Fic for pastelninja: Influence (Percy/Oliver)
Author/Artist: slash_a_holic
Giftee: pastelninja
Title: Influence
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Percy/Oliver, slight Percy/Penelope but only en route to the slash
Era/Time-Frame: The HP years up to Deathly Hallows (not including the epilogue).
Rating: PG-13 for dark themes and brief mentions of things that might be sexual(!)
Word Count: 6,145
Summary: Percy changes, changes, and changes again, and manages to fall in love along the way.
Author's Notes: Well, Barty Jr/Regulus didn't happen, but there is quite a lot of Percy involved. I really hope that you like this; if not, please be honest, and I will be more than happy to write you something else. Thank you oh so much to my beta, who will remain unnamed for secrecy. Also, I took liberty with the publication date of The Golden Compass by Philip Pullman (this will make sense later), and if my timeline is messed up then please try to overlook it. I nitpicked as much as possible with the help of the Lexicon, but mistakes happen. I've rambled enough now. Enjoy!
Influence
It was Ministerial Decree for Protection and Guidance number 87-B that told Percy it was time to go.
It was fairly obvious by that point, anyway. Most of the important, life-altering decrees had been passed already, and the periodic proclamations were now just more of Dolores' authority grabs. It had begun conservatively, growing in audacity as the fear and isolation of the populace had expanded. Day by day, then hour by hour, the decrees tightened and multiplied. She could, so she did, and when she had waltzed into the room just a few moments ago bearing the latest decree, it was with the air of someone who is obnoxiously happy.
"Percy, dear, a new one," Dolores had trilled, handing him the parchment. "The usual copies, please. I'm sure you'll be in agreement with me that this is quite overdue. I can't think why I didn't consider it earlier!"
And now this. He leaned back in his chair and read it over again to himself in a low whisper, though no one else was in the room. "In order to preserve the virtue and morality of our community, any witch or wizard discovered to be of the type seeking "relationships" with others of their own gender will be immediately subject to corrective procedures and removal from society at the discretion of the Ministry."
Most of the 'i's were dotted with hearts, and the one in the flourishing signature at the bottom seemed to have a miniature kitten head atop it. Percy ran his thumb along the edge of the parchment, a sheet from Dolores' drawerful of pink, perfume-spritzed pages. He was to make six hundred copies on official letterhead to be distributed to Ministry employees, and arrange for a set of large posters to be placed in major wizarding hubs - Hogwarts; Hogsmeade; Diagon Alley; pubs in Spinner's End, Ottery St. Catchpole, and Godric's Hollow. An announcement would be run in the Prophet tomorrow, and within a day or two the majority of the wizarding populace would know.
But first of all, he thought it was likely he was going to be sick.
It wasn't even because of fear for himself, of being found out and run out of the Ministry building like some small-town thief. Hiding one's true self was an essential skill in these times, and Percy had had plenty of practice even before he was first hired.
--
Sharing a dorm room with four other boys for seven years had been an exercise in pure torture, but Percy had somehow been able to get through it without anyone else catching on, even his brothers (who seemed to have been given more than their fair share of skill in observation and teasing). He knew it was uncommon and unpopular and probably not something that would be of benefit to him in his professional life, and managed to convince himself that his real motivation for going to Quidditch games was not to watch the largely male teams but to "express solidarity with the spirit of ambition and healthy competition." He got by.
And then, near the end of fifth year, Penelope Clearwater had come up to him after Charms, thick curls pulled into a prim ponytail and a serious look on her face. "Percy, I've been thinking, and I really admire your dedication to academics and your vision for the future. Would you like to come to the Three Broomsticks with me this weekend and discuss the recent changes in Ministry department heads?"
His mouth worked for a moment before he managed to stammer out a "Yes, that would be lovely"- and that was exactly what it turned out to be. She was smart and serious and just as ambitious as him, and even wore reading glasses when she went to the library. But then, when they met at the Hogwarts platform in September of sixth year, she kissed him on the mouth. And that was just odd. He tried, he tried so hard; he met her in all sorts of locations around the school, brought her flowers, once watched wide-eyed as she took off her blouse in an empty classroom. But he kept dreaming of boys with her glasses and the curly hair that looked so short when it was up and back. It was confusing and terrifying and nerve-wracking (and he was being teased day in and day out by the twins), and finally one day at the beginning of seventh year, he had to break away, disentangling her arms from around him and shifting backward on the couch.
"Penelope, I can't - I'm not. That. I've tried, but it's not working. You're a lovely person. I like you very much. And I realize this is probably going to wound you emotionally, but - I'm. You're. Not the right, er, gender."
Penelope paled in surprise, lips pursed, then took a few deep breaths in, regaining her colour. "Percy Weasley. Are you saying to me that after all this time, you've suddenly realized that I'm not the right gender for you?"
"Well, no. Not really. I mean, the last part is true, but it wasn't a sudden realization." He nodded earnestly, relieved to be able to explain things. "I've known for a while, and I've been trying to be, erm, normal, but I really think it would be best for both of us if we separated."
She stared, open-mouthed, for a moment before rising to her feet above him and crossing her arms, eyes filling with angry tears. "So you're a bloody poofter and you've been pretending to love me while being a bloody fucking poofter behind my back, and I was - I thought we would - GET OUT!" Never had Percy seen her so emotional. Feelings were irrational things, and the pair of them were similar in that they usually kept them neatly filed away inside for appropriate occasions. But this was a different Penelope, one that was out of control, chest heaving and tears starting to drip off the end of her nose. Percy backed away awkwardly, torn between trying to comfort her despite being the source of her upset and escaping the uncomfortable situation. After a moment of indecision he turned tail and ran out the door - straight into Oliver Wood, who was standing in an unconvincingly nonchalant manner in the hallway outside, looking just as surprised as Penelope had been (though in a decidedly different way).
"Ouch," said Oliver. "Hi."
"Hullo. Sorry about that," replied Percy.
"'S alright. I was just walking, and, well." Oliver looked away and shifted nervously. "Bloody poofter, then?"
Percy swallowed. "No! Certainly not. Erm."
Oliver looked back up, meeting Percy's eyes with an unreadable expression. "Right. So. Are you going to Hogsmeade this weekend?" Percy blinked, nonplussed at this sudden change in topic (not that the conversation up to that point had been entirely normal anyway).
"No, I was planning to stay back and revise for the Transfiguration test...why?"
"Oh, no, I was just going to say - I'm staying behind too, and perhaps we could study together. I haven't got time for revision, usually, 'cause of Quidditch and all."
Percy nodded, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Yes, I'm sure that could be arranged."
"Good." Oliver smiled, and turned to walk back toward the tower (in an oddly jaunty manner), leaving Percy to his own bemused thoughts.
The week seemed to pass interminably, what with his brothers' constant teasing over the loss of his girlfriend (honestly, they had no respect for their elders), and the glares he kept receiving in the hallway from Penelope and her cadre. Besides that, there was the irritation of being unable to concentrate properly on his homework, due to repeated, involuntary recollections of his conversation with Oliver. Which made no sense whatsoever.
Finally, the weekend arrived, and Percy fought his way along the corridor to the library against an onslaught of students on their way to Hogsmeade. Oliver was waiting for him at a carrel in the very back, out of view of Madam Pince (rather unnecessarily, as she was ensconced in her office with a pot of tea and the unabridged works of someone very long-winded). They managed to study for ten minutes, before Oliver set down his quill and cleared his throat. Percy looked up, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe, and then Oliver gave him the second unexpected-kiss-on-the-mouth of his life.
Percy broke away, staring determinedly at Oliver's left foot as a wellspring of confusion and desire rose in him. Oliver's focus and determination were legendary. He was never one not to get what he wanted, and right now that seemed to be Percy. The thought simultaneously panicked and elated him. Realizing that he was being stared at expectantly, Percy turned back and exclaimed, "But you - you're a boy!"
"Well, yes," chuckled Oliver, "That was rather the point."
"Honestly, Oliver, I'm not a poof. I'm a perfectly normal person, you know that," replied Percy hurriedly, scooting his chair backwards a few centimetres. Oliver grinned, leaning in to close the gap and running his fingers along Percy's jaw.
"It's okay, Perce, shut up," and then they were kissing, and Percy never let anyone call him Perce, it wasn't dignified (Percy was informal enough), but this was, this was good, and for the first time in recent memory he started to just about forget himself. Tentatively, he reached out one hand and traced it up Oliver's neck, running his fingers through the soft hair at the nape. Oliver smiled into the kiss, putting one arm around Percy's shoulders and pulling him closer. Percy moved obediently, not wanting to lose contact now that it had been found, and braced his other hand on Oliver's hip as he settled in the taller boy's lap. They fit perfectly, and when their breaths shortened and Oliver took his bottom lip between his teeth, Percy began to think they might be on to something here.
It was idyllic. There was no war, no threat beyond the spectre of NEWTs, and the occasional mentions of Sirius Black had little bearing on his and Oliver's private bubble. They met in classrooms and deserted hallways and towers, places Oliver led him (enjoying the sight of straitlaced Percy willingly getting involved in mischief). Occasionally, Percy would slide a note across the desk in Potions or Charms, asking to spend the night in one of the places he used to bring Penelope: a reclamation, of sorts. He had never considered himself a person capable of something like passion (something Oliver had previously held the monopoly on), but this - compulsions to touch and the constant desire to be closer - was unlike anything he had felt before. It was as if he had been trying to read a book without his glasses, but now everything was sharp and clear. There was so much to discover, and as always, Percy was keen to learn.
One night in November, on his way back to the tower following dinner, Percy felt a hand on his collar and found himself being tugged behind a tapestry of a baby kraken waving its tentacles. "Shortcut," whispered Oliver against his neck, and pressed him up against the wall of the passageway, facing the cool stone. Percy closed his eyes and relaxed, leaning back into Oliver's warmth.
"I get the feeling I'll be spending more time in here than I would have going the long way," he said, and turned so his back was flush to the wall, wrapping his arms around the other boy's waist. "Not that I'm objecting."
Oliver laughed softly, tilting Percy's chin up with one hand, breath ghosting over his cheek. "We've got plenty of time..." (a light kiss) "...Friday night, no work to do..." (another) "...no one will miss us."
"Since we're such good friends," Percy replied, and leaned up to meet Oliver's mouth. Kissing him was intoxicating, and no matter how many moments they stole between class or in the dorms, it couldn't be enough. Even when a kiss was only a prelude to something more, Percy relished the promise that it meant. Now, here, in the dim passage, pressed comfortably between the wall and Oliver's body (fingers tangled in one another's hair or moving across a shoulder blade, legs entwined, as close as they could get), he put all his desire into their kiss, breaking away only to kiss his way across Oliver's jaw and down, leaving reddish marks on his neck. Though easily covered by collars and ties, the tender spots served as a constant reminder to both of what had happened not long before.
When they were alone together, they were simply two people who had fallen for one another - not two boys, not the Quidditch-obsessed only child or the work-focussed Weasley. But real life encroached before long, as it has a habit of doing. There was school and sports and family to deal with, as well as trying to figure out just what they were going to do with the rest of their lives. Above and beyond that, however, it was simply more difficult for them than for a 'conventional' couple. A few of the boys had a subtle aura of difference about them, but most they knew were fairly unaccepting of any sort of relationship not involving a girl. The old banter with the constant volleys of "poof" and its variants seemed more jarring now (even more so to Oliver, who had spent his childhood and summers in metropolitan Dublin, and was used to a much more tolerant atmosphere). So they kept it secret, which is rarely a harbinger of long-term success. They managed, though, even with long, uninterrupted stretches of time alone coming fewer and farther between. Quick brushes of fingers in the hallway or quiet study sessions sufficed, punctuated by the occasional freedom of a deserted school on Hogsmeade weekends.
Two weeks into February, Percy awoke to discover a tin of Honeydukes' fiery, long-lasting cinnamon hearts next to his glasses. He tucked the box into his book bag and sucked on one of the small candies all day long, flashing the tip of his red-stained tongue at Oliver as he walked into Potions. Oliver's cheeks remained pink for the next hour, and that evening he made sure he got a taste of cinnamon.
This was the new status quo, and the months of school seemed to pass more quickly than anyone could remember them having done before. Spring shifted to early summer, and the hotly-anticipated letters began pouring in from prospective employers and magical universities across the globe. To no one's surprise, Oliver Wood and Percy Weasley were both enthusiastically accepted at their top choices of work - Oliver to the Puddlemere United Quidditch team, and Percy to the Ministry of Magic.
Their letters arrived, by chance, on the same morning, and that evening they sat side-by-side on a gauzy couch in the Astronomy Tower, positively glowing.
"This is it, Perce," said Oliver for the umpteenth time. "We've worked so hard for so long and sometimes I thought it would never pay off, but it has and we are so lucky."
"I'm actually going to work at the Ministry," said Percy, staring at the ceiling with a faraway grin. "The Ministry of Magic. I've wanted to work there since I was eight years old and I realized it was the reason everything around me worked, and how we could coexist with Muggles and witches and wizards from other places. And you've known you were going to be a Quidditch player your whole life too, haven't you?" he continued, squeezing Oliver's hand.
"Since I was six," Oliver agreed, and they grinned excitedly at one another.
"You know, considering this is probably the last evening we'll get to spend together before we leave, and it's a bit of a celebration as well..." Percy began, leaning over and carefully unknotting Oliver's school tie.
"I always knew you were brilliant, Percy Weasley," Oliver replied with his easy laugh, reaching for the buttons on Percy's woolly cardigan. (Little else of coherence was spoken that night.)
Soon enough, June melted into July, the graduating class went their separate ways (with much weeping and gnashing of teeth, especially from the girls), and Percy began his daily commutes to the Ministry. He had been there countless times on visits with his father, but never had its grandeur filled him with such a sense of purpose and power. This was what he was meant for, it was clear. In his letters to Oliver, he detailed (amidst anticipation of his visit planned for September) the sense of belonging with other people who cared about order and responsibility on any scale. There was Dolores Umbridge, Cornelius Fudge himself (what an honour to meet the Minister!), the Aurors, Unspeakables, Interrogators of the Wizengamot - all, now, his co-workers. And though it was something he would only ever admit to himself in secret, Mr. Crouch was the kind of person Percy had always imagined he would grow up to be: serious, distinguished, tidy and unremarkable in appearance but a genuine asset to the Ministry in mind and accomplishments.
Oliver's replies were happy and congratulatory, but oddly reserved in places, especially those having to do with Mr. Crouch or all the regulations of the Ministry. Oliver himself seemed to be having a raucously good time, describing the nightly parties and pub crawls with his new teammates. It made Percy slightly nervous - that old aversion to any sort of rule-breaking, which he hadn't felt strongly for many months. His tryst with Oliver had been a distraction at school, but now that he was in the thick of things at the Ministry he realized just how important it was to abide by the rules and have respect for authority. Why, just that morning the Minister himself had stopped by his cramped cubicle, smiling approvingly at the neat and efficient atmosphere.
"I've been hearing from many people that you're quite the model employee, young Mr. Weasley. Respect for order and conscientious habits - that's just what we need more of. Keep it up."
Percy had jumped, nodding and smiling frantically back at the Minister. Mr. Crouch must have put in a good word for him (little matter that he got Percy's name wrong on occasion, as long as he understood what Percy had to offer).
It didn't seem that Oliver was quite as enthusiastic about Percy's success, however. Every letter held a caution to be careful, to avoid letting the Ministry think for him - which, of course, was laughably absurd. Oliver would surely be the one to regret gallivanting around Ireland without a care, and Percy could not help feeling a slight sense of trepidation as the weekend of his trip to visit approached.
When Percy stepped out of the fireplace in the pub Oliver had given him directions to, adjusting his spectacles and securing the strap on his rucksack, he immediately knew his feelings had been spot-on. The place was chock-full of ruffians and clear ne'er-do-wells, and dingy from floor to ceiling. Percy stared around with anxiety, turning sharply when he heard someone calling his name from across the room. Oliver was making his way between the low tables, large in silhouette against the grimy windows. He had longer hair now, and a scruffy goatee - in fact, Percy noted with shock, he was indistinguishable from any other patron of the pub.
"Perce, you're here! Merlin, it's good to see you," Oliver said cheerily, looking Percy up and down. "You're looking like a Ministry wizard through and through."
"Yes, well," replied Percy. "Mr. Crouch says there are certain standards of dress one must uphold to set a good example, as a representative of the Ministry."
Oliver smirked. "Well, you know that when it comes to you, the less dress the better, in my opinion." He winked, and, putting a hand on Percy's shoulder, leaned in for a kiss. Percy drew in a sharp breath and stepped back hastily, checking to see if anyone had noticed.
"What are you doing? This place is full of people!" he whispered.
Oliver's brow furrowed. "We aren't in boarding school anymore, Perce. It's not that big of a deal. My team knows about you, and there's never been any sort of issue."
"They know?!"
"Of course they do. Come on, my friends will be wondering what's keeping us. They're quite keen to meet you at last." Oliver took Percy's hand, ignoring his hissed protests, and dragged him back toward the booth in the corner where a man and two tough-looking women sat with pints. They greeted him enthusiastically, and were unfailingly polite and friendly, but all Percy could think of for the next hour was that they knew. They knew that he wasn't the same as everyone else, that he wasn't quite following the rules. Neither were they. This place was on the wrong side of conventional, Oliver's new lifestyle was one of risk and silliness, he didn't belong here - the thoughts swirled around and around until he felt slightly sick.
He's changed.
This was a mistake.
I need to - go back. Where it's safe. Normal.
I can't do this.
Percy pushed aside his barely-touched glass and rose from the table. "I apologize. I need to go. Best of luck with your endeavours this season." He said all this very quickly, addressing the wall, and walked briskly away. He heard Oliver's footfalls behind him, and some very creative swearing from pub-goers Oliver had tripped over in his haste, but managed to reach the doors of the pub before being forcibly whirled around. The touch on his shoulder seemed to radiate heat, and for a split second Percy remembered Oliver's warmth inside the cold castle in the dead of night. But -
"What the hell is going on with you?" said Oliver loudly. "You come up here to visit me and run away as soon as you arrive?"
"I simply don't feel comfortable with this," replied Percy heatedly. "They know. And this place-" he struggled to put his feelings into words.
"This all goes too much against the rules for you, doesn't it, Percy?" supplied Oliver.
"Yes! Precisely! I would feel much better to simply return to London - "
"Return to the Ministry, you mean. That's it! I was right about what would happen: you've been brainwashed."
Percy rolled his eyes disgustedly, yet with an odd quality of primness. "Don't be so naive, Oliver. I've grown up, as you clearly haven't, and now I understand the importance of keeping within the rules of an ordered society."
Oliver was looking more and more incredulous by the minute. "I can't believe this. Fred and George warned me - they wrote last week, saying you'd gone back to your old stick-in-the-mud ways, and though it was a relief to them to see the universe back in order, they did miss my good influence on you." At this, Percy spluttered, turning red. Oliver continued, jabbing one finger in the air as he spoke, "You're the one being naive, Percy. You're just swallowing what they're spoon-feeding you, without any question. Well, the Ministry isn't perfect, and neither are you, or Crouch, or Fudge."
Percy reached for the door handle, lips pressed together in a white line. "I think you've said your piece. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have responsibilities to return to."
Looking away in frustration, Oliver spat, "Fine. Don't bother to write; I'm not interested."
Percy strode out the door and around the back to the alleyway, shaking so much as he turned on the spot that he nearly Splinched off an eyebrow en route to London.
It seemed that not only the twins but the rest of his family shared Oliver's views, and the next months became more and more tense in the Burrow. Percy moved to London permanently, taking up a flat on the outskirts of the city proper. His parents continually picked fights by owl and Floo, however, and any visit home was sure to be fraught with conflict. Arthur and Molly simply did not understand, and it was clear that they were firmly on the wrong ideological path. Finally, Percy informed them of exactly what he thought, and where his allegiance lay. Afterward, he reflected on how lucky he was to have extricated himself from a situation in which there was so much pressure to turn away from the Ministry. Putting one's confidence in Harry Potter over Cornelius Fudge: it was mad. Harry was one of those people ruled by emotions and instinct, always passionate and risk-taking. Not to be trusted, especially when he tried to win people over to his side with the "truth."
A year passed, and then two, and Percy learned that "truth" was a relative term. The Daily Prophet and successive new Ministers had made that perfectly clear. But if it served the greater good, then it could not be criticized - for example, the case of Stan Shunpike. Thousands of minds put at ease by the arrest of a Death Eater were well worth one man's liberty. Percy told himself this, and ignored his father in the lifts, and went about his days.
The mood was changing, though. Rapidly. There was more power, more strength than ever, and the focus on superiority was both tempting and unsettling. Muggle-borns were being rounded up by the hour, and being brought to the court where Dolores' cat prowled in a manifestation of her content. Percy looked each day, almost automatically, for the still-familiar bushy hair of Ron's young friend. She was quite brilliant, from what he remembered of their conversations in previous years, and he did admit (internally) that it would be a shame to be rid of her. She - they - would be entering their seventh year now. How time flew.
He kept his face blank these days, and his eyes averted, because he had a feeling that something might not be perfectly right at the Ministry, but it wasn't anything he wanted to know about. If he did, what would be the alternative? Crawling back on his hands and knees to beg forgiveness from his family, and joining the Order of the Phoenix to go out and get killed? He wouldn't be allowed back; he had seen the hardness in the twins' eyes as he left, and his mother's grief, as if he had died. No, it was far easier to go about his daily routine, performing his duties to the utmost of his abilities, as always. He could not be blamed, or made to feel anything, really, if he wasn't aware of what Dolores and Thicknesse were discussing late into the night, or why a strangely familiar, bloodshot eye watched him from the carved door.
But he typed. That was, in the end, his job, and he typed and copied and disseminated whatever important documents Dolores gave him. More and more often, lately, they had been Ministerial Decrees. Some were innocuous, some took Percy a bit of ethical wrangling to be able to ignore properly - and then there was one, in the fall: #52. "All Patronuses of the following forms have been deemed subversive and potentially dangerous by the Department of Civilian Defense: snakes and other reptiles, wolves, large dogs, deer, and any animal, especially birds, with regenerative properties. Any witch or wizard whose Patronus takes one of these forms must immediately register with the Ministry and will face the appropriate consequences." At this, Percy froze - he could not help the wave of memories that he had tried to brush off; of whispered updates on the latest research from the Department of Mysteries, and the dark frissons of fear that had begun to reach inward, even to the inner circles. It was simply cruel, and he could not imagine -
Percy breathed in, breathed out, and reached for a fresh quill. The Ministry must have its reasons, and what happened to anyone foolish enough to defy them was certainly not his responsibility.
His resolve broke, however, when he saw the people lining the hallway outside the courtroom (there seemed to be a neverending stream of them these days, all with the same bloodless faces under the Dementors' chill). They would most likely have their Patronuses...he didn't know quite what the word was - severed? Years ago, on a holiday to a nearby lakeside with the Weasleys, he had read the Muggle fantasy novel he'd found on a bookshelf; it was all about a search for truth by a girl and her daemon. It was something like a Patronus in that it took a fixed animal shape and was bonded to you for life, and the most terrifying part of the novel (the part that had made Percy sit up all night burning candle after candle) was when the girl and her daemon were almost ripped apart by the villain. Percy could so easily see Dolores with a sickly-sweet smile, saying "It's for your own good, dear," before cutting the bond herself between wizard and Patronus. That was when something shifted.
He tried not averting his eyes, not tuning out what might be dangerous, not refusing to pay attention to the various injustices that were occurring all over the place. It was astonishing: the sheer number of people being imprisoned, or exiled to harsh places with nary a ley line to be found; the reams of hate-mongering pamphlets, designed to incite fear of one's neighbour with cheery artwork; or the restrictions on everyday life, with everyone subject to curfews and searches. As quick as his descent had been that summer four years ago, Percy's "awakening" (he hated to put such a cliche term on it, but there it was) was just as sudden. Each moment he spent sitting at his desk, he couldn't help jiggling a leg or fiddling with a pencil, to release the nervous energy that demanded to be let off in some sort of outburst. But it was a minefield, he knew. He had to be careful. The right time would come along - or, as it happened, present itself unequivocally to his face.
--
It was Ministerial Decree for Protection and Guidance number 87-B that told Percy it was time to go. But first of all, he thought it was likely he was going to be sick. It wasn't because of fear for himself; no, it was because he knew what he would see. Hundreds of people - men, women, and otherwise - who were like him, who were afraid and ashamed and controlled by a government that had long ago, as Percy now saw, ceased to govern and begun to terrorize.
He had no idea what to do about it, though, until he stepped out of a fireplace on the wall two mornings later, and spotted Oliver. Strong, burly Oliver, head bowed and wrists clasped in something that glittered coldly across the Atrium. Their eyes met, and Percy shivered at Oliver's half-wild, half-fearful expression. After barely a second's hesitation, Percy abandoned his intent to be at work a half-hour early and followed Oliver's guard down to the Department of Mysteries; he had no other choice. The jolt of surprise that had run through him at the sight of Oliver being frog-marched away sharpened his focus, and he punched the elevator call button, mind whirring. Years ago, Percy had not been able to keep from overhearing the endless rehashings of Harry's Wizengamot trial and of the mysterious appearance of Dumbledore. He thought of it automatically as he made his way hurriedly downstairs and into the back of the oddly-shaped hearing room. Clearing his throat, Percy strode between the benches toward the judge's seat, locking eyes with Oliver (sitting wide-eyed and pale on an imposing chair clearly meant to dwarf the occupant). Though Oliver's surprise and gratitude at seeing him were warmly palpable, Percy had to cross his arms against the dank, unforgiving chill of the chamber.
"Witness for the accused, Percival Ignatius Weasley."
Umbridge raised one eyebrow, clearly confused by this sudden defence of her prey.
"Are you willing to vouch for him?" she inquired suspiciously. "I'm sure you're aware of what this man stands accused of, Mr. Weasley. It could be unwise to associate yourself with him."
Percy nodded with a false confidence in the face of a threat he knew was very dangerous, however vague. "I've known him since our first year at Hogwarts, and I can say with absolute certainty that Oliver Wood is a - a law-abiding citizen."
Umbridge cocked her head to one side, black velvet bow staying perkily centred atop her curls. "I'm not quite convinced. I was under the impression that you had been out of contact for some years now. How could you possibly - " here she gave a tinkling laugh "- be so sure?"
Percy flicked a glance at Oliver, whose pale, green-tinged complexion was surely a mirror of his own. He didn't dare to ask how she knew, but simply tried to come up with something plausible despite his mounting desperation.
"It is true that we have been estranged for a while. Longer than we should have been, and I deeply regret - " Out of the corner of his eye, Percy saw Oliver's knuckles turn white as he gripped the arm of the chair. He continued, "But the reason behind it is, I'm sure, something you can understand. We were fighting over a woman, to simplify the matter. That in itself should be proof, and indeed, in seven years of living in close proximity, I never once doubted Oliver's, erm - normality."
She nodded, looking slightly mollified, and Percy held his breath as she reached for her gavel. "Given the reputation and reputability of the character witness, I shall exercise leniency in this instance." The cat patrolling the judge's stand seemed to dim slightly, and Percy let out a silent sigh. "However, do not maintain any delusions that the Ministry is no longer keeping tabs on you, Wood. You are extraordinarily lucky that an official was willing to be your witness. Be careful." She banged the gavel with an extraordinary amount of gusto, and called, "Next!"
The chains clattered to the floor and Oliver made no pretense of leaving calmly. Percy rushed after him, and they finally met in an alcove near a set of creaking wooden stairs. They looked at each other in shock for a moment, and then each, as if by silent mutual agreement, threw himself into the other's arms. Percy held Oliver tightly, not caring if his fingers left bruises and wishing for the same on his own skin. "I'm so, so sorry, you were right, Oliver, I'm - " he whispered, pressing skin against skin and breathing in the scent he'd been missing for years.
"I know," came the reply in his ear, "I know, it's - thank you. Thank you." Oliver was still trembling slightly, relief bringing colour back to his face and heat back to his hands. "You saved my life. God, I missed you."
"I was astoundingly stupid. I can't believe how - I missed you too," and Percy had to kiss him, it wasn't a matter of choice, and in that moment he hardly would have cared if Umbridge herself had discovered the two of them wrapped up in one another. After a minute, though, the probabilities of the situation made themselves apparent, and the two had to break apart.
"You have to go," said Percy urgently. "Go into hiding, now, and I'll come find you as soon as I can get away. It's going to take some strategy, but it'll be soon. I've bought you some time but it's not much, and she's sure to be even more suspicious now."
Oliver nodded, never one to let anything cloud his judgement in difficult situations. "I've got some contacts I can rely on. I will see you, soon, I hope." He looked away, drawing in a sharp breath, and pulled Percy close for another kiss. "As soon as this is over -"
Percy nodded. "As long as it takes. I may be astoundingly stupid, but I'm not stupid enough to let you go again." A light final kiss and Oliver was gone, lopsided smile fixed in Percy's mind. Breathing rapidly and full of determination, Percy stared down the hallway after him. Dolores would have her suspicions, but Percy's track record should serve him well for the time being, and the search for Undesirable No. 1 took up most of her attention. He had heard whispers of a man in Hogsmeade who could get people into Hogwarts and protect those on the run. There was no doubt in Percy's mind that Hogwarts would be the scene of the uprising that had to be coming. He could make contact, work his way out, and run with Oliver when the time came. Ironically enough, for the first time in what he now realized had been ages, Percy was no longer afraid.
It was time to break the rules.
Giftee: pastelninja
Title: Influence
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Percy/Oliver, slight Percy/Penelope but only en route to the slash
Era/Time-Frame: The HP years up to Deathly Hallows (not including the epilogue).
Rating: PG-13 for dark themes and brief mentions of things that might be sexual(!)
Word Count: 6,145
Summary: Percy changes, changes, and changes again, and manages to fall in love along the way.
Author's Notes: Well, Barty Jr/Regulus didn't happen, but there is quite a lot of Percy involved. I really hope that you like this; if not, please be honest, and I will be more than happy to write you something else. Thank you oh so much to my beta, who will remain unnamed for secrecy. Also, I took liberty with the publication date of The Golden Compass by Philip Pullman (this will make sense later), and if my timeline is messed up then please try to overlook it. I nitpicked as much as possible with the help of the Lexicon, but mistakes happen. I've rambled enough now. Enjoy!
Influence
It was Ministerial Decree for Protection and Guidance number 87-B that told Percy it was time to go.
It was fairly obvious by that point, anyway. Most of the important, life-altering decrees had been passed already, and the periodic proclamations were now just more of Dolores' authority grabs. It had begun conservatively, growing in audacity as the fear and isolation of the populace had expanded. Day by day, then hour by hour, the decrees tightened and multiplied. She could, so she did, and when she had waltzed into the room just a few moments ago bearing the latest decree, it was with the air of someone who is obnoxiously happy.
"Percy, dear, a new one," Dolores had trilled, handing him the parchment. "The usual copies, please. I'm sure you'll be in agreement with me that this is quite overdue. I can't think why I didn't consider it earlier!"
And now this. He leaned back in his chair and read it over again to himself in a low whisper, though no one else was in the room. "In order to preserve the virtue and morality of our community, any witch or wizard discovered to be of the type seeking "relationships" with others of their own gender will be immediately subject to corrective procedures and removal from society at the discretion of the Ministry."
Most of the 'i's were dotted with hearts, and the one in the flourishing signature at the bottom seemed to have a miniature kitten head atop it. Percy ran his thumb along the edge of the parchment, a sheet from Dolores' drawerful of pink, perfume-spritzed pages. He was to make six hundred copies on official letterhead to be distributed to Ministry employees, and arrange for a set of large posters to be placed in major wizarding hubs - Hogwarts; Hogsmeade; Diagon Alley; pubs in Spinner's End, Ottery St. Catchpole, and Godric's Hollow. An announcement would be run in the Prophet tomorrow, and within a day or two the majority of the wizarding populace would know.
But first of all, he thought it was likely he was going to be sick.
It wasn't even because of fear for himself, of being found out and run out of the Ministry building like some small-town thief. Hiding one's true self was an essential skill in these times, and Percy had had plenty of practice even before he was first hired.
--
Sharing a dorm room with four other boys for seven years had been an exercise in pure torture, but Percy had somehow been able to get through it without anyone else catching on, even his brothers (who seemed to have been given more than their fair share of skill in observation and teasing). He knew it was uncommon and unpopular and probably not something that would be of benefit to him in his professional life, and managed to convince himself that his real motivation for going to Quidditch games was not to watch the largely male teams but to "express solidarity with the spirit of ambition and healthy competition." He got by.
And then, near the end of fifth year, Penelope Clearwater had come up to him after Charms, thick curls pulled into a prim ponytail and a serious look on her face. "Percy, I've been thinking, and I really admire your dedication to academics and your vision for the future. Would you like to come to the Three Broomsticks with me this weekend and discuss the recent changes in Ministry department heads?"
His mouth worked for a moment before he managed to stammer out a "Yes, that would be lovely"- and that was exactly what it turned out to be. She was smart and serious and just as ambitious as him, and even wore reading glasses when she went to the library. But then, when they met at the Hogwarts platform in September of sixth year, she kissed him on the mouth. And that was just odd. He tried, he tried so hard; he met her in all sorts of locations around the school, brought her flowers, once watched wide-eyed as she took off her blouse in an empty classroom. But he kept dreaming of boys with her glasses and the curly hair that looked so short when it was up and back. It was confusing and terrifying and nerve-wracking (and he was being teased day in and day out by the twins), and finally one day at the beginning of seventh year, he had to break away, disentangling her arms from around him and shifting backward on the couch.
"Penelope, I can't - I'm not. That. I've tried, but it's not working. You're a lovely person. I like you very much. And I realize this is probably going to wound you emotionally, but - I'm. You're. Not the right, er, gender."
Penelope paled in surprise, lips pursed, then took a few deep breaths in, regaining her colour. "Percy Weasley. Are you saying to me that after all this time, you've suddenly realized that I'm not the right gender for you?"
"Well, no. Not really. I mean, the last part is true, but it wasn't a sudden realization." He nodded earnestly, relieved to be able to explain things. "I've known for a while, and I've been trying to be, erm, normal, but I really think it would be best for both of us if we separated."
She stared, open-mouthed, for a moment before rising to her feet above him and crossing her arms, eyes filling with angry tears. "So you're a bloody poofter and you've been pretending to love me while being a bloody fucking poofter behind my back, and I was - I thought we would - GET OUT!" Never had Percy seen her so emotional. Feelings were irrational things, and the pair of them were similar in that they usually kept them neatly filed away inside for appropriate occasions. But this was a different Penelope, one that was out of control, chest heaving and tears starting to drip off the end of her nose. Percy backed away awkwardly, torn between trying to comfort her despite being the source of her upset and escaping the uncomfortable situation. After a moment of indecision he turned tail and ran out the door - straight into Oliver Wood, who was standing in an unconvincingly nonchalant manner in the hallway outside, looking just as surprised as Penelope had been (though in a decidedly different way).
"Ouch," said Oliver. "Hi."
"Hullo. Sorry about that," replied Percy.
"'S alright. I was just walking, and, well." Oliver looked away and shifted nervously. "Bloody poofter, then?"
Percy swallowed. "No! Certainly not. Erm."
Oliver looked back up, meeting Percy's eyes with an unreadable expression. "Right. So. Are you going to Hogsmeade this weekend?" Percy blinked, nonplussed at this sudden change in topic (not that the conversation up to that point had been entirely normal anyway).
"No, I was planning to stay back and revise for the Transfiguration test...why?"
"Oh, no, I was just going to say - I'm staying behind too, and perhaps we could study together. I haven't got time for revision, usually, 'cause of Quidditch and all."
Percy nodded, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Yes, I'm sure that could be arranged."
"Good." Oliver smiled, and turned to walk back toward the tower (in an oddly jaunty manner), leaving Percy to his own bemused thoughts.
The week seemed to pass interminably, what with his brothers' constant teasing over the loss of his girlfriend (honestly, they had no respect for their elders), and the glares he kept receiving in the hallway from Penelope and her cadre. Besides that, there was the irritation of being unable to concentrate properly on his homework, due to repeated, involuntary recollections of his conversation with Oliver. Which made no sense whatsoever.
Finally, the weekend arrived, and Percy fought his way along the corridor to the library against an onslaught of students on their way to Hogsmeade. Oliver was waiting for him at a carrel in the very back, out of view of Madam Pince (rather unnecessarily, as she was ensconced in her office with a pot of tea and the unabridged works of someone very long-winded). They managed to study for ten minutes, before Oliver set down his quill and cleared his throat. Percy looked up, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe, and then Oliver gave him the second unexpected-kiss-on-the-mouth of his life.
Percy broke away, staring determinedly at Oliver's left foot as a wellspring of confusion and desire rose in him. Oliver's focus and determination were legendary. He was never one not to get what he wanted, and right now that seemed to be Percy. The thought simultaneously panicked and elated him. Realizing that he was being stared at expectantly, Percy turned back and exclaimed, "But you - you're a boy!"
"Well, yes," chuckled Oliver, "That was rather the point."
"Honestly, Oliver, I'm not a poof. I'm a perfectly normal person, you know that," replied Percy hurriedly, scooting his chair backwards a few centimetres. Oliver grinned, leaning in to close the gap and running his fingers along Percy's jaw.
"It's okay, Perce, shut up," and then they were kissing, and Percy never let anyone call him Perce, it wasn't dignified (Percy was informal enough), but this was, this was good, and for the first time in recent memory he started to just about forget himself. Tentatively, he reached out one hand and traced it up Oliver's neck, running his fingers through the soft hair at the nape. Oliver smiled into the kiss, putting one arm around Percy's shoulders and pulling him closer. Percy moved obediently, not wanting to lose contact now that it had been found, and braced his other hand on Oliver's hip as he settled in the taller boy's lap. They fit perfectly, and when their breaths shortened and Oliver took his bottom lip between his teeth, Percy began to think they might be on to something here.
It was idyllic. There was no war, no threat beyond the spectre of NEWTs, and the occasional mentions of Sirius Black had little bearing on his and Oliver's private bubble. They met in classrooms and deserted hallways and towers, places Oliver led him (enjoying the sight of straitlaced Percy willingly getting involved in mischief). Occasionally, Percy would slide a note across the desk in Potions or Charms, asking to spend the night in one of the places he used to bring Penelope: a reclamation, of sorts. He had never considered himself a person capable of something like passion (something Oliver had previously held the monopoly on), but this - compulsions to touch and the constant desire to be closer - was unlike anything he had felt before. It was as if he had been trying to read a book without his glasses, but now everything was sharp and clear. There was so much to discover, and as always, Percy was keen to learn.
One night in November, on his way back to the tower following dinner, Percy felt a hand on his collar and found himself being tugged behind a tapestry of a baby kraken waving its tentacles. "Shortcut," whispered Oliver against his neck, and pressed him up against the wall of the passageway, facing the cool stone. Percy closed his eyes and relaxed, leaning back into Oliver's warmth.
"I get the feeling I'll be spending more time in here than I would have going the long way," he said, and turned so his back was flush to the wall, wrapping his arms around the other boy's waist. "Not that I'm objecting."
Oliver laughed softly, tilting Percy's chin up with one hand, breath ghosting over his cheek. "We've got plenty of time..." (a light kiss) "...Friday night, no work to do..." (another) "...no one will miss us."
"Since we're such good friends," Percy replied, and leaned up to meet Oliver's mouth. Kissing him was intoxicating, and no matter how many moments they stole between class or in the dorms, it couldn't be enough. Even when a kiss was only a prelude to something more, Percy relished the promise that it meant. Now, here, in the dim passage, pressed comfortably between the wall and Oliver's body (fingers tangled in one another's hair or moving across a shoulder blade, legs entwined, as close as they could get), he put all his desire into their kiss, breaking away only to kiss his way across Oliver's jaw and down, leaving reddish marks on his neck. Though easily covered by collars and ties, the tender spots served as a constant reminder to both of what had happened not long before.
When they were alone together, they were simply two people who had fallen for one another - not two boys, not the Quidditch-obsessed only child or the work-focussed Weasley. But real life encroached before long, as it has a habit of doing. There was school and sports and family to deal with, as well as trying to figure out just what they were going to do with the rest of their lives. Above and beyond that, however, it was simply more difficult for them than for a 'conventional' couple. A few of the boys had a subtle aura of difference about them, but most they knew were fairly unaccepting of any sort of relationship not involving a girl. The old banter with the constant volleys of "poof" and its variants seemed more jarring now (even more so to Oliver, who had spent his childhood and summers in metropolitan Dublin, and was used to a much more tolerant atmosphere). So they kept it secret, which is rarely a harbinger of long-term success. They managed, though, even with long, uninterrupted stretches of time alone coming fewer and farther between. Quick brushes of fingers in the hallway or quiet study sessions sufficed, punctuated by the occasional freedom of a deserted school on Hogsmeade weekends.
Two weeks into February, Percy awoke to discover a tin of Honeydukes' fiery, long-lasting cinnamon hearts next to his glasses. He tucked the box into his book bag and sucked on one of the small candies all day long, flashing the tip of his red-stained tongue at Oliver as he walked into Potions. Oliver's cheeks remained pink for the next hour, and that evening he made sure he got a taste of cinnamon.
This was the new status quo, and the months of school seemed to pass more quickly than anyone could remember them having done before. Spring shifted to early summer, and the hotly-anticipated letters began pouring in from prospective employers and magical universities across the globe. To no one's surprise, Oliver Wood and Percy Weasley were both enthusiastically accepted at their top choices of work - Oliver to the Puddlemere United Quidditch team, and Percy to the Ministry of Magic.
Their letters arrived, by chance, on the same morning, and that evening they sat side-by-side on a gauzy couch in the Astronomy Tower, positively glowing.
"This is it, Perce," said Oliver for the umpteenth time. "We've worked so hard for so long and sometimes I thought it would never pay off, but it has and we are so lucky."
"I'm actually going to work at the Ministry," said Percy, staring at the ceiling with a faraway grin. "The Ministry of Magic. I've wanted to work there since I was eight years old and I realized it was the reason everything around me worked, and how we could coexist with Muggles and witches and wizards from other places. And you've known you were going to be a Quidditch player your whole life too, haven't you?" he continued, squeezing Oliver's hand.
"Since I was six," Oliver agreed, and they grinned excitedly at one another.
"You know, considering this is probably the last evening we'll get to spend together before we leave, and it's a bit of a celebration as well..." Percy began, leaning over and carefully unknotting Oliver's school tie.
"I always knew you were brilliant, Percy Weasley," Oliver replied with his easy laugh, reaching for the buttons on Percy's woolly cardigan. (Little else of coherence was spoken that night.)
Soon enough, June melted into July, the graduating class went their separate ways (with much weeping and gnashing of teeth, especially from the girls), and Percy began his daily commutes to the Ministry. He had been there countless times on visits with his father, but never had its grandeur filled him with such a sense of purpose and power. This was what he was meant for, it was clear. In his letters to Oliver, he detailed (amidst anticipation of his visit planned for September) the sense of belonging with other people who cared about order and responsibility on any scale. There was Dolores Umbridge, Cornelius Fudge himself (what an honour to meet the Minister!), the Aurors, Unspeakables, Interrogators of the Wizengamot - all, now, his co-workers. And though it was something he would only ever admit to himself in secret, Mr. Crouch was the kind of person Percy had always imagined he would grow up to be: serious, distinguished, tidy and unremarkable in appearance but a genuine asset to the Ministry in mind and accomplishments.
Oliver's replies were happy and congratulatory, but oddly reserved in places, especially those having to do with Mr. Crouch or all the regulations of the Ministry. Oliver himself seemed to be having a raucously good time, describing the nightly parties and pub crawls with his new teammates. It made Percy slightly nervous - that old aversion to any sort of rule-breaking, which he hadn't felt strongly for many months. His tryst with Oliver had been a distraction at school, but now that he was in the thick of things at the Ministry he realized just how important it was to abide by the rules and have respect for authority. Why, just that morning the Minister himself had stopped by his cramped cubicle, smiling approvingly at the neat and efficient atmosphere.
"I've been hearing from many people that you're quite the model employee, young Mr. Weasley. Respect for order and conscientious habits - that's just what we need more of. Keep it up."
Percy had jumped, nodding and smiling frantically back at the Minister. Mr. Crouch must have put in a good word for him (little matter that he got Percy's name wrong on occasion, as long as he understood what Percy had to offer).
It didn't seem that Oliver was quite as enthusiastic about Percy's success, however. Every letter held a caution to be careful, to avoid letting the Ministry think for him - which, of course, was laughably absurd. Oliver would surely be the one to regret gallivanting around Ireland without a care, and Percy could not help feeling a slight sense of trepidation as the weekend of his trip to visit approached.
When Percy stepped out of the fireplace in the pub Oliver had given him directions to, adjusting his spectacles and securing the strap on his rucksack, he immediately knew his feelings had been spot-on. The place was chock-full of ruffians and clear ne'er-do-wells, and dingy from floor to ceiling. Percy stared around with anxiety, turning sharply when he heard someone calling his name from across the room. Oliver was making his way between the low tables, large in silhouette against the grimy windows. He had longer hair now, and a scruffy goatee - in fact, Percy noted with shock, he was indistinguishable from any other patron of the pub.
"Perce, you're here! Merlin, it's good to see you," Oliver said cheerily, looking Percy up and down. "You're looking like a Ministry wizard through and through."
"Yes, well," replied Percy. "Mr. Crouch says there are certain standards of dress one must uphold to set a good example, as a representative of the Ministry."
Oliver smirked. "Well, you know that when it comes to you, the less dress the better, in my opinion." He winked, and, putting a hand on Percy's shoulder, leaned in for a kiss. Percy drew in a sharp breath and stepped back hastily, checking to see if anyone had noticed.
"What are you doing? This place is full of people!" he whispered.
Oliver's brow furrowed. "We aren't in boarding school anymore, Perce. It's not that big of a deal. My team knows about you, and there's never been any sort of issue."
"They know?!"
"Of course they do. Come on, my friends will be wondering what's keeping us. They're quite keen to meet you at last." Oliver took Percy's hand, ignoring his hissed protests, and dragged him back toward the booth in the corner where a man and two tough-looking women sat with pints. They greeted him enthusiastically, and were unfailingly polite and friendly, but all Percy could think of for the next hour was that they knew. They knew that he wasn't the same as everyone else, that he wasn't quite following the rules. Neither were they. This place was on the wrong side of conventional, Oliver's new lifestyle was one of risk and silliness, he didn't belong here - the thoughts swirled around and around until he felt slightly sick.
He's changed.
This was a mistake.
I need to - go back. Where it's safe. Normal.
I can't do this.
Percy pushed aside his barely-touched glass and rose from the table. "I apologize. I need to go. Best of luck with your endeavours this season." He said all this very quickly, addressing the wall, and walked briskly away. He heard Oliver's footfalls behind him, and some very creative swearing from pub-goers Oliver had tripped over in his haste, but managed to reach the doors of the pub before being forcibly whirled around. The touch on his shoulder seemed to radiate heat, and for a split second Percy remembered Oliver's warmth inside the cold castle in the dead of night. But -
"What the hell is going on with you?" said Oliver loudly. "You come up here to visit me and run away as soon as you arrive?"
"I simply don't feel comfortable with this," replied Percy heatedly. "They know. And this place-" he struggled to put his feelings into words.
"This all goes too much against the rules for you, doesn't it, Percy?" supplied Oliver.
"Yes! Precisely! I would feel much better to simply return to London - "
"Return to the Ministry, you mean. That's it! I was right about what would happen: you've been brainwashed."
Percy rolled his eyes disgustedly, yet with an odd quality of primness. "Don't be so naive, Oliver. I've grown up, as you clearly haven't, and now I understand the importance of keeping within the rules of an ordered society."
Oliver was looking more and more incredulous by the minute. "I can't believe this. Fred and George warned me - they wrote last week, saying you'd gone back to your old stick-in-the-mud ways, and though it was a relief to them to see the universe back in order, they did miss my good influence on you." At this, Percy spluttered, turning red. Oliver continued, jabbing one finger in the air as he spoke, "You're the one being naive, Percy. You're just swallowing what they're spoon-feeding you, without any question. Well, the Ministry isn't perfect, and neither are you, or Crouch, or Fudge."
Percy reached for the door handle, lips pressed together in a white line. "I think you've said your piece. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have responsibilities to return to."
Looking away in frustration, Oliver spat, "Fine. Don't bother to write; I'm not interested."
Percy strode out the door and around the back to the alleyway, shaking so much as he turned on the spot that he nearly Splinched off an eyebrow en route to London.
It seemed that not only the twins but the rest of his family shared Oliver's views, and the next months became more and more tense in the Burrow. Percy moved to London permanently, taking up a flat on the outskirts of the city proper. His parents continually picked fights by owl and Floo, however, and any visit home was sure to be fraught with conflict. Arthur and Molly simply did not understand, and it was clear that they were firmly on the wrong ideological path. Finally, Percy informed them of exactly what he thought, and where his allegiance lay. Afterward, he reflected on how lucky he was to have extricated himself from a situation in which there was so much pressure to turn away from the Ministry. Putting one's confidence in Harry Potter over Cornelius Fudge: it was mad. Harry was one of those people ruled by emotions and instinct, always passionate and risk-taking. Not to be trusted, especially when he tried to win people over to his side with the "truth."
A year passed, and then two, and Percy learned that "truth" was a relative term. The Daily Prophet and successive new Ministers had made that perfectly clear. But if it served the greater good, then it could not be criticized - for example, the case of Stan Shunpike. Thousands of minds put at ease by the arrest of a Death Eater were well worth one man's liberty. Percy told himself this, and ignored his father in the lifts, and went about his days.
The mood was changing, though. Rapidly. There was more power, more strength than ever, and the focus on superiority was both tempting and unsettling. Muggle-borns were being rounded up by the hour, and being brought to the court where Dolores' cat prowled in a manifestation of her content. Percy looked each day, almost automatically, for the still-familiar bushy hair of Ron's young friend. She was quite brilliant, from what he remembered of their conversations in previous years, and he did admit (internally) that it would be a shame to be rid of her. She - they - would be entering their seventh year now. How time flew.
He kept his face blank these days, and his eyes averted, because he had a feeling that something might not be perfectly right at the Ministry, but it wasn't anything he wanted to know about. If he did, what would be the alternative? Crawling back on his hands and knees to beg forgiveness from his family, and joining the Order of the Phoenix to go out and get killed? He wouldn't be allowed back; he had seen the hardness in the twins' eyes as he left, and his mother's grief, as if he had died. No, it was far easier to go about his daily routine, performing his duties to the utmost of his abilities, as always. He could not be blamed, or made to feel anything, really, if he wasn't aware of what Dolores and Thicknesse were discussing late into the night, or why a strangely familiar, bloodshot eye watched him from the carved door.
But he typed. That was, in the end, his job, and he typed and copied and disseminated whatever important documents Dolores gave him. More and more often, lately, they had been Ministerial Decrees. Some were innocuous, some took Percy a bit of ethical wrangling to be able to ignore properly - and then there was one, in the fall: #52. "All Patronuses of the following forms have been deemed subversive and potentially dangerous by the Department of Civilian Defense: snakes and other reptiles, wolves, large dogs, deer, and any animal, especially birds, with regenerative properties. Any witch or wizard whose Patronus takes one of these forms must immediately register with the Ministry and will face the appropriate consequences." At this, Percy froze - he could not help the wave of memories that he had tried to brush off; of whispered updates on the latest research from the Department of Mysteries, and the dark frissons of fear that had begun to reach inward, even to the inner circles. It was simply cruel, and he could not imagine -
Percy breathed in, breathed out, and reached for a fresh quill. The Ministry must have its reasons, and what happened to anyone foolish enough to defy them was certainly not his responsibility.
His resolve broke, however, when he saw the people lining the hallway outside the courtroom (there seemed to be a neverending stream of them these days, all with the same bloodless faces under the Dementors' chill). They would most likely have their Patronuses...he didn't know quite what the word was - severed? Years ago, on a holiday to a nearby lakeside with the Weasleys, he had read the Muggle fantasy novel he'd found on a bookshelf; it was all about a search for truth by a girl and her daemon. It was something like a Patronus in that it took a fixed animal shape and was bonded to you for life, and the most terrifying part of the novel (the part that had made Percy sit up all night burning candle after candle) was when the girl and her daemon were almost ripped apart by the villain. Percy could so easily see Dolores with a sickly-sweet smile, saying "It's for your own good, dear," before cutting the bond herself between wizard and Patronus. That was when something shifted.
He tried not averting his eyes, not tuning out what might be dangerous, not refusing to pay attention to the various injustices that were occurring all over the place. It was astonishing: the sheer number of people being imprisoned, or exiled to harsh places with nary a ley line to be found; the reams of hate-mongering pamphlets, designed to incite fear of one's neighbour with cheery artwork; or the restrictions on everyday life, with everyone subject to curfews and searches. As quick as his descent had been that summer four years ago, Percy's "awakening" (he hated to put such a cliche term on it, but there it was) was just as sudden. Each moment he spent sitting at his desk, he couldn't help jiggling a leg or fiddling with a pencil, to release the nervous energy that demanded to be let off in some sort of outburst. But it was a minefield, he knew. He had to be careful. The right time would come along - or, as it happened, present itself unequivocally to his face.
--
It was Ministerial Decree for Protection and Guidance number 87-B that told Percy it was time to go. But first of all, he thought it was likely he was going to be sick. It wasn't because of fear for himself; no, it was because he knew what he would see. Hundreds of people - men, women, and otherwise - who were like him, who were afraid and ashamed and controlled by a government that had long ago, as Percy now saw, ceased to govern and begun to terrorize.
He had no idea what to do about it, though, until he stepped out of a fireplace on the wall two mornings later, and spotted Oliver. Strong, burly Oliver, head bowed and wrists clasped in something that glittered coldly across the Atrium. Their eyes met, and Percy shivered at Oliver's half-wild, half-fearful expression. After barely a second's hesitation, Percy abandoned his intent to be at work a half-hour early and followed Oliver's guard down to the Department of Mysteries; he had no other choice. The jolt of surprise that had run through him at the sight of Oliver being frog-marched away sharpened his focus, and he punched the elevator call button, mind whirring. Years ago, Percy had not been able to keep from overhearing the endless rehashings of Harry's Wizengamot trial and of the mysterious appearance of Dumbledore. He thought of it automatically as he made his way hurriedly downstairs and into the back of the oddly-shaped hearing room. Clearing his throat, Percy strode between the benches toward the judge's seat, locking eyes with Oliver (sitting wide-eyed and pale on an imposing chair clearly meant to dwarf the occupant). Though Oliver's surprise and gratitude at seeing him were warmly palpable, Percy had to cross his arms against the dank, unforgiving chill of the chamber.
"Witness for the accused, Percival Ignatius Weasley."
Umbridge raised one eyebrow, clearly confused by this sudden defence of her prey.
"Are you willing to vouch for him?" she inquired suspiciously. "I'm sure you're aware of what this man stands accused of, Mr. Weasley. It could be unwise to associate yourself with him."
Percy nodded with a false confidence in the face of a threat he knew was very dangerous, however vague. "I've known him since our first year at Hogwarts, and I can say with absolute certainty that Oliver Wood is a - a law-abiding citizen."
Umbridge cocked her head to one side, black velvet bow staying perkily centred atop her curls. "I'm not quite convinced. I was under the impression that you had been out of contact for some years now. How could you possibly - " here she gave a tinkling laugh "- be so sure?"
Percy flicked a glance at Oliver, whose pale, green-tinged complexion was surely a mirror of his own. He didn't dare to ask how she knew, but simply tried to come up with something plausible despite his mounting desperation.
"It is true that we have been estranged for a while. Longer than we should have been, and I deeply regret - " Out of the corner of his eye, Percy saw Oliver's knuckles turn white as he gripped the arm of the chair. He continued, "But the reason behind it is, I'm sure, something you can understand. We were fighting over a woman, to simplify the matter. That in itself should be proof, and indeed, in seven years of living in close proximity, I never once doubted Oliver's, erm - normality."
She nodded, looking slightly mollified, and Percy held his breath as she reached for her gavel. "Given the reputation and reputability of the character witness, I shall exercise leniency in this instance." The cat patrolling the judge's stand seemed to dim slightly, and Percy let out a silent sigh. "However, do not maintain any delusions that the Ministry is no longer keeping tabs on you, Wood. You are extraordinarily lucky that an official was willing to be your witness. Be careful." She banged the gavel with an extraordinary amount of gusto, and called, "Next!"
The chains clattered to the floor and Oliver made no pretense of leaving calmly. Percy rushed after him, and they finally met in an alcove near a set of creaking wooden stairs. They looked at each other in shock for a moment, and then each, as if by silent mutual agreement, threw himself into the other's arms. Percy held Oliver tightly, not caring if his fingers left bruises and wishing for the same on his own skin. "I'm so, so sorry, you were right, Oliver, I'm - " he whispered, pressing skin against skin and breathing in the scent he'd been missing for years.
"I know," came the reply in his ear, "I know, it's - thank you. Thank you." Oliver was still trembling slightly, relief bringing colour back to his face and heat back to his hands. "You saved my life. God, I missed you."
"I was astoundingly stupid. I can't believe how - I missed you too," and Percy had to kiss him, it wasn't a matter of choice, and in that moment he hardly would have cared if Umbridge herself had discovered the two of them wrapped up in one another. After a minute, though, the probabilities of the situation made themselves apparent, and the two had to break apart.
"You have to go," said Percy urgently. "Go into hiding, now, and I'll come find you as soon as I can get away. It's going to take some strategy, but it'll be soon. I've bought you some time but it's not much, and she's sure to be even more suspicious now."
Oliver nodded, never one to let anything cloud his judgement in difficult situations. "I've got some contacts I can rely on. I will see you, soon, I hope." He looked away, drawing in a sharp breath, and pulled Percy close for another kiss. "As soon as this is over -"
Percy nodded. "As long as it takes. I may be astoundingly stupid, but I'm not stupid enough to let you go again." A light final kiss and Oliver was gone, lopsided smile fixed in Percy's mind. Breathing rapidly and full of determination, Percy stared down the hallway after him. Dolores would have her suspicions, but Percy's track record should serve him well for the time being, and the search for Undesirable No. 1 took up most of her attention. He had heard whispers of a man in Hogsmeade who could get people into Hogwarts and protect those on the run. There was no doubt in Percy's mind that Hogwarts would be the scene of the uprising that had to be coming. He could make contact, work his way out, and run with Oliver when the time came. Ironically enough, for the first time in what he now realized had been ages, Percy was no longer afraid.
It was time to break the rules.