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Although a small, deep part of Percy longed to softly press his knuckles against Malfoy’s cheek and tenderly comb his fingers through white-blond hair, the meaner part wanted to smash his fist against ghostly skin and pull big chunks of hair in his fist until handfuls of silvery silk were torn from the scalp.
“If I had wanted a whore,” Percy leaned forward to stare into Malfoy’s watery eyes, “I would’ve gone to Knockturn Alley.”
“Then what do you want?” Asked a desperate Malfoy.
“I want to get married,” Percy said.
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Or the one where for Percy it starts with a son and it ends with a daughter.
