do some extra studying, he thought. Maybe some magic beyond what could be taught him at Hogwarts. Patronuses, Animagi, Fidelius charms—the possibilities were endless, really.

He glanced up at the obnoxious tapestry on the wall. That guy—Bumblebee the Brawny?—was attempting to teach trolls how to dance ballet. It was largely unsuccessful, from the look of it. The trolls were trampling each other and kept looking angrily at Bumblebee like he should find some other creatures to dance with.

He was about to turn around and head to the eighth floor when he noticed a small, wooden door opposite him. He was absolutely sure that door hadn't been there before. Cautiously he approached it. Seven years in the castle and seventeen years living with his father had taught him to not trust things that were supposed to be inanimate. He looked around the corridor, double-checking for Peeves, Filch, or Mrs. Norris. When he had determined that he was quite alone, he opened the door.

The room housed a surprising number of books for being such a small space. Shelves lined the walls all the way around, filled with titles like Achieve Your Animagus! and Produce a Patronus! He ran his fingers along the books, amazed. How was it that no one had ever discovered this room? That he, Percy Weasley, was standing in the lone sanctuary that remained in the castle?

He took Achieve Your Animagus! off the shelf and looked around. It would be nice if there was a comfortable place to sit and read, he thought. Just as he was settling himself on the floor, he noticed a nook in the corner with lights and pillows. Coincidence, he thought, shaking his head and heading over to settle there. I just didn't notice it before.

And with his chosen book in hand, he sat down and began to read.

…

It was seven thirty in the morning when Percy awoke with a start. Looking around wildly, he noticed two things; first, a clock in the corner that told him it was seven thirty, and second, a giant, retractable hand, which he was now sure had been poking him to wake him up.

This is the strangest, most wonderful room in this castle, he decided.

Mussing his hair so that it look fresh and checking his breath, he headed down to breakfast. He'd have to catch a shower between his first and second classes. He was about to head out the door when he turned back around and stared into the room. I'll be back, he promised, although it seemed silly to make a promise with a room. He adjusted his glasses and headed down to breakfast, walking briskly so he could at least grab some eggs before Transfiguration.

"Where have you been?" asked Penelope as he was sitting down. She frowned down at him, then leaned down to whisper in his ear. "You were supposed to meet me last night, remember?"

Percy swore and dropped his fork with a clatter. He could feel the eyes of a few Gryffindors on him, but he paid no attention. "I'm sorry, Penny, I completely forgot. I had to finish the assignment for McGonagall this morning." As soon as he said it, he regretted it. Why was he lying to her?

She was still frowning, but she seemed to back off. "Alright. I'll see you in class, alright?"

"Mmm," he said, filling his mouth with egg.

She hesitated, then turned and walked away. Percy breathed a small sigh of relief. He wasn't sure why he was being so protective of his new room. {Maybe because it was the first thing that was ever really his?)

As he grabbed his bag and hurried off to Transfiguration, he noticed his brother's friend—Hermione? he wasn't good with names—was sitting alone, while Ron and Harry were sitting a little way down the table. Ron looked angry, and Harry looked confused. He shrugged it off and headed to class.

…

He was finally able to return to the room late that night. He risked being caught in the corridor; it wasn't his night to patrol, and if anyone other than Filch caught him…he didn't want to think about it. He would have been there in plenty of time if he had been able to shake off Penelope earlier. She wanted to study with him—I'm just not sure I understand this part completely, Perce, can you help?—and he simply wasn't in the mood. When he reached the wooden door, he breathed a sigh of relief.

But the room wasn't his, alone.

"Erm—Hermione, right?"

He could tell his voice had startled her and he immediately felt guilty. She looked at him with tear-splotched cheeks. "Oh, Percy—I didn't even know this was your room! I'm so sorry, I just—"

"It's alright," he said. "Where did you get the table?"

She looked down at the furniture under her massive pile of books. "It was here when I came in. This place is strange, isn't it? I was thinking I needed a place to study, somewhere quiet where I could get away, and the door just appeared on the wall. I don't remember reading anything about this in Hogwarts, A History…" She looked back up at him, and then she frowned. "You wanted this room alone, didn't you? I'm sorry, I can go."

She began to pack up her books, wiping the wetness away from her face, and something in him—chivalry? kindness—made him stop her. "Don't worry about it. Stay. It's the only quiet place in the castle, anyway. I was just going to read."

She smiled at him and looked as though she was about to cry again. "It's okay?"

He nodded, then headed over into the corner nook. She sat back down and began to work again, scribbling furiously at an essay. He watched her under the guise of reading his book. He became absorbed in her spirit; the way she dotted her i's with such passion was intriguing. He finally stopped staring and goes back to his reading. Chapter Eleven—How to Predict Your Animagus…

…

When the retractable hand woke him up (earlier this morning—it seemed to know he wanted a shower before breakfast) she was already gone. He found himself sighing and adjusting the crick that had formed itself in his neck. On his way out, he glanced at her table to find a note sitting there. It was addressed to him.

Percy—thank you.

It was so incredibly brief, and yet it made him smile like few things did. He found himself wondering whether she would return that night.

…

Because Penelope had patrol duty that night, it was easier than it had been the previous night to get rid of her and be alone. He headed up to the seventh floor shortly after he finished his final essay for Potions. He was delighted to find that Hermione was already there.

"Good evening," he said to her.

She barely looked up. "Hello, Percy."

Those were the only words they spoke for a very long time. Percy was nearing the end of his book when he looked up to find her huddled in the window.

He looked back down at his book, then back to her. She was staring into the courtyard, and he was nearly certain there were tears in her eyes again. He sighed and put his book down.

"Hermione," he began gently. "Is there—something wrong?"

He knew that he had worded the question incorrectly as soon as he said it. She bit her lip and looked at him. "It's nothing, really."

He wanted to reach out but didn't want to push her, so he crossed the room, took the chair she had been sitting in, and folded himself up in it. She didn't look at him, just kept looking out the window. He watched her carefully, looking for—well, he didn't know what. He bit his lip. "You have ink on your cheek."

She looked back at him. "I have ink on my cheek?"

"Right here." And he found himself reaching across, rubbing away the splatter, and then jumping backward when he realized what he'd done.

The awkwardness of it all, the utter ridiculousness, it broke the tension between them. Both started to laugh, and they continued to laugh for a long while. Both had tears of mirth streaming down their cheeks by the time they calmed down.

It was more than Percy had laughed in a very long time.

…

They fell into a routine, the two of them. Percy would see Penelope off to bed or would make an excuse to leave her, and he would enter and find Hermione already working. Sometimes he worked on homework, and other times he simply read. After Achieve Your Animagus!, he continued in the subject of Animagi. He decided it would be extremely impressive to be the first seventeen year old Animagus, and he wanted to see if he could teach himself to do it.

On nights when there was a lull in both of their workloads, they would talk. Percy told Hermione about his desire to work in the Ministry, to make a difference in the world. He wanted to exist outside of his family and make a name for himself. He wanted to have his own story. Hermione told Percy about what had gone wrong between she and Ron –Percy had to refrain from marching down to the Gryffindor common room and having words with him then and there, he was being absolutely ridiculous—and of her adventures in France, how she maybe wanted to travel when she got older, because there was so much history and so much to be learned.

Percy was becoming increasingly more dependent on the "Room"—they had decided one giggly night that someone was actually behind it all and was sitting somewhere above them, invisible, bending the room to their needs—to escape from everything else. He was still doing all his homework, still living his normal life, but was always thinking of the room, of the conversation that they would have that night. It scared him, he decided, but he tried to put that out of his mind.

…

"I'm ready."

She looked up from the essay she had been working on. "Ready for what?"

"Ready to try it. I'm going to become an Animagus."

Hermione frowned and set down her quill. "But can't this spell go horribly wrong? I read in A History of Magic that a wizard once botched the spell—"

"I know the story, Hermione. But I'm ready. I know the magic, I've been studying it."

She bit her lip. He knew she wanted to say more, but she kept her mouth shut.

"Alright," he said, taking a deep breath. "Here I go."

He closed his eyes, imagined himself as the animal, and pointed his wand at himself.

"Percy!" gasped Hermione.

But Percy no longer stood there. In his place was a fox, whose fur was entirely red save for the faint brown lines around his eyes, who looked at Hermione with what could only be described as excitement (although she can't say she'd ever seen a fox make that expression, so she could have been misreading it). The fox whined once {she was pretty sure they did that in greeting), then sprinted around the room while Hermione laughed and clapped her hands. Finally he made his way over to her, and she crumpled to her knees.

His fur was incredibly soft, and she couldn't resist petting his head just a little. She could have sworn he looked a bit irritated at first, but he yielded when he discovered how nice it felt. She cupped his face in her hands. "You are beautiful," she muttered, and then she realized what she'd said. She sighed, stood, and went back to her homework. The fox curled himself at her feet.

…

He became himself again after a while, if only because he wanted the power of words once more. You are beautiful, she'd said. He'd been glad foxes couldn't blush.

He wanted to say something, but he stopped himself many times. He thought of Penelope. Although he had never considered his friendship with Hermione to be cheating, it felt wrong now, out of place. And he hated admitted that he had never wanted Penelope less.

After a long while, she slammed her book shut and sighed loudly. "Alright, I said it."

"Said what?" asked Percy.

"You know what I said," she answered. They both frowned. Yes, he knew what she'd said. He found that he couldn't meet her eyes. "Would it be horrible if I voiced everything?"

"Yes," he answered immediately. He looked up, saw her frown deepen, and looked away.

"There's only three years difference between us," she whispered.

He nodded in acknowledgement. "I'm leaving next year. I have Penny."

He hadn't meant to voice that last excuse, and he couldn't bear to look at her anymore. He wanted to say he was sorry so badly. "So maybe we should let it go."

Easier said than done, he thought, and he was glad he stopped himself from saying it aloud. "Yeah, maybe we should."

Except that neither of them did, so it was still awkward.

"Once," Hermione asked.

He met her eyes.

And then her lips were against his, and it didn't matter than she was fourteen and he seventeen, it didn't matter that he would be leaving, it didn't matter that he had Penelope—it mattered that she was there, so present to him that it was wrong to say no.

She stepped away, and both of them were winded, trying to find breath. He refrained from cupping her jaw or doing any of those other stupid things he did with Penelope when he needed to say goodbye. "So that's all, then."

She nodded. "That's all."

He grabbed his bag and headed for the door, stopping only to mutter "goodbye" on his way out.

…

He decided, once he'd left the room and cleared his head, that he would not return. Maybe the room had known what would happen, and maybe it hadn't. But to him, that room would always be Hermione, and it would always represent their friendship, and their potential for more. He didn't want to go back, even with all the beautiful books he hadn't had the chance to read. It wouldn't be fair for him to back.

He sees her now and again, at the Burrow, laughing with Ron (he still wants to punch him for hurting her) and Harry. He mostly avoids her gaze, but when their eyes meet, he pictures himself in that room. When he becomes the fox, he thinks of her and the way she told him he was beautiful.

He thinks that his only regret was that he never told her the same.

…

it's the same, it's the same, it's the same

baby, won't you breathe?

…

A/N: This is kind of a monster for me. My one-shots are never this long. I fell in love with the idea of Percy's Animagus being a fox, so I'm toying with writing some (shorter) one-shots that are kind of based on that idea. Also, I realize that it is incredibly difficult to become an Animagus, but I honestly believe that Percy could do it if he put his mind to it. And lastly, I do believe I have the ages right. He is young for his year and she is old for hers. Lyrics from Snow Patrol's "Same."