Fic: In Between Days [2/3] Harry Potter [Percy/Oliver]
Title: In Between Days
Author: Perpetual Motion
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Percy/Oliver
Rating: R
Summary: Wherein book 7 is completely ignored because wars don't tend to happen so quickly; Percy Weasley runs a safehouse [because that's as close to administrative work as you can get in a war], and everyone gets a chance to play minor character bingo. Get your cards and markers ready!
Disclaimer: Lies and bullshit.
Author's Notes: Just ignore book 7. I sure did. Title taken from the Ben Folds song of the same name because I am crap at titles if left on my own. This fic would not be nearly as good without the excellent work of shoshannagold, who found the time in her incredibly insane schedule to nitpick like a champ. You are aweseomesauce, dear, and I thank you.
Part One
In Between Days [2/3]
By Perpetual Motion
Hannah Abbot shows up on a bright afternoon with three other people. “Injured!” She yells when Percy pauses at the doorframe.
“I still need it, Hannah,” Percy says while his stomach twists into a knot.
“I saw a pretty red bird on a branch.”
“And it sang a terrible song.” Percy presses his hand on the doorjamb and tucks himself against a man with blood pouring from a gash on his head. “It’s procedure,” he says when he realizes Hannah is glaring.
“I don’t have to like it,” she practically growls.
They get the injured laid out on the beds, and Hannah retrieves the supply of healing potions while Percy starts mopping up the blood. He realizes that the man he helped into the room is Marcus Flint. It’s another few seconds before he recognizes Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini. Hannah runs back in with the potions, and Percy falls into the routine of bandaging and dosing that he’s learned in the past ten months. Afterwards, as the injured sleep, he makes Hannah a hot toddie and keeps his hands steady long enough to make a cup of tea.
“Where were they?” He asks.
“I don’t know. They showed up at headquarters looking like that, and I brought them here.”
Percy pauses in adding honey to his tea. “They showed up at headquarters?” He asks.
“That’s what I said,” Hannah says waspishly.
“Why weren’t they cared for there? Headquarters supplies most of my potions. They should have more than enough supplies and people to take care of the injuries in there.” Percy watches the way Hannah takes a long drink of her hot toddie. “How bad is it?” he asks.
“It’s a blitz,” Hannah says with a sigh.
Percy walks over to the microwave, opens the door, and jams his finger against the ‘popcorn’ button twice. It takes a moment for the fuzziness to clear into Charlie’s face.
“Hey, Perce!” Charlie greets, a tired smile breaking over his face. “Everything-”
“Was anyone going to inform me that we’re in the midst of a blitz?” Percy interrupts. “Or that there was a need for potions?”
“We-”
“Send me a list of what you need. I can brew it here, and I’ll send it back with one of yours.” Percy raises his eyebrows at Hannah, and she nods quickly.
“Okay,” Charlie says after a moment. He looks down and there’s some rustling, and then Charlie looks at Percy again. “We didn’t mean to leave you out of the loop,” he says sincerely. “I’ll be sending revised updates to everyone.”
“Where’s Minerva?” Percy asks.
“Not here,” Charlie says shortly. “You’ll have the list in a few minutes, and I’ll send someone to help with ingredients.”
“Thank you.” Percy makes himself take a deep breath. “Mum and Dad?”
“Still okay,” Charlie says with a sigh. He looks very tired as his image ripples. “Anything else?”
“How’s everyone else?”
“Also okay.”
“Thanks for the list,” Percy says quietly.
“Thanks for the reminder,” Charlie replies, and his smile is small but genuine. “Should have someone there in three minutes. Be careful.”
“You too.”
Neville and Penelope apparate in exactly three minutes later. “Forty-seven flavors, and I got earwax,” Neville says.
“At least it wasn’t dirt,” Percy replies. He and Hannah help them unshrink cauldrons and ingredients. Penelope transfigures four of the bedside tables into fireplaces, and Neville shows Percy the list of what’s needed.
“Ingredients we’ve got,” Neville says as he hangs a cauldron over a fire. “It’s the time to brew that we’re missing.”
“We should have contacted you days ago,” Penelope adds, “but there’s not been any time.”
Percy wants to ask questions, but he knows the answers are too dangerous. “Let’s not waste anymore, then. Neville, am I correct in assuming you’re still not fond of brewing?”
“Entirely,” Neville says as he pulls a face.
Percy grabs four more of the bedside tables and slides them together. He taps them with his wand, and the edges fuse to make one large table. “You can measure ingredients here, and I’ll need you to keep an eye on the wounded while we work.”
“I can do that.” Neville starts lining up ingredients on the table and pulls a miniaturized set of scales from his pocket.
Percy looks at Hannah. “I don’t recall your aptitude for potions.”
“I can follow instructions, but I move fairly slowly,” Hannah says. “I’ll take the less intricate brews, and you and Penelope can concentrate on the more involved ones.”
Percy looks at Penelope, and she nods at him. “That should work.”
They brew in mostly silence. Hannah murmurs as she reads and re-reads her instructions. Neville counts under his breath as he chops herbs and counts out newt eyes and dragon scales. Penelope sings under her breath, something slow and calming that Percy doesn’t recognize.
Two days later, Percy sees them all off with an exhausted nod. “Good luck,” he says as they apparate.
*
Oliver shows up four days later, a bruise darkening the left side of his jaw. “Saw a dog walk on his back legs.”
“I hear there are revues for that.” Percy stops Oliver in the threshold of the sitting room and tilts his head to see the bruise better. “Someone punched you?”
Oliver turns his head away. “Shower, food, then conversation, right?”
Percy steps aside. “If that’s what you’d prefer.”
“Can I report to you?”
“Of course,” Percy says quietly. He watches Oliver walk to the bathroom, notices the way his head hangs like he’s just lost a Quidditch match. He walks into the kitchen and makes a strong whiskey and soda.
Oliver comes out of the shower, towel around his waist, another towel slung around his shoulders. “Thanks,” he says when Percy hands him his drink. “I hear you got raided,” he adds after he takes a sip. “Place looks nice.”
“Hermione’s doing,” Percy explains. “Every safehouse I run is identical to all its backups.”
“Like a back-up file on a computer,” Oliver says. He raises his eyebrows when Percy looks at him in surprise. “Muggle Studies,” he says, “and a great deal of training.”
“Sorry,” Percy apologizes. “It was just a very surprising sentence to hear coming from you.”
“It’s all right.” Oliver takes another sip of his drink and gives a sigh. “I want to report now,” he says decisively. “There’s information that needs to get delivered immediately.”
“You should eat a little something,” Percy disagrees. “I can make you a sandwich or some toast. I’ve seen what reporting on an empty stomach does to someone’s memory of events.”
“Toast and jam,” Oliver agrees. He drains his drink. “I’ll make my own tea.”
Percy puts bread in the toaster and gets strawberry jam from the fridge. He watches Oliver pour hot water into a cup and reach into the cupboard for the tea. “You should get dressed,” he says when Oliver’s started his tea steeping. “There’s trousers and a T-shirt on the second bed.”
Oliver glances down at himself. “I suppose I should.”
Percy puts the toast on a plate and carries Oliver tea cup to the table. He walks back into the kitchen to pour his own water for tea and looks over when Oliver walks out of the back room.
“Last time I was here…” Oliver starts. He stares at the tea kettle on the back burner of the stove, but his gaze flickers to Percy briefly. “Could we repeat it?”
“I need your report first,” Percy says, looking at Oliver’s left ear. “But afterwards, I wouldn’t mind.”
“Okay.”
Oliver shuffles into the middle room, and it takes Percy a full five seconds to realize he’s still holding a cup of hot water. He gets tea from the cupboard, grabs his quill from the top of the microwave, and pulls a pad of paper from the top of the bookshelf. He sets everything up as Oliver nibbles his toast, and only looks up when the quill is aligned with the left margin.
“Go ahead,” Percy says quietly, and the quill snaps into position.
“Voldemort isn’t there,” Oliver begins. “The Carrows are in charge, and they’ve convinced the people who’ve shown up that they have to be tested because they’ve told them magic can be painful.” Oliver pokes at the jam on his toast and licks it off his finger. “We’ve got someone in with the Carrows. That someone made sure I wasn’t one of the ones put under Imperius for one of their tests.”
Percy almost asks if it was Blaise or Pansy or Marcus. “What are the tests?” He asks instead.
“They’re throwing Crucio to start. Anyone who passes out from the pain is taken outside, obliviated, and left somewhere else, from what our inside person has told me. Anyone who doesn’t pass out from the pain is then thrown under Imperius to test their willpower. They split everyone into pairs; one person got put under, and the other got punched in the jaw.” Oliver touches his fingers to his jaw and winces a little. “She could throw a punch,” he says quietly.
“Disregard,” Percy says to the quill, and it backs up, sucking up the ink from Oliver’s last sentence. “Have you been put under anything yet?” Percy asks.
“Our inside person managed to get me in the group.” Oliver pauses. “I don’t want to use names,” he says after a moment.
“Pause,” Percy says, and the quill falls over. “It’s okay not to tell me,” Percy says to Oliver. “Whoever reads your report at headquarters will know who’s in with the Carrows. Don’t feel obligated to name specifics.”
“Okay.” Oliver nods. “Let’s go.”
“Resume,” Percy says, and the quill jumps up again. He nods to Oliver.
“I was in the person’s test group,” Oliver continues. “And there was no way to pretend to put me under Crucio, so the person had to hex me.”
“Were you injured?” Percy asks.
“Hurt like hell, but I didn’t pass out,” Oliver replies. “Other than that, they haven’t tried anything on me.”
“What about the others? Outside of Imperius, has there been anything?”
“A few of them have meetings with the Carrows,” Oliver says. “I’ve not been invited, and I can’t figure a way to listen in. I’ve got Extendable Ears, but if I get caught, that’ll end any information whatsoever.”
“And they’ll kill you,” Percy says flatly. “Disregard,” he says to the quill.
“That’s the specifics,” Oliver says and rubs at his eyes.
“Now give me the rest,” Percy orders.
Oliver sighs and nods and backs up his timeline to list off names, dates, and locations. When he finishes, he puts his head in his hands. “Anything else?”
Percy skims the report, folds the sheaf of papers in half, and signs and dates the outside. He walks into the kitchen, opens the freezer, and places the papers in the ice maker. He closes the freezer, walks back into the middle room, and touches Oliver’s shoulder. “You’re finished,” he says quietly.
Oliver stands up and crowds Percy against the wall, one hand clenching in the material of Percy’s T-shirt. “Now?” he asks.
“Now,” Percy agrees, and he gasps when Oliver kisses him.
*
Oliver falls asleep against his shoulder, the exhaustion from his voice showing up as his face loosens in sleep. There’s a furrow above his eyebrow that doesn’t quite even out, and Percy stares at it as he presses his fingers against a bruise on his hip that matches the shape of Oliver’s thumb. He has stubble burn along his rib cage, and fingernail scratches down arm. It’s a long time before he falls asleep.
*
Percy jerks awake at the sound of a thump. Oliver’s already sitting up, wand clenched in his hand. The thump repeats, and Percy places his hand over Oliver’s wrist. “It’s the freezer,” he says reassuringly.
Oliver’s eyebrows go up. “The freezer?”
“Owls are noticeable,” Percy tells him and gets out of bed.
“The microwave’s a Floo; this safehouse is a back-up copy of the other safehouse; the freezer is an…of course the freezer delivers mail,” Oliver mutters as he follows Percy into the kitchen.
Percy opens the freezer and reaches into the ice maker. He pulls out two pieces of rolled parchment. One is addressed to Oliver, and he hands it to him so he can open the other. His parchment outlines all the recent activities of the Order-some with detail, some with only vague information-and when he looks up to see what Oliver’s gotten, Oliver’s gone white.
“I have to go,” Oliver says softly. He sets fire to his orders before he looks at Percy. “There’s been an escalation.” He turns on his heel and walks into the bathroom.
Percy listens to him pull on his clothes and looks at his information again. He has a new charge coming in the morning. He should strip his bed, he thinks. Figure out what to make for dinner tomorrow. There’s mending to do.
Oliver walks out of the bathroom and gives Percy a wan smile. “How do I look?”
“Like a cunt,” Percy says and manages a smile when Oliver chuckles tiredly. “Do you need anything?”
“Sleep,” Oliver replies. He rubs his eyes and straightens his T-shirt.
Percy reaches into the cupboard under the microwave and hands Oliver a small bottle. “Pepper-Up should help.”
“Thanks.” Oliver drinks it down in a gulp and breathes out through his nose. “There it is,” he says in a wheeze.
Percy follows Oliver to the front room, stopping at the threshold between the sitting room and front room. “Be careful,” he murmurs as Oliver looks at him.
“I’ll see you around,” Oliver answers, and then he’s gone.
“Good luck,” Percy mutters.
*
Justin shows up the next morning, wand out. “I heard you were raided,” he says after Percy drops the front room shield spells.
“It’s going around,” Percy replies, and waves Justin into the sitting room. “But at least your wand is out.”
*
Tonks pops in during the wee hours of the morning, waking Percy from a light doze on the couch. “I saw rubies in her eyes and goblin gold in her hair.”
“Fool’s gold, most likely,”
“Just bringing in your latest wards and shields,” Tonks says when Percy drops the doorjamb shield. She trips over-as far as Percy can tell-absolutely nothing and catches herself on the arm of the couch. “And I’ve got your latest from Minerva,” she pulls four Chocolate Frog cards out of her pocket.
“I’ll stay out of your way while I review these,” Percy tells her. “Will you be staying for dinner?”
“Sure!” Tonks says with a smile.
Percy wonders if there’s anything in his cupboards that can be served without knives.
*
Luna stays one night and spends the majority of the time telling Percy about the twenty-foot alligators that grow on the thumbnails of lawn gnomes in Northern Wales. But you can only see them if you view them from a telescope in Hawaii.
“Interesting,” Percy mutters as he mends socks.
*
Ginny pops in for a minute and forty-five seconds. “I was supposed to stay, but I need Skel-o-Grow instead,” she says after the password.
“How many vials?” Percy asks over his shoulder as he walks to the kitchen.
“Four.”
Percy grabs them and shrinks them so Ginny can hold them in one hand. “Any word?”
“Mum and Dad are fine. Charlie’s up in Romania again, and everyone else is,” Ginny shrugs, “around. Mum wants to know how your arm’s doing.”
“The same as always,” Percy tells her. He watches her tuck the potions into the pocket of her baggy jeans and tracks a lock of her hair as it comes free from her low-tied ponytail. There’s dried blood on her arm, but no cut. “Tell them I’m okay.”
She smiles. “I will. Be careful, Percy.”
“You too.”
*
Oliver has bags under his eyes, and there’s soot under his fingernails. “They built a bomb,” he says as he collapses onto the couch. “Nearly set it off in the tube. The Order managed to catch them, but just barely.”
Percy watches Oliver sink into himself and carefully sits next to him on the couch. “Are you injured?”
“No.” Oliver props his elbows on his knees and puts his head in his hands. “I’m just…I’m tired of being a spy,” he says wearily. “Or I’m just tired. I don’t know which.”
“I can make-”
“Can you play checkers?” Oliver interrupts. “Or Go Fish?”
“I know checkers,” Percy says slowly. “You want to play checkers?”
“Ian taught me, back in second year,” Oliver explains. “I just…it’s nothing like anything else I’ve had to do lately.”
“Checkers,” Percy mutters and stands. He walks over to the closet and checks the top shelf. “I have checkers,” he says, slightly surprised. “I’ve no idea from where.”
Oliver picks up the books from the coffee table and stacks them against a wall. “Can you set up while I shower? I feel…disgusting.”
“I can make cocoa, if you want,” Percy offers.
“Yeah,” Oliver says quietly. “That would be…” He shakes his head and rubs his eyes. “Please.”
Percy makes the cocoa with milk and marshmallows. He looks at the two mugs sitting on the counter and wonders, briefly, what the twins would do in this situation. He pops a bag of popcorn and digs into the back of the freezer for the quart of ice cream he bought weeks ago.
“That shower-” Oliver cuts off as he walks into the kitchen, dressed in pajama pants. He looks at the cocoa and the popcorn set up on the counter, and then at the ice cream that Percy is still holding in his hand. “I look that awful, huh?”
“Yeah,” Percy says with a shrug and digs in the utensil drawer for an ice cream scoop. “I think I have chocolate syrup in the door of the refrigerator.”
Oliver opens the fridge and finds the bottle. “You didn’t have to do all this,” he says as he sets the syrup on the counter. “I’m not all that bad.”
“You’re bad,” Percy tells him. “It’s okay.”
“It just…” Oliver shakes his head. “I thought this would be the one. I’ve been working every assignment they can give me, and I thought this would be the one to make the difference.” He stares at the label on the chocolate sauce. “And tomorrow is just going to be another assignment.”
“Maybe not,” Percy says. He wants to say more, but he can’t get it out.
“You were always rubbish at false hope.”
Percy concentrates on scooping the ice cream into bowls. “How much syrup do you want?” He asks, picking up the bottle.
“Drown it,” Oliver instructs and walks into the back room. He comes back out with a half-dozen blankets and four pillows piled in his arms. “I’m playing red,” he says as he walks towards the sitting room.
Percy balances the bowls of ice cream on one arm and picks up the popcorn with his other hand. “Let me grab the cocoa,” he says as he sets down the bowls on the coffee table.
“I can get it,” Oliver says. “You get comfortable.”
“I’m supposed-” Percy starts, but Oliver is already walking to the kitchen. “All right,” he grouses under his breath. He settles himself across from the couch, rearranging the pile of blankets and pillows so his legs are covered but not tangled. He puts his wand on the table, pointing it towards the front room.
“Here you go,” Oliver says as he holds out a mug to Percy. He drops to the floor and leans against the couch, sighing as he takes his first drink of cocoa. “Best out of five?” he offers.
Percy nods and wins the first two. Oliver takes the third, and Percy just barely wins the fourth. “Loser does dishes,” Percy says as he stacks the empty ice cream bowls. He looks at Oliver, planning to hand over the bowls and offer to keep him company, but Oliver is rolling a checker between his fingers and staring at a spot on the table. “Oliver?” Percy asks quietly.
“Pansy Parkinson died today,” Oliver says just as quietly. “She was our contact, and when it came down to it, she shoved me out of the way and put a shielding charm around herself and the bomb.”
Percy watches Oliver flip the checker over his knuckle. He digs for something to say. “She was here,” he says finally. “She was injured. She had three broken fingers and a skull fracture. We had to keep her unconscious for her head to heal.”
Oliver looks at Percy. “When was that?”
“Two weeks ago, I think. Maybe two-and-a-half.”
“There was a huge group of us at a meeting around then,” Oliver says, closing his eyes to think. “I don’t remember her being there.” He opens his eyes and looks at Percy. “I wonder what she was doing.”
“I don’t know,” Percy tells him.
“Do you take everyone’s reports?” Oliver asks.
“No. Most everyone prefers to report straight to someone at headquarters. I only take them if asked.”
“Do you know where most people have been before they come here?”
“No,” Percy says and looks at the checkerboard.
“That’s got to be maddening,” Oliver replies, shaking his head. “I couldn’t do it.”
“Mum used to accuse me of tunnel vision,” Percy tells him. “It’s useful here. I have a clear objective and know how to get there. Anything outside of that isn’t necessary information.”
“Really?”
Percy thinks about the twins. “Most of the time, yes.”
Oliver stretches out his legs under the table and presses his feet against Percy’s knees. “And the rest of the time?”
“I can’t think about that. There’s too much at stake.” Percy stands up and starts to fold the blankets. “You owe me dishes,” he says after a pause.
Oliver stands and gathers the bowls, spoons, and mugs. “Okay,” he says quietly.
Percy listens to him walk into the kitchen. He listens to him start the water, and he jumps when he hears all the dishes clatter into the sink. Before he can shout if Oliver needs help, Oliver is back in the living room.
“We should date,” he declares, hands on his hips.
Percy blinks and nearly drops the blanket he’s folding. “What?” He finally manages to get out.
“I think…I’m relaxed when I’m here,” Oliver explains. “I like being around you. I like being here because of you. We should date.” Oliver takes a deep breath. “If you want, I mean.”
Percy blinks again. “Where is this-”
“I could have died today,” Oliver interrupts. “Or I could be dead tomorrow. The timing is-”
“I can’t,” Percy cuts him off.
Oliver stares at him, his shoulders slumping as his hands drop from his hips. “Why not?”
“I…” Percy looks at the blanket in his hands. He looks at Oliver again. Oliver meets his eyes. “I have a responsibility to every person who comes here,” Percy says quietly. “Allowing myself to get involved with someone…I can’t.”
“You could be dead tomorrow,” Oliver argues.
“Maybe,” Percy agrees, “but my responsibilities would still be to everyone who comes here.”
There’s a pause. Oliver sighs. “There’s more to life than responsibility,” he mutters.
“Not right now,” Percy replies. “At least, not for me.”
“All right,” Oliver says with a shake of his head. He gives Percy a slightly strained smile. “I had to try, at least.”
“I appreciate it,” Percy tells him. “Really. It’s…nice.”
Oliver laughs at that. “Nice. Yeah. Okay.” He steps forward and takes the blanket from Percy’s hands and finishes folding it. “It’s going to end sometime,” he tells Percy.
“But not yet,” Percy replies.
*
Oliver crawls into bed with Percy that night, arm around Percy’s waist before Percy can maneuver his way around it. “You’re warm,” Oliver tells him. “That’s it.”
“It’s not,” Percy argues, but Oliver is already asleep against his shoulder. “Cheater,” Percy mutters before he falls asleep.
*
The next morning, as Percy watches Oliver set himself to apparate, he digs for something to say. “I…” he breathes in deep when Oliver gives him a hopeful look. Dead tomorrow, he thinks. “Good luck,” he says quietly.
“Thank you,” Oliver replies, a sudden smile breaking across his face. “Bye, Perce.
Five minutes later, Susan Bones apparates in, bleeding from a gash in her side. “The geese at the pond ignored my bread,” she hisses out between clenched teeth.
“I hear they enjoy bits of chocolate.” Percy drops the spells and catches Susan as she starts to pitch forward. “Easy,” he murmurs into her hair as she leans her head on his shoulder. “You’re safe here.”
*
Kingsley Shacklebolt shows up, plucks up two bottles of Percy’s Veritaserum stores, and nearly stops to have dinner when he realizes Percy is making pork chops in mushrooms and onions.
“I have a pressing engagement,” Kingsley says in a tone that makes it sound like he’s late for a work meeting. “Your mother wants to know how your arm is holding up.”
“It’s fine,” Percy tells him.
“I’ve heard nothing but good things about your work here,” Kingsley says as he steps into the front room again. “You should be very proud.”
“Thank you,” Percy says. “Good luck,” he adds before Kingsley apparates.
“And to you,” Kingsley replies, and then he’s gone.
*
Percy’s making tea very early one morning when he hears the pop of apparation. There’s a follow-up crack that tells him the shields have been dismantled. He throws open the microwave, pushes the “quick defrost” button three times, and has his wand ready when three Death Eaters storm into the room.
“Petrificus Totalus!” Percy yells, and sends one of the Death Eaters flying.
The second and third tackle him to the ground, and Percy feels three quick squeezes to his wrist. “Don’t fight.”
Percy doesn’t recognize the voice, but the signal is unmistakable. He can’t see the face of the Death Eater who pulls him to his feet. “There’s no one here,” he tells the third Death Eater. “It’s just me.”
“You’re the one we want,” the third Death Eater says in a gravelly voice as he snaps Percy’s wand.
Percy squeezes his eyes shut as they apparate.
*
They levitate and body-bind him from the neck down before they start the interrogation. Percy recognizes Rabastan LeStrange when he walks into the small, circular room.
“Mr. Weasley,” Rabastan says flatly, “you are a blood traitor.”
Percy stares at him and says nothing. He needs information, any information, and making Rabastan angry isn’t the way to get it.
“Tell me about your safehouse,” Rabastan orders.
“No,” Percy replies quietly.
Rabastan raises his eyebrows. “No?” he asks icily.
“No,” Percy repeats.
Rabastan flicks his wand, and Percy falls to the ground, landing hard on his right arm. “Very well, then.”
Percy wipes blood from his lip and stares at the floor as Rabastan leaves. It’s going to get bad, he knows, and he pushes himself up with his left arm. He leans against the wall, wraps his right arm around his body, and starts a mental list all the books he’s read that year.
*
“And today?” Rabastan asks the next day.
“No,” Percy rasps out, throat dry from lack of water. His stomach growls audibly, and Percy doesn’t have the energy to glare when Rabastan laughs.
“Foolish traitor,” Rabastan mutters as he leaves.
*
Sometime in the night-at least Percy thinks it’s night-someone slides open the viewing window of Percy’s cell and drops in a few slices of bread. In the meager light coming through the cracks in the walls, Percy makes out an ‘O’ stamped into one of the slices. The Order has someone here.
He eats slowly, wanting the bread to last, and falls into a fitful sleep, waking every time his arm spasms roughly.
*
“We have the potion needed to still your arm,” Rabastan offers. “Or we could bind it.”
“No,” Percy whispers, staring Rabastan straight in the eyes.
“Crucio,” Rabastan drawls, and Percy’s arm slowly contracts. “We also have potions to take away the pain.”
Percy hisses in a breath between his teeth. He counts to twenty. “No,” he grits out.
“Crucio,” Rabastan repeats and leaves.
It takes Percy to the count of one thousand fourteen before he gets his fingers uncurled. It’s a count to four hundred to straighten his arm.
*
The door opens, and someone throws water on Percy. The temperature in the room drops to near freezing. Percy stands up and walks the circumference of the room again and again, listing all the recipes he’s learned since he started running the safehouse.
He manages to stay awake until what he thinks is dawn, when the temperature in the room shoots back up to something comfortable.
*
“We have your mother,” Rabastan says conversationally on a day that Percy thinks is Tuesday. “She’s next door. I could torture her for what I need.”
“She doesn’t know about the safehouse,” Percy tells him. “She’s never seen it.”
“Are you certain?” Rabastan moves towards the door, hand reaching for the knob.
“You don’t have my mother,” Percy says calmly. “If you really had her somewhere, you would have brought her in with you. Made me watch as you hurt her before you offered me the chance to tell you anything.”
“Hmmm,” Rabastan hums, and taps his finger on his chin. “Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
Rabastan hits the door with the side of his fist. It opens, and Blaise Zabini walks in, pulling along a woman with red hair who looks like Molly Weasley. “You were saying?” Rabastan asks with a smirk.
Percy looks at the woman. She stares at him, looking fearful and small. “I’d like another green sweater for Christmas,” he says to her.
The woman who looks like Molly looks surprised. “Your sweater was yellow last year,” she says, her voice shaking.
“It was blue,” Percy replies. He looks at Blaise, who glares at him. “That’s not my mother.”
“Leave,” Rabastan says to the impersonator, and she stands up, muttering darkly as she leaves. He looks at Blaise. “Did you bring it?”
Blaise pulls a vial from his pocket. It’s burgundy with a slightly yellowed cork. “Now?” he asks.
“Yes.”
Percy tries to fight as Blaise pulls at his chin and tips back his head. The body-bind keeps him still enough for Blaise to pour the potion down his throat. It’s Veritaserum, and there’s a moment where Blaise looks him right in the eyes. It’s the Veritaserum from Percy’s shelf, he knows then. It’s one of the bottles Kingsley tucked into his pocket.
“Tell me about the safehouse,” Rabastan orders in a tone that already crows accomplishment.
Percy counts to twenty. He waits for the Veritaserum to take over and make him talk, but the feeling of detachment isn’t there. He slides a glance at Blaise. Blaise’s left hand is at his side, the fingers forming an ‘O’. The Veritaserum won’t start working, Percy realizes, because it’s not Veritaserum. It’s been switched.
“The safehouse,” Rabastan repeats. He looks at Blaise. “Are you certain that potion was strong enough?”
“Yes, Sir,” Blaise says. “He has training to avoid answering questions. It may just take a little bit longer.”
Percy drops his head forward, closes his eyes halfway, and makes himself speak slowly. “There are four that are mine.”
“Where are they located?”
Percy gives four dummy addresses. They’re mock-ups that Percy helped Bill and Lupin put together just in case he was captured.
“Have you seen Harry Potter?” Rabastan asks.
“No,” Percy says, relieved that he doesn’t have to make sure he sounds like he’s telling the truth.
Rabastan walks over and presses his wand to Percy’s right arm. “Have you seen Harry Potter?” he asks again.
“No,” Percy repeats. He grits his teeth when Rabastan sends a flare of pain through his arm.
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.” Another flare, and Percy concentrates on the white spots that dance in front of his eyes.
Rabastan flicks his wand and watches Percy crumple to the floor. “Feed him,” he orders Blaise. He leaves the room.
Blaise reaches into his robe and pulls out a sandwich. He drops it on the floor in front of Percy. “Eat it,” he snaps.
Percy picks up the sandwich with his left hand and eats quickly, afraid Blaise will take it away if he takes his time. Blaise sets down a tin cup next to Percy’s right arm and sneers when he watches Percy’s hand shake.
“Good work,” Blaise says under his breath, just loud enough for Percy to hear.
Percy doesn’t look up, too busy drinking down his water. When he finishes the cup, he stares into it. It refills automatically, and he risks a glance at Blaise.
“It’s the best I can do,” Blaise mutters, still sneering. “Tap it once with your finger to stop it. Tap it again to get more.”
“Thank you,” Percy whispers as quietly as he can.
“Enjoy your solitude,” Blaise says at a normal volume. There’s mockery in his tone. “We’re off to visit your friends.”
Percy drinks two more cups of the water and whispers his way through all the stars he can name from Astronomy.
*
No one comes to interrogate him for two days. Percy keeps his right arm curled tight around his body to try and control the shaking and hopes that the false safehouses are convincing enough. He recites the names of the Hogwarts Headmasters as he watches the light move across the cracks in the walls.
*
He’s walking a slow circle around the room and rubbing his right arm to try and reduce the tremors when he hears a commotion. Percy stands away from the door and picks up the cup, drinking down the water in it and tapping his finger to keep it from refilling.
“Anyone there?” A voice shouts, and it takes Percy a moment to realize it’s Lee Jordan.
“Yes!” He shouts.
“Stand back!”
Percy presses himself hard against the wall and covers his face with his left arm. The door to his cell flies inward and bounces on the opposite wall. When the dust settles, Percy finds Lee beaming at him.
“Percy Weasley! Ready to go?”
“Desperately,” Percy replies. “They’ve broken my wand,” he says as the commotion in the hallway gets louder.
“No problem,” Lee tells him as he grabs Percy’s right arm. “We’re taking the express.”
Part Three
Author: Perpetual Motion
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Percy/Oliver
Rating: R
Summary: Wherein book 7 is completely ignored because wars don't tend to happen so quickly; Percy Weasley runs a safehouse [because that's as close to administrative work as you can get in a war], and everyone gets a chance to play minor character bingo. Get your cards and markers ready!
Disclaimer: Lies and bullshit.
Author's Notes: Just ignore book 7. I sure did. Title taken from the Ben Folds song of the same name because I am crap at titles if left on my own. This fic would not be nearly as good without the excellent work of shoshannagold, who found the time in her incredibly insane schedule to nitpick like a champ. You are aweseomesauce, dear, and I thank you.
Part One
In Between Days [2/3]
By Perpetual Motion
Hannah Abbot shows up on a bright afternoon with three other people. “Injured!” She yells when Percy pauses at the doorframe.
“I still need it, Hannah,” Percy says while his stomach twists into a knot.
“I saw a pretty red bird on a branch.”
“And it sang a terrible song.” Percy presses his hand on the doorjamb and tucks himself against a man with blood pouring from a gash on his head. “It’s procedure,” he says when he realizes Hannah is glaring.
“I don’t have to like it,” she practically growls.
They get the injured laid out on the beds, and Hannah retrieves the supply of healing potions while Percy starts mopping up the blood. He realizes that the man he helped into the room is Marcus Flint. It’s another few seconds before he recognizes Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini. Hannah runs back in with the potions, and Percy falls into the routine of bandaging and dosing that he’s learned in the past ten months. Afterwards, as the injured sleep, he makes Hannah a hot toddie and keeps his hands steady long enough to make a cup of tea.
“Where were they?” He asks.
“I don’t know. They showed up at headquarters looking like that, and I brought them here.”
Percy pauses in adding honey to his tea. “They showed up at headquarters?” He asks.
“That’s what I said,” Hannah says waspishly.
“Why weren’t they cared for there? Headquarters supplies most of my potions. They should have more than enough supplies and people to take care of the injuries in there.” Percy watches the way Hannah takes a long drink of her hot toddie. “How bad is it?” he asks.
“It’s a blitz,” Hannah says with a sigh.
Percy walks over to the microwave, opens the door, and jams his finger against the ‘popcorn’ button twice. It takes a moment for the fuzziness to clear into Charlie’s face.
“Hey, Perce!” Charlie greets, a tired smile breaking over his face. “Everything-”
“Was anyone going to inform me that we’re in the midst of a blitz?” Percy interrupts. “Or that there was a need for potions?”
“We-”
“Send me a list of what you need. I can brew it here, and I’ll send it back with one of yours.” Percy raises his eyebrows at Hannah, and she nods quickly.
“Okay,” Charlie says after a moment. He looks down and there’s some rustling, and then Charlie looks at Percy again. “We didn’t mean to leave you out of the loop,” he says sincerely. “I’ll be sending revised updates to everyone.”
“Where’s Minerva?” Percy asks.
“Not here,” Charlie says shortly. “You’ll have the list in a few minutes, and I’ll send someone to help with ingredients.”
“Thank you.” Percy makes himself take a deep breath. “Mum and Dad?”
“Still okay,” Charlie says with a sigh. He looks very tired as his image ripples. “Anything else?”
“How’s everyone else?”
“Also okay.”
“Thanks for the list,” Percy says quietly.
“Thanks for the reminder,” Charlie replies, and his smile is small but genuine. “Should have someone there in three minutes. Be careful.”
“You too.”
Neville and Penelope apparate in exactly three minutes later. “Forty-seven flavors, and I got earwax,” Neville says.
“At least it wasn’t dirt,” Percy replies. He and Hannah help them unshrink cauldrons and ingredients. Penelope transfigures four of the bedside tables into fireplaces, and Neville shows Percy the list of what’s needed.
“Ingredients we’ve got,” Neville says as he hangs a cauldron over a fire. “It’s the time to brew that we’re missing.”
“We should have contacted you days ago,” Penelope adds, “but there’s not been any time.”
Percy wants to ask questions, but he knows the answers are too dangerous. “Let’s not waste anymore, then. Neville, am I correct in assuming you’re still not fond of brewing?”
“Entirely,” Neville says as he pulls a face.
Percy grabs four more of the bedside tables and slides them together. He taps them with his wand, and the edges fuse to make one large table. “You can measure ingredients here, and I’ll need you to keep an eye on the wounded while we work.”
“I can do that.” Neville starts lining up ingredients on the table and pulls a miniaturized set of scales from his pocket.
Percy looks at Hannah. “I don’t recall your aptitude for potions.”
“I can follow instructions, but I move fairly slowly,” Hannah says. “I’ll take the less intricate brews, and you and Penelope can concentrate on the more involved ones.”
Percy looks at Penelope, and she nods at him. “That should work.”
They brew in mostly silence. Hannah murmurs as she reads and re-reads her instructions. Neville counts under his breath as he chops herbs and counts out newt eyes and dragon scales. Penelope sings under her breath, something slow and calming that Percy doesn’t recognize.
Two days later, Percy sees them all off with an exhausted nod. “Good luck,” he says as they apparate.
*
Oliver shows up four days later, a bruise darkening the left side of his jaw. “Saw a dog walk on his back legs.”
“I hear there are revues for that.” Percy stops Oliver in the threshold of the sitting room and tilts his head to see the bruise better. “Someone punched you?”
Oliver turns his head away. “Shower, food, then conversation, right?”
Percy steps aside. “If that’s what you’d prefer.”
“Can I report to you?”
“Of course,” Percy says quietly. He watches Oliver walk to the bathroom, notices the way his head hangs like he’s just lost a Quidditch match. He walks into the kitchen and makes a strong whiskey and soda.
Oliver comes out of the shower, towel around his waist, another towel slung around his shoulders. “Thanks,” he says when Percy hands him his drink. “I hear you got raided,” he adds after he takes a sip. “Place looks nice.”
“Hermione’s doing,” Percy explains. “Every safehouse I run is identical to all its backups.”
“Like a back-up file on a computer,” Oliver says. He raises his eyebrows when Percy looks at him in surprise. “Muggle Studies,” he says, “and a great deal of training.”
“Sorry,” Percy apologizes. “It was just a very surprising sentence to hear coming from you.”
“It’s all right.” Oliver takes another sip of his drink and gives a sigh. “I want to report now,” he says decisively. “There’s information that needs to get delivered immediately.”
“You should eat a little something,” Percy disagrees. “I can make you a sandwich or some toast. I’ve seen what reporting on an empty stomach does to someone’s memory of events.”
“Toast and jam,” Oliver agrees. He drains his drink. “I’ll make my own tea.”
Percy puts bread in the toaster and gets strawberry jam from the fridge. He watches Oliver pour hot water into a cup and reach into the cupboard for the tea. “You should get dressed,” he says when Oliver’s started his tea steeping. “There’s trousers and a T-shirt on the second bed.”
Oliver glances down at himself. “I suppose I should.”
Percy puts the toast on a plate and carries Oliver tea cup to the table. He walks back into the kitchen to pour his own water for tea and looks over when Oliver walks out of the back room.
“Last time I was here…” Oliver starts. He stares at the tea kettle on the back burner of the stove, but his gaze flickers to Percy briefly. “Could we repeat it?”
“I need your report first,” Percy says, looking at Oliver’s left ear. “But afterwards, I wouldn’t mind.”
“Okay.”
Oliver shuffles into the middle room, and it takes Percy a full five seconds to realize he’s still holding a cup of hot water. He gets tea from the cupboard, grabs his quill from the top of the microwave, and pulls a pad of paper from the top of the bookshelf. He sets everything up as Oliver nibbles his toast, and only looks up when the quill is aligned with the left margin.
“Go ahead,” Percy says quietly, and the quill snaps into position.
“Voldemort isn’t there,” Oliver begins. “The Carrows are in charge, and they’ve convinced the people who’ve shown up that they have to be tested because they’ve told them magic can be painful.” Oliver pokes at the jam on his toast and licks it off his finger. “We’ve got someone in with the Carrows. That someone made sure I wasn’t one of the ones put under Imperius for one of their tests.”
Percy almost asks if it was Blaise or Pansy or Marcus. “What are the tests?” He asks instead.
“They’re throwing Crucio to start. Anyone who passes out from the pain is taken outside, obliviated, and left somewhere else, from what our inside person has told me. Anyone who doesn’t pass out from the pain is then thrown under Imperius to test their willpower. They split everyone into pairs; one person got put under, and the other got punched in the jaw.” Oliver touches his fingers to his jaw and winces a little. “She could throw a punch,” he says quietly.
“Disregard,” Percy says to the quill, and it backs up, sucking up the ink from Oliver’s last sentence. “Have you been put under anything yet?” Percy asks.
“Our inside person managed to get me in the group.” Oliver pauses. “I don’t want to use names,” he says after a moment.
“Pause,” Percy says, and the quill falls over. “It’s okay not to tell me,” Percy says to Oliver. “Whoever reads your report at headquarters will know who’s in with the Carrows. Don’t feel obligated to name specifics.”
“Okay.” Oliver nods. “Let’s go.”
“Resume,” Percy says, and the quill jumps up again. He nods to Oliver.
“I was in the person’s test group,” Oliver continues. “And there was no way to pretend to put me under Crucio, so the person had to hex me.”
“Were you injured?” Percy asks.
“Hurt like hell, but I didn’t pass out,” Oliver replies. “Other than that, they haven’t tried anything on me.”
“What about the others? Outside of Imperius, has there been anything?”
“A few of them have meetings with the Carrows,” Oliver says. “I’ve not been invited, and I can’t figure a way to listen in. I’ve got Extendable Ears, but if I get caught, that’ll end any information whatsoever.”
“And they’ll kill you,” Percy says flatly. “Disregard,” he says to the quill.
“That’s the specifics,” Oliver says and rubs at his eyes.
“Now give me the rest,” Percy orders.
Oliver sighs and nods and backs up his timeline to list off names, dates, and locations. When he finishes, he puts his head in his hands. “Anything else?”
Percy skims the report, folds the sheaf of papers in half, and signs and dates the outside. He walks into the kitchen, opens the freezer, and places the papers in the ice maker. He closes the freezer, walks back into the middle room, and touches Oliver’s shoulder. “You’re finished,” he says quietly.
Oliver stands up and crowds Percy against the wall, one hand clenching in the material of Percy’s T-shirt. “Now?” he asks.
“Now,” Percy agrees, and he gasps when Oliver kisses him.
*
Oliver falls asleep against his shoulder, the exhaustion from his voice showing up as his face loosens in sleep. There’s a furrow above his eyebrow that doesn’t quite even out, and Percy stares at it as he presses his fingers against a bruise on his hip that matches the shape of Oliver’s thumb. He has stubble burn along his rib cage, and fingernail scratches down arm. It’s a long time before he falls asleep.
*
Percy jerks awake at the sound of a thump. Oliver’s already sitting up, wand clenched in his hand. The thump repeats, and Percy places his hand over Oliver’s wrist. “It’s the freezer,” he says reassuringly.
Oliver’s eyebrows go up. “The freezer?”
“Owls are noticeable,” Percy tells him and gets out of bed.
“The microwave’s a Floo; this safehouse is a back-up copy of the other safehouse; the freezer is an…of course the freezer delivers mail,” Oliver mutters as he follows Percy into the kitchen.
Percy opens the freezer and reaches into the ice maker. He pulls out two pieces of rolled parchment. One is addressed to Oliver, and he hands it to him so he can open the other. His parchment outlines all the recent activities of the Order-some with detail, some with only vague information-and when he looks up to see what Oliver’s gotten, Oliver’s gone white.
“I have to go,” Oliver says softly. He sets fire to his orders before he looks at Percy. “There’s been an escalation.” He turns on his heel and walks into the bathroom.
Percy listens to him pull on his clothes and looks at his information again. He has a new charge coming in the morning. He should strip his bed, he thinks. Figure out what to make for dinner tomorrow. There’s mending to do.
Oliver walks out of the bathroom and gives Percy a wan smile. “How do I look?”
“Like a cunt,” Percy says and manages a smile when Oliver chuckles tiredly. “Do you need anything?”
“Sleep,” Oliver replies. He rubs his eyes and straightens his T-shirt.
Percy reaches into the cupboard under the microwave and hands Oliver a small bottle. “Pepper-Up should help.”
“Thanks.” Oliver drinks it down in a gulp and breathes out through his nose. “There it is,” he says in a wheeze.
Percy follows Oliver to the front room, stopping at the threshold between the sitting room and front room. “Be careful,” he murmurs as Oliver looks at him.
“I’ll see you around,” Oliver answers, and then he’s gone.
“Good luck,” Percy mutters.
*
Justin shows up the next morning, wand out. “I heard you were raided,” he says after Percy drops the front room shield spells.
“It’s going around,” Percy replies, and waves Justin into the sitting room. “But at least your wand is out.”
*
Tonks pops in during the wee hours of the morning, waking Percy from a light doze on the couch. “I saw rubies in her eyes and goblin gold in her hair.”
“Fool’s gold, most likely,”
“Just bringing in your latest wards and shields,” Tonks says when Percy drops the doorjamb shield. She trips over-as far as Percy can tell-absolutely nothing and catches herself on the arm of the couch. “And I’ve got your latest from Minerva,” she pulls four Chocolate Frog cards out of her pocket.
“I’ll stay out of your way while I review these,” Percy tells her. “Will you be staying for dinner?”
“Sure!” Tonks says with a smile.
Percy wonders if there’s anything in his cupboards that can be served without knives.
*
Luna stays one night and spends the majority of the time telling Percy about the twenty-foot alligators that grow on the thumbnails of lawn gnomes in Northern Wales. But you can only see them if you view them from a telescope in Hawaii.
“Interesting,” Percy mutters as he mends socks.
*
Ginny pops in for a minute and forty-five seconds. “I was supposed to stay, but I need Skel-o-Grow instead,” she says after the password.
“How many vials?” Percy asks over his shoulder as he walks to the kitchen.
“Four.”
Percy grabs them and shrinks them so Ginny can hold them in one hand. “Any word?”
“Mum and Dad are fine. Charlie’s up in Romania again, and everyone else is,” Ginny shrugs, “around. Mum wants to know how your arm’s doing.”
“The same as always,” Percy tells her. He watches her tuck the potions into the pocket of her baggy jeans and tracks a lock of her hair as it comes free from her low-tied ponytail. There’s dried blood on her arm, but no cut. “Tell them I’m okay.”
She smiles. “I will. Be careful, Percy.”
“You too.”
*
Oliver has bags under his eyes, and there’s soot under his fingernails. “They built a bomb,” he says as he collapses onto the couch. “Nearly set it off in the tube. The Order managed to catch them, but just barely.”
Percy watches Oliver sink into himself and carefully sits next to him on the couch. “Are you injured?”
“No.” Oliver props his elbows on his knees and puts his head in his hands. “I’m just…I’m tired of being a spy,” he says wearily. “Or I’m just tired. I don’t know which.”
“I can make-”
“Can you play checkers?” Oliver interrupts. “Or Go Fish?”
“I know checkers,” Percy says slowly. “You want to play checkers?”
“Ian taught me, back in second year,” Oliver explains. “I just…it’s nothing like anything else I’ve had to do lately.”
“Checkers,” Percy mutters and stands. He walks over to the closet and checks the top shelf. “I have checkers,” he says, slightly surprised. “I’ve no idea from where.”
Oliver picks up the books from the coffee table and stacks them against a wall. “Can you set up while I shower? I feel…disgusting.”
“I can make cocoa, if you want,” Percy offers.
“Yeah,” Oliver says quietly. “That would be…” He shakes his head and rubs his eyes. “Please.”
Percy makes the cocoa with milk and marshmallows. He looks at the two mugs sitting on the counter and wonders, briefly, what the twins would do in this situation. He pops a bag of popcorn and digs into the back of the freezer for the quart of ice cream he bought weeks ago.
“That shower-” Oliver cuts off as he walks into the kitchen, dressed in pajama pants. He looks at the cocoa and the popcorn set up on the counter, and then at the ice cream that Percy is still holding in his hand. “I look that awful, huh?”
“Yeah,” Percy says with a shrug and digs in the utensil drawer for an ice cream scoop. “I think I have chocolate syrup in the door of the refrigerator.”
Oliver opens the fridge and finds the bottle. “You didn’t have to do all this,” he says as he sets the syrup on the counter. “I’m not all that bad.”
“You’re bad,” Percy tells him. “It’s okay.”
“It just…” Oliver shakes his head. “I thought this would be the one. I’ve been working every assignment they can give me, and I thought this would be the one to make the difference.” He stares at the label on the chocolate sauce. “And tomorrow is just going to be another assignment.”
“Maybe not,” Percy says. He wants to say more, but he can’t get it out.
“You were always rubbish at false hope.”
Percy concentrates on scooping the ice cream into bowls. “How much syrup do you want?” He asks, picking up the bottle.
“Drown it,” Oliver instructs and walks into the back room. He comes back out with a half-dozen blankets and four pillows piled in his arms. “I’m playing red,” he says as he walks towards the sitting room.
Percy balances the bowls of ice cream on one arm and picks up the popcorn with his other hand. “Let me grab the cocoa,” he says as he sets down the bowls on the coffee table.
“I can get it,” Oliver says. “You get comfortable.”
“I’m supposed-” Percy starts, but Oliver is already walking to the kitchen. “All right,” he grouses under his breath. He settles himself across from the couch, rearranging the pile of blankets and pillows so his legs are covered but not tangled. He puts his wand on the table, pointing it towards the front room.
“Here you go,” Oliver says as he holds out a mug to Percy. He drops to the floor and leans against the couch, sighing as he takes his first drink of cocoa. “Best out of five?” he offers.
Percy nods and wins the first two. Oliver takes the third, and Percy just barely wins the fourth. “Loser does dishes,” Percy says as he stacks the empty ice cream bowls. He looks at Oliver, planning to hand over the bowls and offer to keep him company, but Oliver is rolling a checker between his fingers and staring at a spot on the table. “Oliver?” Percy asks quietly.
“Pansy Parkinson died today,” Oliver says just as quietly. “She was our contact, and when it came down to it, she shoved me out of the way and put a shielding charm around herself and the bomb.”
Percy watches Oliver flip the checker over his knuckle. He digs for something to say. “She was here,” he says finally. “She was injured. She had three broken fingers and a skull fracture. We had to keep her unconscious for her head to heal.”
Oliver looks at Percy. “When was that?”
“Two weeks ago, I think. Maybe two-and-a-half.”
“There was a huge group of us at a meeting around then,” Oliver says, closing his eyes to think. “I don’t remember her being there.” He opens his eyes and looks at Percy. “I wonder what she was doing.”
“I don’t know,” Percy tells him.
“Do you take everyone’s reports?” Oliver asks.
“No. Most everyone prefers to report straight to someone at headquarters. I only take them if asked.”
“Do you know where most people have been before they come here?”
“No,” Percy says and looks at the checkerboard.
“That’s got to be maddening,” Oliver replies, shaking his head. “I couldn’t do it.”
“Mum used to accuse me of tunnel vision,” Percy tells him. “It’s useful here. I have a clear objective and know how to get there. Anything outside of that isn’t necessary information.”
“Really?”
Percy thinks about the twins. “Most of the time, yes.”
Oliver stretches out his legs under the table and presses his feet against Percy’s knees. “And the rest of the time?”
“I can’t think about that. There’s too much at stake.” Percy stands up and starts to fold the blankets. “You owe me dishes,” he says after a pause.
Oliver stands and gathers the bowls, spoons, and mugs. “Okay,” he says quietly.
Percy listens to him walk into the kitchen. He listens to him start the water, and he jumps when he hears all the dishes clatter into the sink. Before he can shout if Oliver needs help, Oliver is back in the living room.
“We should date,” he declares, hands on his hips.
Percy blinks and nearly drops the blanket he’s folding. “What?” He finally manages to get out.
“I think…I’m relaxed when I’m here,” Oliver explains. “I like being around you. I like being here because of you. We should date.” Oliver takes a deep breath. “If you want, I mean.”
Percy blinks again. “Where is this-”
“I could have died today,” Oliver interrupts. “Or I could be dead tomorrow. The timing is-”
“I can’t,” Percy cuts him off.
Oliver stares at him, his shoulders slumping as his hands drop from his hips. “Why not?”
“I…” Percy looks at the blanket in his hands. He looks at Oliver again. Oliver meets his eyes. “I have a responsibility to every person who comes here,” Percy says quietly. “Allowing myself to get involved with someone…I can’t.”
“You could be dead tomorrow,” Oliver argues.
“Maybe,” Percy agrees, “but my responsibilities would still be to everyone who comes here.”
There’s a pause. Oliver sighs. “There’s more to life than responsibility,” he mutters.
“Not right now,” Percy replies. “At least, not for me.”
“All right,” Oliver says with a shake of his head. He gives Percy a slightly strained smile. “I had to try, at least.”
“I appreciate it,” Percy tells him. “Really. It’s…nice.”
Oliver laughs at that. “Nice. Yeah. Okay.” He steps forward and takes the blanket from Percy’s hands and finishes folding it. “It’s going to end sometime,” he tells Percy.
“But not yet,” Percy replies.
*
Oliver crawls into bed with Percy that night, arm around Percy’s waist before Percy can maneuver his way around it. “You’re warm,” Oliver tells him. “That’s it.”
“It’s not,” Percy argues, but Oliver is already asleep against his shoulder. “Cheater,” Percy mutters before he falls asleep.
*
The next morning, as Percy watches Oliver set himself to apparate, he digs for something to say. “I…” he breathes in deep when Oliver gives him a hopeful look. Dead tomorrow, he thinks. “Good luck,” he says quietly.
“Thank you,” Oliver replies, a sudden smile breaking across his face. “Bye, Perce.
Five minutes later, Susan Bones apparates in, bleeding from a gash in her side. “The geese at the pond ignored my bread,” she hisses out between clenched teeth.
“I hear they enjoy bits of chocolate.” Percy drops the spells and catches Susan as she starts to pitch forward. “Easy,” he murmurs into her hair as she leans her head on his shoulder. “You’re safe here.”
*
Kingsley Shacklebolt shows up, plucks up two bottles of Percy’s Veritaserum stores, and nearly stops to have dinner when he realizes Percy is making pork chops in mushrooms and onions.
“I have a pressing engagement,” Kingsley says in a tone that makes it sound like he’s late for a work meeting. “Your mother wants to know how your arm is holding up.”
“It’s fine,” Percy tells him.
“I’ve heard nothing but good things about your work here,” Kingsley says as he steps into the front room again. “You should be very proud.”
“Thank you,” Percy says. “Good luck,” he adds before Kingsley apparates.
“And to you,” Kingsley replies, and then he’s gone.
*
Percy’s making tea very early one morning when he hears the pop of apparation. There’s a follow-up crack that tells him the shields have been dismantled. He throws open the microwave, pushes the “quick defrost” button three times, and has his wand ready when three Death Eaters storm into the room.
“Petrificus Totalus!” Percy yells, and sends one of the Death Eaters flying.
The second and third tackle him to the ground, and Percy feels three quick squeezes to his wrist. “Don’t fight.”
Percy doesn’t recognize the voice, but the signal is unmistakable. He can’t see the face of the Death Eater who pulls him to his feet. “There’s no one here,” he tells the third Death Eater. “It’s just me.”
“You’re the one we want,” the third Death Eater says in a gravelly voice as he snaps Percy’s wand.
Percy squeezes his eyes shut as they apparate.
*
They levitate and body-bind him from the neck down before they start the interrogation. Percy recognizes Rabastan LeStrange when he walks into the small, circular room.
“Mr. Weasley,” Rabastan says flatly, “you are a blood traitor.”
Percy stares at him and says nothing. He needs information, any information, and making Rabastan angry isn’t the way to get it.
“Tell me about your safehouse,” Rabastan orders.
“No,” Percy replies quietly.
Rabastan raises his eyebrows. “No?” he asks icily.
“No,” Percy repeats.
Rabastan flicks his wand, and Percy falls to the ground, landing hard on his right arm. “Very well, then.”
Percy wipes blood from his lip and stares at the floor as Rabastan leaves. It’s going to get bad, he knows, and he pushes himself up with his left arm. He leans against the wall, wraps his right arm around his body, and starts a mental list all the books he’s read that year.
*
“And today?” Rabastan asks the next day.
“No,” Percy rasps out, throat dry from lack of water. His stomach growls audibly, and Percy doesn’t have the energy to glare when Rabastan laughs.
“Foolish traitor,” Rabastan mutters as he leaves.
*
Sometime in the night-at least Percy thinks it’s night-someone slides open the viewing window of Percy’s cell and drops in a few slices of bread. In the meager light coming through the cracks in the walls, Percy makes out an ‘O’ stamped into one of the slices. The Order has someone here.
He eats slowly, wanting the bread to last, and falls into a fitful sleep, waking every time his arm spasms roughly.
*
“We have the potion needed to still your arm,” Rabastan offers. “Or we could bind it.”
“No,” Percy whispers, staring Rabastan straight in the eyes.
“Crucio,” Rabastan drawls, and Percy’s arm slowly contracts. “We also have potions to take away the pain.”
Percy hisses in a breath between his teeth. He counts to twenty. “No,” he grits out.
“Crucio,” Rabastan repeats and leaves.
It takes Percy to the count of one thousand fourteen before he gets his fingers uncurled. It’s a count to four hundred to straighten his arm.
*
The door opens, and someone throws water on Percy. The temperature in the room drops to near freezing. Percy stands up and walks the circumference of the room again and again, listing all the recipes he’s learned since he started running the safehouse.
He manages to stay awake until what he thinks is dawn, when the temperature in the room shoots back up to something comfortable.
*
“We have your mother,” Rabastan says conversationally on a day that Percy thinks is Tuesday. “She’s next door. I could torture her for what I need.”
“She doesn’t know about the safehouse,” Percy tells him. “She’s never seen it.”
“Are you certain?” Rabastan moves towards the door, hand reaching for the knob.
“You don’t have my mother,” Percy says calmly. “If you really had her somewhere, you would have brought her in with you. Made me watch as you hurt her before you offered me the chance to tell you anything.”
“Hmmm,” Rabastan hums, and taps his finger on his chin. “Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
Rabastan hits the door with the side of his fist. It opens, and Blaise Zabini walks in, pulling along a woman with red hair who looks like Molly Weasley. “You were saying?” Rabastan asks with a smirk.
Percy looks at the woman. She stares at him, looking fearful and small. “I’d like another green sweater for Christmas,” he says to her.
The woman who looks like Molly looks surprised. “Your sweater was yellow last year,” she says, her voice shaking.
“It was blue,” Percy replies. He looks at Blaise, who glares at him. “That’s not my mother.”
“Leave,” Rabastan says to the impersonator, and she stands up, muttering darkly as she leaves. He looks at Blaise. “Did you bring it?”
Blaise pulls a vial from his pocket. It’s burgundy with a slightly yellowed cork. “Now?” he asks.
“Yes.”
Percy tries to fight as Blaise pulls at his chin and tips back his head. The body-bind keeps him still enough for Blaise to pour the potion down his throat. It’s Veritaserum, and there’s a moment where Blaise looks him right in the eyes. It’s the Veritaserum from Percy’s shelf, he knows then. It’s one of the bottles Kingsley tucked into his pocket.
“Tell me about the safehouse,” Rabastan orders in a tone that already crows accomplishment.
Percy counts to twenty. He waits for the Veritaserum to take over and make him talk, but the feeling of detachment isn’t there. He slides a glance at Blaise. Blaise’s left hand is at his side, the fingers forming an ‘O’. The Veritaserum won’t start working, Percy realizes, because it’s not Veritaserum. It’s been switched.
“The safehouse,” Rabastan repeats. He looks at Blaise. “Are you certain that potion was strong enough?”
“Yes, Sir,” Blaise says. “He has training to avoid answering questions. It may just take a little bit longer.”
Percy drops his head forward, closes his eyes halfway, and makes himself speak slowly. “There are four that are mine.”
“Where are they located?”
Percy gives four dummy addresses. They’re mock-ups that Percy helped Bill and Lupin put together just in case he was captured.
“Have you seen Harry Potter?” Rabastan asks.
“No,” Percy says, relieved that he doesn’t have to make sure he sounds like he’s telling the truth.
Rabastan walks over and presses his wand to Percy’s right arm. “Have you seen Harry Potter?” he asks again.
“No,” Percy repeats. He grits his teeth when Rabastan sends a flare of pain through his arm.
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.” Another flare, and Percy concentrates on the white spots that dance in front of his eyes.
Rabastan flicks his wand and watches Percy crumple to the floor. “Feed him,” he orders Blaise. He leaves the room.
Blaise reaches into his robe and pulls out a sandwich. He drops it on the floor in front of Percy. “Eat it,” he snaps.
Percy picks up the sandwich with his left hand and eats quickly, afraid Blaise will take it away if he takes his time. Blaise sets down a tin cup next to Percy’s right arm and sneers when he watches Percy’s hand shake.
“Good work,” Blaise says under his breath, just loud enough for Percy to hear.
Percy doesn’t look up, too busy drinking down his water. When he finishes the cup, he stares into it. It refills automatically, and he risks a glance at Blaise.
“It’s the best I can do,” Blaise mutters, still sneering. “Tap it once with your finger to stop it. Tap it again to get more.”
“Thank you,” Percy whispers as quietly as he can.
“Enjoy your solitude,” Blaise says at a normal volume. There’s mockery in his tone. “We’re off to visit your friends.”
Percy drinks two more cups of the water and whispers his way through all the stars he can name from Astronomy.
*
No one comes to interrogate him for two days. Percy keeps his right arm curled tight around his body to try and control the shaking and hopes that the false safehouses are convincing enough. He recites the names of the Hogwarts Headmasters as he watches the light move across the cracks in the walls.
*
He’s walking a slow circle around the room and rubbing his right arm to try and reduce the tremors when he hears a commotion. Percy stands away from the door and picks up the cup, drinking down the water in it and tapping his finger to keep it from refilling.
“Anyone there?” A voice shouts, and it takes Percy a moment to realize it’s Lee Jordan.
“Yes!” He shouts.
“Stand back!”
Percy presses himself hard against the wall and covers his face with his left arm. The door to his cell flies inward and bounces on the opposite wall. When the dust settles, Percy finds Lee beaming at him.
“Percy Weasley! Ready to go?”
“Desperately,” Percy replies. “They’ve broken my wand,” he says as the commotion in the hallway gets louder.
“No problem,” Lee tells him as he grabs Percy’s right arm. “We’re taking the express.”
Part Three