Chapter Text
Several days later, Percy looked up from the cash register to see Mr. Gray again. "This time I hit the right buttons," Mr. Gray said, handing Percy the stack. "Could I get these bound by Thursday?"
"Of course."
As Percy filled out the order form, Mr. Gray said, "You were very gracious to that woman earlier. I've never heard anyone explain copyright law so politely before."
She had been a nightmare customer, not least because she reminded him of Hermione Granger — for all he knew, Hermione was his sister-in-law by now. "I've learned to stay calm when I explain that I won't help someone break the law." _I can do it just fine on my own, thank you._
Mr. Gray nodded. "I've learned it's a bad sign when I have to have that conversation with one of my clients."
Percy finished the form and set the papers on the wait table. "How did your conference go?"
"Satisfactory, if ephemerally so." Mr. Gray glanced back, then said, "I don't want to hold up the line. Are you busy after your shift?"
"Not especially."
"It occurred to me that your lack of Monty Python viewing is easily remedied. Want to come over to my place for a couple hours?"
Percy blinked. "I probably won't be out of here until two."
Mr. Gray shrugged. "I suspected as much; I'm a night owl myself. But if you're trying to politely say no, you have my permission to be explicit."
All he'd planned for this morning was to finish his current library book and clean out the refrigerator; the former wasn't due for a few more days, and the latter only took fifteen minutes since grocery day was tomorrow. "I'll be happy to come by. Where do you live?"
"Not too far away, but I'll give you a ride this time. I'll be out back by 1:45."
Mr. Gray lived in one of the fancy condominiums near the museum district. Percy found himself fiendishly jealous from the moment he walked in. Not that the furnishings were extravagant; the chest that the television sat on did look like it'd come from one of the antique stores on Westheimer, but the sofa and chairs were just shabby enough to show that Mr. Gray actually put his feet up on them. But the space, and the windows.... "That's a fabulous view."
"Indeed. I was lucky to get this place."
Percy took a closer look at the picture behind the sofa — an original, not a print, and Philippa Hunter was famous enough to be mentioned in that packet he'd run for an art history class. "Law obviously pays better than photocopying."
"Not necessarily." Mr. Gray set down his briefcase in a corner by a very new Mac and went into the kitchen. "My dad was a corporate lawyer and filthy rich. I'm living off the inheritance. Beer, wine, something stronger, or something weaker?"
"Beer, thanks." The bookshelves were pure Ikea; the books wide in range. Legal texts, a cardiology text, three histories of Ireland — the one Percy had read was quite accurate, allowing for Muggle knowledge — several philosophy books mixed with popular science books, Lewis's Chronicles of Narnia, Dean's Secret Country trilogy, Donaldson's Gap novels, two shelves of mystery novels. On a lone shelf, between a glass figurine of a dolphin and a large seashell, two books stood in state; one proved to be a poetry collection, and the other an ethnography of some society around Portugal. "Favorites?" he asked as Mr. Gray came in with two beer bottles and a bowl of popcorn.
"People I knew once. Ready to roll film?"
Something in his tone made Percy feel like he'd desecrated a tomb. He replaced the books, making a mental note to see if the library had Austin's poetry; the bit he'd skimmed was rather nice.
The movie turned out to be quite funny, even if the Muggle take on Merlin was odd. And at last Percy's coworker LaShonda's constant mutter of "help, help, I'm being oppressed" made sense. "Thanks, Mr. Gray. It's hilarious."
Mr. Gray sighed theatrically. "You've visited my home and drunk my beer; you can certainly call me Zachary."
"I suppose you'd better call me Pete, then."
"Hey, if you prefer Mr. Williams, I'm happy to oblige."
It slipped out before he could stop it. "I prefer Percy." Great job, Percival Weasley. Blow your alias just because someone's being sociable.
But no band of Aurors materialized in front of the television. Zachary merely raised his eyebrows. "Seriously?"
"I changed my name when I moved here so my family would have a harder time finding me."
Zachary seemed to accept this. "Your secret is safe with me. Just tell me that's the real reason and that you aren't part of a secret government conspiracy, spying on Americans and sending data back home."
"No, I gave that up a long time ago." He managed to say it lightly.
"Good. I had enough of international conspiracies when my dad was alive." Zachary opened another beer. "He was the template for all those stories about greedy lawyers. He'd side with anyone who was willing to pay him enough. I'd had enough of that world by time I was eighteen." He looked around the room. "I still haven't escaped it. Maybe you're braver than I am."
Generations of Weasleys in Gryffindor, courageously upholding what was Right and Good. Even when it wasn't good, or right. "I'm not sure I've escaped either. But it's easier to get away when you're willing to leave everything." He remembered the puff of dust and magic as he broke his wand into useless bits of wood, crouching in the airplane's WC, dropping the fragments down the toilet, flushing them five miles down to the Atlantic.
Zachary laughed briefly. "That's always been my problem. I'm never willing to give up everything. Just what I have to." He yawned, and looked up at the clock. "And much as I hate to give up this pleasant conversation, I'd better take you home."
"I can bike from here, actually. It's not far."
"Please, I insist. I'd have to come down with you and get your bike from my car anyway; what's another couple miles?" Zachary stood and gestured grandly to the door. "After you, Percy."
Percy attempted to demur, but Zachary stood firm, and soon Percy found himself in the SUV giving Zachary directions.
Zachary shook his head as they pulled into the parking lot. "And I sent you through this neighborhood with cash in your pocket? I should have written you a check."
"It's not actually that bad. I've only been mugged once." One of the many times he'd missed his wand — but if he'd had it, he'd have greater problems than a bruised forearm, a racing heart, and fifteen dollars lost from his budget.
Zachary only shook his head again. "Until next time, Percy."
"Thank you, Zachary."
As Percy unloaded his bike from the back of the SUV, he heard an owl's hoot. He did not turn his head. It was probably just the escaped mascot from the university; he'd seen it around here before, fattening up on local squirrels.