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Touched by the Wind

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Suddenly, there was a dragon on his desk.

The dragon stared at him with its yellow eyes and Percival met the stare for several long seconds, up until the dragon looked away in order to start chewing on the Cunningham case report.

Slowly, Percival put the cap on his pen, placed the capped pen onto the desk on top of the Sylvester files the labrador-sized dragon was now stomping on, and took several long minutes to rub his temples to shy away the beginnings of a headache while the constant sound of grunting and chewing told of the dragon meticulously destroying a morning worth of his work.

After his coffee cup suddenly turning into a sucking void earlier that morning, the dragon on his desk was only the second worst thing of his day so far, and it wasn’t yet lunch time.

“Fucking Wednesdays…” Percival muttered and got up, careful to not make any sudden moves. He did the buttons of his suit jacket and adjusted his cufflinks before unceremoniously picking up the dragon by the midriff. The little bastard tried to gnaw and scratch him for it, but his magic was powerful enough to keep them both from getting injured by the sharp claws and the equally sharp-looking teeth, although his tie did get burnt before his shields shot up, just in time to protect his body from the flames the dragon rudely breathed at him.

With a wave of his hand, Percival put out the fire burning away the curtains and flicked a finger to open up a window in order for all the smoke to get aired out of the room.

“Now,” he said to the dragon who was actively trying to bite his nose (or to eat his entire face, who knew), “we’ll go find the head of the Beast Bureau.”

Before exiting his office, Percival made sure to slick back his hair just in case the head of the Beast Bureau would notice, this time.

A wizard could always hope.

Newt Scamander was in the lobby, pale and wide-eyed, and looking like he was doing his best to search for something specific while simultaneously desperately pretending to look like he wasn’t searching for anything particular at all.

He would hurry to stand by a bench, wrung his hands and nod frantically by way of greeting at everyone who walked pass (even when they weren’t even looking in his direction), then nervously look around as if to make sure no-one was watching, before suddenly ducking under the bench as if to see whether whatever he was looking for could be found from under there. When he couldn’t find what he was looking for, he would hurry off to check under other benches and behind statues while greeting everyone he encountered with such frantic nods and frozen smiles he was gathering quite a lot of suspicious looks from Senior Auror Weston at the reception desk.

It was silly, really, and not at all an effective method of searching for anything, but Percival caught several nice views of the shapely ass, as Newt crawled on the floor on his hands and knees, and so he couldn’t find it in himself to complain. In fact, he might have stood there for longer than intended, so deep in longing and admiration of the said ass that he half forgot the small dragon trying to kill him and the urgent business of returning the dragon to its handler. He was only brought back to himself when Weston from his seat at the desk by Percival cleared his throat, loudly, in a manner that made it clear he had done so many times already.

Snapping back to his senses, Percival inclined his head at Weston once, stiffly, receiving a slow salute and a wink in return.

“You could’ve just told some Junior Auror to take the beast to Scamander,” the bearded auror noted, soft voice amused. “But I suppose it does send a message, to literally carry around dragons for him.”

Had it been someone else – someone who hadn’t been an auror in charge of the reception already when Percival had been but a boy playing with tin aurors in the lobby while his parents worked for the department, someone who hadn’t smiled and patted his head and given him sweets and told him to call him “Uncle Ollie” – Percival wouldn’t have allowed such comments.

Making an exception for Weston, however, didn’t mean he wanted to respond to his comments, and so Percival left the grey-haired wizard chuckling to himself at the desk and instead made a beeline to Newt, who by now was gazing up at the high columns as if wondering whether he could find what he was looking for from up there near the ceiling.

“Newt,” Percival said when he was close enough to be heard. The hoarseness of his voice took him off guard and he cleared his throat with a cough, trying again, stronger, “Newt.”

Newt didn’t turn around, but there was a moment in which his whole body seemed to freeze up.

“Um,” he finally spoke, voice unusually high. “Oh, hi, Percival. I didn’t notice you. Hello. You’re- you’re out of your office early, earlier than usual. Not that- not that you’re not allowed to be. But you’re out, earlier than usual.”

“I wouldn’t be,” said Percival, dryly, “had your dragon not eaten my reports.”

The dragon in question was hissing and trying to breathe fire, but Percival kept it under control, ignoring the wary looks the beast was being given from all around the lobby.

Slowly, Newt – with his shoulders visibly tensed up – turned around. The blue eyes quickly took in the struggling dragon in Percival’s arms – which were starting to tire, dragons weren’t light to carry, small or not – and after a wary glance up at Percival’s face, the head was bent and the curly fringe fell in front of the pretty features.

“Why do you presume he’s my dragon?”

Unimpressed, Percival didn’t deem the question with an answer and soon enough Newt’s shoulders slumped and he reached out towards Percival with his outstretched arms.

“Okay, just… Please, give Aron to me.” Newt bit his lip. “I’ve been looking for him for the better part of an hour. He got away when I was trying to take his measurements. He’s so young, still, barely out of the egg. He doesn’t yet know any better.”

Percival was more than ready to hand the struggling thing over, and Newt appeared equally ready to wrap his arms around Aron. The dragon calmed down instantly when Newt steadied him against his shoulder, there was no fire or clawing or biting.

Which was impressive. Newt sure did have a way with creatures.

“You really need to keep the beasts better in control,” Percival told him sternly, nonetheless. “I’m saying this as the Director for Magical Security. I do have to make a report of this, you know. I can’t have dragons running around in my city.”

“Um, technically, Aron couldn’t have been running because his legs are too short for that.”

“But,” Newt quickly amended, blushing, seeming to notice the glare directed at him, “but I understand what you mean, all technicalities aside. I’ll be more careful, I promise.”

With that, Newt leant forward and pressed a soft kiss on Percival’s lips.

"Thank you for looking after Aron," he said, softly, quickly, hurrying then away, leaving Percival standing there in the middle of the lobby, speechless, frozen.

What had just happened?

Newt wasn’t one for physical intimacy, he sure wasn’t one for public declarations of any kind. Yet, he had just pecked Percival right there where anyone could see.

Dazed, Percival barely managed to resist the urge to touch his lips like some lovesick teen.

Thinking about it, he concluded he needed to go make sure Newt hadn't been put under a spell of any kind. He had liked the peck, but only if Newt had actually consented to it.