Fic: In Between Days [3/3] Harry Potter [Percy/Oliver]
Title: In Between Days [3/3]
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
Part Two
In Between Days [3/3]
By Perpetual Motion
Percy’s pulled into a hug before he can even register they’ve arrived. “Hullo, Mum,” he says against her shoulder.
“Oh, honey,” Molly says and takes a step back as Percy’s arm twitches. “Are you injured?” She presses her hands along his sides and studies his face. “Did they hit you?”
“Most likely,” Draco Malfoy says from the side. “They do enjoy it.” He steps forward and puts a hand on Molly’s shoulder. “He needs looking over, Molly. Release your talons so I can take care of it.”
Percy wants to tell Draco not to talk to his mother that way, but he’s suddenly incredibly tired. “Something’s wr-”
*
He comes to in a small bedroom with blue walls and yellow curtains. Draco Malfoy is leaning over him and doing something to his right arm. “Did I faint?” Percy asks after a moment.
Draco looks up. “Oh, you’re not dead.” He sounds slightly disappointed at the fact. “The Death Eaters have set up their cells to act as an energy drain. You don’t feel it unless you’re rescued. It keeps our people from getting back into the fighting.”
“Oh,” Percy replies and feels his eyes slipping shut.
*
Percy wakes up and sees his mother at his bedside. “I’m okay,” he says at her worried look.
“Oh, Percy,” she says quietly and squeezes his hand. “We were so worried.”
“I’m sorry,” Percy tells her.
Molly’s face flushes. “Don’t you dare,” she says fiercely. “You’re a brave man. Don’t ever apologize for that.”
“Okay.” Percy yawns. “I think I’m falling asleep again,” he says.
“That’s fine, sweetheart.” Molly brushes her fingers through his hair. “You need your rest.”
*
When he wakes again it’s early morning. He blinks a few times to see if he’s going to fall back asleep and finds himself feeling rested.
“Oh, good, you’re awake,” Draco says as he looks up from scrawling something on a piece of parchment. He walks over and presses his wand to Percy’s temple. “Temperature’s normal. The energy drain has mostly faded. You’re surprisingly hydrated from having been in their care for nearly a week.”
“We had someone there,” Percy says. “Made my cup refillable.”
Draco smiles, just barely. “Blaise.” He rolls his eyes at Percy’s shocked look. “One, I am on your entirely over-noble side on all this. Two, he used to use that trick to pick up Muggle girls over holidays.”
“Oh,” Percy replies. He tries to sit up and nearly falls over when his right arm doesn’t move. “My arm-”
“I need time to correct your non-tremor potion,” Draco interrupts. “So you’re splinted.”
“Mum made that potion.”
“Your mother is a passable cook and rubbish at potions,” Draco replies.
Percy almost argues, but he remembers the way Draco had said his mother’s name with something close to respect when he’d first apparated back. “Where am I?” He asks instead.
“Granger’s house. Her parents offered their spare rooms for you invalids to get back on your feet.” Draco bends over his parchment and makes a note of something. “One of your brothers is on his way up to take your report. You’ll get fed in about an hour. Don’t get out of bed.”
Before Percy can ask which brother, Draco’s out the door.
Charlie walks in thirty seconds later, transfigures the bench at the end of the bed into a chair, and sits to Percy’s left. “Hey, Perce,” he says with a smile.
“Hullo,” Percy responds. “Just tell me when.”
Charlie opens a pad of paper and uncaps a biro. “Go ahead.”
Percy tells him everything from waking up in his bed to Lee Jordan showing up at his cell. The biro, it turns out, is charmed like a Quick-Quotes Quill, and it makes Percy smile a little when Charlie makes it pause in the same way he does.
“Good piece of work there,” Charlie tells him, nodding at the biro. “Everyone’s stolen it. Although I’ve heard a few stories about bad calibration.”
“You have to be precise,” Percy says. “I have some specifications written up, but they were in the safehouse.”
“We got them,” Charlie assures him. “They didn’t bother to rifle through your papers, or if they did, they didn’t move them much.”
Percy blinks. “If they didn’t want my papers, why were they there?”
Charlie’s eyebrows nearly touch when he furrows his brow. “For you,” he says slowly.
“Why?”
Charlie leans forward, hands coming to rest on the edge of the bed. “We only send you the top people, Percy. They came for you because of that.”
“Oh.” Percy swallows hard. “I didn’t realize.”
“Of course you didn’t,” Charlie says with a fond smile. “You never have.”
“Huh?” Percy asks.
“Nothing,” Charlie replies and stands. He pats Percy’s knee through the cover. “Get some rest. You look tired.”
Percy wants to argue, but his eyes are already drooping.
*
His father is sitting in the transfigured chair when Percy wakes up. He’s reading a book about Muggle history, and he smiles when he sees that Percy is awake. “There you are! Draco said you’d be in and out for at least the rest of the day, but you’ve been mostly out.”
Percy yawns and tries to stretch. The splint on his arm catches on the sheets.
“Careful,” Arthur says lightly, “I promised your mother you’d be in the same number of pieces when she came back.” He closes his book and reaches under his chair for a box. “I know how you hate being at loose ends.” He hands Percy a book.
“Julia Child?” Percy asks as he opens the book.
“Mrs. Granger informs me that she’s a very famous Muggle chef,” Arthur explains. “Your mother is a wonderful cook, but I thought you might be bored by now.”
Percy flips through the books, stopping to examine particularly colorful pictures. “Thank you,” he says quietly.
“Also,” Arthur says and hands over a different book, “to keep you up to date.”
It’s the latest edition of Advanced Potions Making. Percy smiles at his father. “This is brilliant.”
“I thought you might enjoy it.”
Percy reads for nearly two hours, his father reading by his side, and he doesn’t notice when he falls asleep.
*
Percy gets up the next day, ignoring Draco’s disapproving glare, and makes his way slowly to the kitchen. His mother is stirring something on the stove and shakes her head at him when he leans against the counter. “You should be sleeping,” she scolds.
“Did they get anyone?” Percy asks.
“Percy, darling, you should be sitting, at least.”
“Did they get anyone from my house?” He asks, pulling at his right arm. “Was there any information-”
Molly stops stirring, tucks a hand at Percy’s right elbow, and deliberately leads him to a chair at the small table tucked in a corner of the room. “No one, dear,” she says quietly as she makes him sit. “Not a single person. You did an absolutely brilliant job at all times.” She kisses the top of his head and holds his face between her hands. “And not a bit of this is due to something you did or did not do. Do you understand me?”
Percy nods. “Yes.”
“Good.” Molly brushes his hair away from his face. “As long as you’re up, I’ll make you a cup of tea, but you’ll need breakfast to go with it.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Percy mumbles. He looks around the kitchen as his mother moves around the stove and smiles at the books lined neatly on a shelf built into the wall. He’d always assumed Hermione’s appreciation for learning had come from her parents. He cocks his head sideways to read the titles, and Bill walks into the room.
“You’ll get a crick,” he says and pauses to kiss Molly on the head. “Enough water for another cup, or do I make my own?” He asks her.
“Away from my stove,” Molly orders, “or your hair will go up.”
Bill rolls his eyes as he sits. “Yes, Mum,” he mutters. He smiles at Percy. “Your color’s up.”
“Is it?” Percy asks. He hasn’t thought to consult a mirror.
“To be fair, your color was somewhere around eggshell when you came in, so you’re doing quite well. I think you’re up to cream.”
Percy manages a smile. “Oh, good. I was afraid I’d drop to lemon chiffon.”
Bill chuckles and scratches behind his ear. “I’ll warn you if you get there.” He looks at his hands, and then at Molly. “I’m going to tell him, Mum,” he says after a pause.
Molly turns on her heel, tea kettle in her hand, and gives Bill a stern look. “I don’t think-”
“Better to know,” Bill interrupts.
Percy looks back and forth between them, wondering what’s going on. “I don’t-”
“Let me finish the tea, at least, and I’ll leave you to it,” Molly concedes.
Bill nods. “All right.”
Percy tries again. “I don’t understand.”
“Bit of bad news you need to hear,” Bill says, face completely serious. “It’s my job to tell you, given my position in things.”
“Position?”
“Lupin and I-” Bill sighs when Molly rattles the kettle on the stove. “Well, if you’d move a bit faster, I could just get on with it.”
“Don’t talk back,” Molly snaps, and a moment later she’s carrying two cups of tea over to the table. She puts them down, retrieves the milk and sugar, and gives them both a long look that Percy can’t quite read. “I’ll be in the sitting room,” she says, her eyes not quite on either one of them.
Percy watches her leave and only looks at Bill again once she’s out of sight. “What is it?” he asks.
“When you sent the alarm that you’d been found out,” Bill begins again, “Lupin and I were sent to the safehouse to try and track you. We combed the whole place from end-to-end, and we only found the charm when Lupin thought to lift the microwave.”
“Charm?” Percy asks. There’s a cold weight settling in his stomach, and he takes a drink of tea.
“The charm that let the Death Eaters in, it was hidden under the microwave. It disabled the shielding spells for three very specific Death Eaters. Very, very luckily for us, one of them was our contact.”
Percy thinks about the three quick squeezes to his arm. “Blaise.”
“Yes,” Bill confirms.
“Did he set it? He was there-”
“No,” Bill interrupts. He stares into his tea for a moment. “It was Justin,” he finally says. “He planted it the last time he visited you, after the first time they found you.”
Percy can’t breathe for a moment. “Justin?” He finally pushes out. “But…do we know why?”
“We do,” Bill says. “He was at headquarters when we found the charm, and they detained him there. They captured his parents and sent him pictures of them everyday. They threatened to Crucio them to death if Justin didn’t assist them.” Bill taps his fingers on the table and clears his throat. “It was fake. They murdered his parents outright. Moody found the bodies two days before you went missing.”
“Oh,” Percy says quietly. He stares into his mug. “What will happen to him?”
“He’s out of the field, obviously. And he’s locked down at headquarters until the war’s over.” Bill shakes his head. “I don’t quite blame him, you know? But I would like the chance to rattle his teeth.”
Percy thinks about Justin for a moment, about the way he never had his wand raised. Was he trying to warn him, he wonders. And why was his wand raised the last time? “Did he send them the first time?” He asks.
“We don’t know. The charm we found behind the microwave was set on a timer. It would have expired after another twenty-four hours, and it had been set the day of Justin’s last visit.” Bill reaches out a hand and taps Percy on his left arm. “This isn’t your doing,” he says firmly. “We tried to explain to Justin that it could be Polyjuice or glamours, and we thought he listened.”
“I think he tried to tell me,” Percy says, looking at Bill’s face. “Not out loud, but I think-”
“You’ll go crazy wondering,” Bill interrupts. “Best to leave it for what it is.”
Percy takes another drink of his tea. He looks at the books on the shelf. “What happened to Blaise?” He asks after a minute. “Do they know-”
“Blaise was very sadly captured with all the other Death Eaters who showed up at the dummy addresses,” Bill says with a grin. “And Blaise, as far as they know, is trapped in a small, smelly cell same as them.”
Percy feels a smile pulling at his mouth. “And Blaise is actually…?”
“Very comfortably ensconced at another safehouse until such time as we can put him to work in the field again.”
“He did brilliantly,” Percy tells Bill. “I wasn’t absolutely certain he was on my side until he gave me that cup. And I’d patched him up previously.”
“I’ll send word that you said so,” Bill says and stands. He finishes off his tea and pats Percy on the shoulder. “I’m used to the twins nearly killing themselves,” he says in a tone that’s only half-joking. “Merlin knows they’ve made a life out of it. Try not to follow their bad example, all right?”
“I just want to get back to work,” Percy tells him, touching Bill’s hand for just a moment. “Any idea on when I can?”
“Mum’s in charge of that.” Bill chuckles at Percy’s groan. “Best of luck, little brother.” He walks out of the room, and Percy hears him tell Molly she can go back in.
“All finished with your conversation?” Molly asks as she picks up Bill’s empty cup.
“Yes, Mum,” Percy tells her. He reaches for her hand as she starts to walk away, and she curls around him instantly, his head cradled against her stomach. “Justin,” he murmurs, and makes himself breathe deep.
“Shhh,” Molly whispers. “It’s nothing you did, and it’s nothing you didn’t. Shhh.”
*
“Here,” Draco says two days later when he finds Percy on the back patio with a book. He’s holding out a small green ball. Percy tries to take the ball with his left hand, but Draco pulls it out of his reach. “With your right,” he orders.
Percy raises his eyebrows. “Why, precisely?”
“Because I’m the one in charge of fixing your arm,” Draco snipes. He holds out the ball again. Percy takes it with his right hand. “Squeeze it for three seconds at a time. 300 reps with your right hand, then 200 with your left. I don’t want your muscles getting uneven.”
Percy looks at the ball. “I don’t understand.”
Draco rolls his eyes. “Of course not. Short, stupid version for heroic idiot types: your right arm has lost muscle mass because you haven’t used it as much since the Death Eaters fucked it up. 300 reps on the right arm. 200 on the left.”
“What about a potion?” Percy asks as Draco starts to stalk away.
“300 reps on the right; 200 reps on the left,” Draco states without turning around.
“I still don’t-”
Draco spins on his heel, and his nostrils flare. “The arm tremors will lessen if you work on the muscles in your arm. However,” he stretches out the word into nearly four, annoyed syllables, “if you only take the half-ruined potion your mother makes and baby your arm-as you’ve been doing, idiotically-then your arm will slowly get worse until it is completely useless, much like you’re being in this moment.”
Percy’s eyebrows climb a little higher. “Is Severus aware you’ve stolen his attitude?”
“My attitude is completely my own, Weasley,” Draco snaps and turns again. “300 reps on the right-”
“200 on the left,” Percy finishes with a roll of his eyes. “I’ve got it.”
*
It’s two full weeks before Draco feels the muscles in Percy’s arm and agrees to take off the splint. He hands Percy a potion. “Once-a-day dose. Keep up with the exercises, and I may be able to cut you down from there.”
“Okay,” Percy says. He flexes his arm experimentally, and it twitches lightly. “Will I always need the potion?”
“Yes,” Draco says shortly. “But the exercises will always help.” He looks over his shoulder when the door to Percy’s room opens. “Arthur,” he greets flatly.
“Is he better?” Arthur asks, hands clenching in the hem of his sweater.
“Well enough to quit bothering me,” Draco replies. He hands Percy a rolled piece of parchment. “The potion.”
“Thank you,” Percy says as he takes the parchment. He shares an amused look with Arthur when Draco merely mutters under his breath and leaves the room.
“He doesn’t want to believe he’s got a good heart under all of that,” Arthur says as he sits next to Percy on the bed. “Your mother keeps trying to make him see it.”
“I remember those days,” Percy says and gives him a wry smile. “He says my arm is getting better.”
“Good. Excellent.” Arthur wipes his palms on his slacks and gives Percy a considering look. “Your mother thinks I can convince you to stay here. How she expects me to convince you, I don’t know, but I told her I would come in here and talk to you.”
Percy thinks for a moment. “Do you want me to stay?”
“We want all of you children to stay,” Arthur says after a pause. “If it were up to your mother and I, none of you would have a part in any of this.” Arthur looks down at the floor, “But your mother-and, honestly, myself-we worry about you the most. We nearly lost you once…” He clears his throat and pats Percy’s arm. “But if you want to get back into it, I can help you appeal to your mother.”
“Do I…I’ve been performing well, haven’t I?”
Arthur blinks at the question. “Pardon?” he asks, bewilderment sliding across his face.
“My work at the safehouse,” Percy explains, “it’s been satisfactory, yes?”
Arthur blinks again. “That you even have to ask…” He shakes his head. “Your work is exemplary, as it always has been, son.”
“I was raided,” Percy says flatly.
“Safehouses get raided,” Arthur says matter-of-factly. “We chose not to call them ‘raidhouses’ because the connotation seemed a touch too negative.” There’s the barest hint of humor in his eyes. “I suppose we could call them, ‘occasionally-you-must-run-very-fast-houses’, but then people may forget to apparate.”
Percy can’t help the chuckle that comes up from his chest. “It would be dreadful. The training to explain it would be nearly impossible to plan and organize.”
“Oh, I’m certain you could do it,” Arthur says with fatherly pride. He looks at Percy for a long moment, from the top of his head down to his toes. “We were so happy when you came home again,” he says quietly, his voice catching on the last word. “And we have always been immensely proud of your conviction.”
“Oh,” Percy says, having to work to swallow. “Thank you, Dad.”
Arthur pulls him into a one-armed hug and ruffles his hair. “You’re very welcome.” He beams at Percy and stands up, straightening his jumper. “So you’d like to go back?”
“Very much.”
“Well, then, let’s go talk to your mother.”
*
“No.”
“And why not?” Percy asks once he’s certain his mother will not elaborate.
“Because you’re unwell.”
“He is not,” Draco says from where he’s slouched in an armchair. “His arm’s better off than it was before. He’s been exceedingly well fed, and he’s rested so long I suspect he’ll sprout roots soon.”
“I don’t think-”
“Molly,” Arthur interrupts. “Percy is a full member of the Order. If Draco’s medical opinion is that he is healthy-”
“I am well aware of procedure, Arthur,” Molly snaps.
“Mum,” Percy interjects, “please. I can’t stay here for the rest of the war. People need my help, and unless you have a rational, logical reasons for refusing my request, the eventual answer will have to be yes.”
Molly glares at him. “I am well aware of that, as well.” She runs her hands through her hair, pats down her apron as though looking for a spare knut to tip an owl, and finally leaves her hands to hang at her sides. “We’ll have to send you to a safehouse that already has an organizer. Yours can’t be opened again for some time.”
“Okay,” Percy says evenly. “Will I assist in running that safehouse?”
“Yes.” Molly breathes deep and puts her hands on her hips. “You’ll leave in two days; we have to send word ahead, of course.” Her tone is crisp and unassailable. She puts her hands on Percy’s shoulders before walking around him and poking Draco in the chest. “Sit up straight,” she barks. Draco remains slouched, but Molly is out of the room and doesn’t see it.
“Well,” Arthur says into the silence, “that went rather smoothly.”
“You know she’s crying in the other room, right?” Draco asks. He raises his eyebrows when Arthur and Percy both glare at him. “Just making sure.”
*
“Supplies,” Molly says flatly, handing Percy a satchel. “And a few rations, in case something goes awry.”
“It’ll be fine, Mum,” Percy says as he slings the satchel strap over his shoulder.
“Good,” Molly replies. She straightens Percy’s collar and gives him a watery smile. “Be careful, dear.”
“You too,” he replies, and then he apparates.
When the disorientation wears off, Percy blinks twice. “This can’t be-” He nearly bites off his tongue when he realizes Oliver is standing on the other side of the door that attaches the front room to the sitting room. “Hullo,” Percy says slowly.
“Percy,” Oliver replies with a grin. He raises his eyebrows. “You know this next bit, right?”
It takes Percy a moment to realize Oliver is waiting for the password. “Oh! Yes. I took the train to Paris and saw the tower there.”
“It’s made of cheese, they tell me,” Oliver finishes.
Percy watches the shielding spells drop. “This is very odd.”
Oliver smiles and gestures Percy into the sitting room. “Which part?”
“All of it,” Percy says after a moment.
“There are four basic safehouse layouts, but I’m sure you knew that.”
“I did.”
“And I always liked yours the best, so I used it,” Oliver finishes. He leads Percy into the kitchen and opens the refrigerator. “Milk? Juice? Water? The kettle’s on, of course-”
“How did you end up here?” Percy interrupts as his sense of balance starts to return. “I thought you were back out there.”
“I was,” Oliver says and closes the refrigerator. He leans against the counter and looks Percy up and down. “I heard about you being taken,” he says quietly, “and between that and what happened to Pansy and all those Muggles, I needed to do something else for awhile. I needed to do something where I didn’t have to dress up or run for my life.”
“So you offered to take a safehouse?”
“I’d heard there was an opening.” Oliver’s smile is slightly crooked, like he’s not sure the joke is appropriate. “You’re okay, right? I didn’t get any special instructions, so I wasn’t-”
“I’m fine,” Percy tells him. “About as healthy as can be expected.”
“Good.” Oliver steps forward and touches Percy’s right arm. “And it’s all right?”
“Yes,” Percy says, wondering why his throat is suddenly dry. They stand very still for a moment until Percy clears his throat. “I brought you some supplies,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady.
“I was scared,” Oliver tells him. “When I heard about you getting hurt, I was…” He leans in and kisses Percy on the mouth.
Percy jumps. “Oliver-”
“Sorry,” Oliver says and steps away. He presses the back of his hand to his mouth and gives Percy a sheepish smile. “I’ll behave,” he promises. “Really. I just-Just the once.”
“I have to get ingredients for my anti-tremor potion,” Percy says evenly. He takes the satchel from his shoulder and hands it to Oliver. “Your supplies.”
“Thank you,” Oliver replies. He lifts a magnet on the fridge and hands a sheet of paper to Percy. “As long as you need to go out, you can do the shopping, get your bearings.”
Percy skims the list. “I assume we’re near a bus stop.”
“Half a block east.”
*
When Percy gets back from the shop he finds Oliver seasoning fish and melting down butter in a shallow pan. “I could have cooked,” Percy says as he starts to put the groceries away, feeling strangely out of place in the replica of his former kitchen.
“This is all a clever ruse,” Oliver says as he lays the fish fillets into the pan. “I inherited the mending from your previous safehouse.”
“And you’ve never learned to stitch a hem,” Percy replies and feels his stomach unknot. “Direct me to the pile, and I’ll stay out of your way.”
“It’s under the side table in the sitting room, but you don’t want to go anywhere.” Oliver grins widely. “We get to set dinner on fire.”
Percy’s can’t stop himself from raising his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”
Oliver points to the cookbook. “Salmon in whiskey and cream sauce. After the fish cooks, you douse it in whiskey and set it on fire.”
“You cannot be-” Percy pushes up his glasses as he skims the recipe. “So we’re setting fire to dinner,” he says with a nod.
Oliver hands him a small box of matches. “Make sure to jump back quickly.”
*
Three days later, Severus apparates in with Moody, both of them bleeding from head wounds. Percy notices Oliver’s hands shaking as he gets Moody prone on a bed.
“They need stitches,” Percy says to Oliver evenly. “The curved needles should be in my sewing kit.”
“Okay.” Oliver stands completely still for just a moment. “Needles,” he mutters, and walks out of the room.
“Don’t need stitches,” Moody growls. “Just wipe the blood from my eye-”
“I will body-bind you if I must,” Percy says quietly. He presses his wand to Severus’s temple and breathes out hard when it glows slightly green. “You have a mild concussion.”
“Of course I do,” Severus mutters. He closes his eyes for a moment. “There are two of you now?”
“I was raided,” Percy says shortly.
“Needles,” Oliver says as he walks back into the room. “And the surgical thread. I figured…you know…”
“Thank you,” Percy tells him as he takes the supplies. “I need the numbing potions from the shelf.”
“Sure.”
“Bit skittish, isn’t he?” Moody says as he shifts on the bed.
“First sight of blood,” Percy explains.
“Hmph,” Moody grunts in response.
Oliver comes back into the room and hands a vial of potion to Severus. He walks around the edge of the bed to hand Moody the other vial and starts when Moody clamps a hand on his wrist. “Yes, sir?”
“Blood’s part of war, son,” Moody states. “Get over it now, or you’re no good here.”
“Yes, sir,” Oliver says with a sharp nod. “Drink your potion.”
*
“You did very well,” Percy tells Oliver afterwards while Severus and Moody rest. He washes his hands in the kitchen sink and dries his hands on a towel Oliver hands him.
“I wasn’t expecting…” Oliver shakes his head. “I forgot that people come here after things happen.”
“You get used to it,” Percy assures him. “The question is, what do you do now?”
Oliver thinks for a moment. “Check on them every few hours, make lunch, and make sure they have rations when they leave.”
“Very good,” Percy says. His stomach twists a little when Oliver beams at him.
*
Roger Davies apparates in and never leaves the front room. “Out of rations,” he says.
“How much do you need?” Percy asks.
“Enough for six for a week.”
Percy looks at Oliver, but Oliver seems stuck in place, looking at Davies. Percy wonders what he sees. “I’ll grab them. You and Oliver can chat Quidditch.”
Roger smiles a little. “Thanks.”
When Percy comes back from the kitchen, rations shrunk to fit into a pile in the palm of his hand, Oliver and Roger are actually discussing the news from the front lines.
“There’s been a run of battles. Little things everywhere, but all of them timed really suspiciously, you know?” Roger gives Percy a nod when Percy carefully dumps the rations into his hand. “Thanks, Percy. Good to see you again.”
“Be careful, Roger,” Percy tells him.
“Do my best.” Roger lifts a hand to Oliver. “See you later, Wood.”
“Yeah,” Oliver murmurs. He watches the empty space after Roger apparates. “He’s very thin,” he says quietly.
“Is he?” Percy asks.
“His face has completely changed shape.” Oliver sits next to Percy on the couch and leans against Percy’s shoulder. “I hope he’ll be okay.”
Percy looks at Oliver’s profile from his peripheral vision. “I do, too.”
*
“I made lunch, did the dishes, made you a week’s worth of arm potion, and I’m seriously considering scrubbing the loo to keep myself occupied.” Oliver throws up his hands when Percy merely raises his eyebrows. “Distract me; I beg you. I’m so bored, I’m tempted to let you teach me to mend.”
“You’ve not the patience for it,” Percy says with a smile. “You could read something.”
“That requires sitting still.”
“You could jog,” Percy suggests.
“Went yesterday, and we’re expecting someone.” Oliver shakes his head. “How do you handle the waiting?” he asks as he flops next to Percy on the couch.
Percy marks his place in his book with a slip of paper. “It’s just part of it, I suppose.”
“It doesn’t make you crazy?”
“No.”
“Makes me crazy,” Oliver huffs.
*
The twins show up looking suspiciously neat and clean. Percy watches them greet Oliver and sees scabs on their knuckles. “Were you in a fight?”
“And nearly burned to death!” George says gleefully. “We had to knick fresh kit from a clothesline.”
“Spoils of war,” Fred adds, plucking at his blue and purple jumper. “It’s a great story. You’ll love it.”
It takes them three hours to tell the story. Oliver sets up the Quick-Quotes Quill and paper, and Percy makes dinner, knocking Fred and George aside with his shoulder when they get in the way.
“You know, Mum gives us hugs,” Fred tells him, interrupting George mid-sentence.
“Disregard,” Oliver tells the quill.
“Mum doesn’t have to take your reports,” Percy tells Fred.
“And our kitchen’s much bigger,” George adds.
“Where were you after you left Surrey?” Percy asks, and the report picks up again.
The twins eat dinner and dessert, make a show of waving goodbye, and then they’re gone. Percy makes sure Oliver signs the report and puts it in the freezer.
“They know how close they came, don’t they?” Oliver asks as he closes the freezer.
“I don’t ask,” Percy admits.
*
Ernie MacMillian shows up with twelve people, all bloody or limping or unconscious. He has a deep gash on the back of his right shoulder and winces when Percy cleans up the dried blood. “Semi-ambush,” he says between gritted teeth. “They showed up earlier than we were expecting.”
“What happened?” Oliver asks as he spoons out Skel-o-Grow for Terence Higgs.
“They’re running.” Ernie flinches when Percy starts to stitch his wound. “Can’t you just heal it?”
“Potions and Muggle medicine for whatever we can,” Percy tells him. “You know that. I can give you another dose of pain reliever if you need.”
“Give it to Padma,” Ernie says. “They hit her with a pretty nasty Crucio.”
“Why are they running?” Oliver asks as he checks Padma Patil’s pulse as she moans and tries to curl into a ball. “Easy,” Oliver says and taps his wand to her temple to let her fall unconscious.
“Harry’s getting close.”
Percy nearly drops his needle. “What?”
“Couple of the Death Eaters mentioned it. I don’t think headquarters knows, yet. I need to report in.”
“Let me finish stitching you up, and you can use the microwave.”
Ernie nods and falls silent while Percy finishes his work. Percy gives him another pain relieving potion and waves him to the kitchen. He turns to ask Oliver if he needs help and finds him staring at the far wall.
“This isn’t where I should be,” Oliver says quietly.
Percy looks around the room. Everyone is either sleeping or drugged, and Percy can hear Ernie talking quietly but urgently in the kitchen. “Let’s go to the sitting room,” he offers.
Oliver follows him out, stopping briefly to squeeze Ernie’s shoulder. He sits next to Percy on the couch and stares at his hands. “I can’t do this. I thought I needed to be here…”
“But?” Percy prompts when Oliver is quiet for a few seconds.
“But every time we patch someone up, I wonder what I could be doing instead. I can’t…the aftermath isn’t my place.” Oliver looks at Percy, his eyes sad. “I needed time away, but I think I have to be out there again.”
Percy tucks his right arm against his body as it starts to shake. It’s stress, he tells himself, and ignores the way his left hand shakes as badly. “Are you certain?”
Oliver looks away again. “I think so.”
“It’s a bad night,” Percy says. “Get some rest.”
“There’s only one bed left,” Oliver points out, “and no room to transfigure another without altering the charm on the back room.”
“I can sleep on the couch,” Percy offers.
“Your arm’s already shaking from overuse. I can sleep out here, or we can-” He presses his lips together and shakes his head. “I’ll take the couch.”
Percy wants to offer to share the bed. He wants to say yes to everything Oliver has offered. “This could all be over tomorrow,” he says instead.
“Maybe, but they’ll need people to help clean up in the aftermath.”
It’s true, Percy knows. No war just ends because its leader dies. There are loyalists who will keep fighting no matter the state of the rest of their side. “If you decide to leave, it’ll take a few days.”
“I know,” Oliver says. He stands up and runs his hands through his hair. “Maybe it’ll be quiet until then.”
“Is it because of me?” Percy asks before Oliver can walk away.
“No,” Oliver says sharply. “This is because of me,” he says in a softer tone. “I can’t stay here and watch people come in injured. I’m not made to patch people up. I need to be out there.”
Percy searches for something to say. “I’ve always been an administrator.”
A grin slides across Oliver’s face, and he puts a hand over his mouth to hide it. “Does anyone outside our dorm know you kept a file of every report you ever wrote for class?”
“Plagiarism is a serious issue,” Percy replies, deadpan.
“Because, obviously, someone wants your first-year Charms paper. Which you kept on file.” Oliver sits back on the couch and nudges Percy’s shoulder with his own. “It’s not you. It really isn’t. And once all of this is over, I’m going to show up here and make you cook me dinner.”
“I cook dinner for everyone.”
“You know what I mean.”
Percy looks down at the floor and feels himself flush. “Yes.”
Ernie walks into the sitting room, pausing for just a moment to give Oliver and Percy a considering look. “Is this a conversation about my squad?”
“No,” Percy says and stands. “Do you need something?”
“I have to go give a full report to the Council.” Ernie glances towards the back room. “My people?”
“We’ll take care of them,” Percy assures him. “Do you need food? Clothes? I can send you with some more pain reliving potion so your shoulder stays numb.”
Ernie shakes his head. “They’ve got all that there.” He pats himself down for his wand and pulls it from his back pocket. “I’ll be back if I can. Tell them to pay attention to their orders.”
“I will.” Percy drops the shielding spells so Ernie can walk into the front room. “Be careful,” he tells him.
“Thanks, Percy. Oliver.” Ernie gives them both a nod, and then he apparates.
“Makes me crazy,” Oliver says after a moment. “To watch them leave, to see everyone else who’s here. I really can’t understand how you do it.”
Percy takes a deep breath and gives Oliver a shrug. “It’s what needs to be done.”
*
The night before Oliver leaves, he makes Percy lemon chicken with a sticky-sweet sauce and kisses him as soon as he finishes eating. “Please,” he says against Percy’s mouth.
“We-”
“I really could be dead tomorrow,” Oliver interrupts.
It’s unfair to mention it. Percy wants to pull away and scold Oliver for being so conniving, but he wants the kiss, the warmth, Oliver’s thumb bruising his hip. It’s not a relationship, Percy thinks. It’s just sex. Percy wraps both hands in Oliver’s T-shirt and pulls him in tight. He sighs when Oliver presses him against the wall and wraps his foot around Oliver’s ankle. “Okay,” he breathes into Oliver’s ear. “Yes.”
*
Percy treats wounded every night for a week. Tonks shows up on day three, a small cut on her collarbone. She’s there to help, she informs him, and Percy is slightly surprised to find out that she has steady, sure hands when patching up the wounded.
“How bad is it?” he asks her very late one night. Four people had come in with missing bones; two others had nearly died from internal bleeding. “Is this the worst of it?”
“No,” Tonks tells him. She reaches for Percy’s right arm and starts to massage it, working from his wrist up to his shoulder. “You’re doing your exercises?”
“Everyday. And taking my potion. It’s just strain.” Percy watches the fine tremors work up his arm. “Thank you.”
“We all do what we can,” Tonks replies and keeps working.
*
Draco shows up, gives Percy’s arm a long look, and sets up a cauldron in the kitchen. “I’m making your potion stronger.”
“Why?”
“Because your arm shakes,” Draco says snidely. “And it’s not supposed to do that.”
“You told me to always expect it to do that.”
“No. I said to expect to use a potion for the rest of your life to stop it. Your arm shouldn’t shake after doing required work.”
“I was up for 37 hours dealing with injured,” Percy says flatly.
“Required work,” Draco repeats.
*
Blaise Zabini dies from his injuries in the very early hours of a Thursday. Percy uses a healing spell to close the wounds on his forehead that spell out “traitor”.
*
Hannah Abbot shows up with six, apparates out after she’s given the password, and immediately comes back with seven more. “I’m fine,” she tells Percy when he tries to check on her. “Tell me what to do.”
They save everyone, and as soon as people are stable, Hannah apparates them away to bring back more.
*
Luna shows up, speaking with complete lucidity, and it takes Percy forty minutes to figure out she’s been half-Oblivated.
“I’ve always very much liked unbuttered toast,” she tells Percy. “It’s such an easy treat, and I like dry foods.”
He wonders what it means that Luna being lucid terrifies him about the state of the war.
*
“We have to expand your back room,” Lupin says. “Everyone’s absolutely up to their necks.”
Percy doesn’t mention he hasn’t slept in three days. He drinks a vial of Pepper-Up, passes a vial to Lupin, and they set to work. When they’re finished, they have twenty-seven beds, but Percy can tell by the dimness of Lupin’s eyes it’s not enough.
*
Draco comes back again, leaves three satchels of shrunken potions, and apparates out before Percy can even ask him for the password.
*
Minerva pings him in the microwave one morning. “They’re coming.”
Percy double-wards the shields and makes everyone who isn’t unconscious grab someone who is. “Go anywhere,” he orders. “Anywhere safe. We’ll find you.”
Everyone disapparates, and Percy starts to make a cup of tea. He makes sure to knock it over when he hears the crackling hiss of the Death Eaters trying to get through the shielding spells. He makes sure he looks scared when he apparates as one reaches for his shirt.
*
He apparates onto a rooftop. When he turns around, Neville throws him a bag of supplies. “We run,” Neville says before Percy can ask. “We’ll help who we can.”
*
Colin Creevy blinks at them when Percy and Neville roll him over. “Oh, hello,” he says. “Have we met?”
Neville thinks to take the film from his camera. Percy gives Colin a biscuit, confirms he’s been Oblivated, and tells him he’s dreaming.
“Crazy dream,” Colin says. “It had all this magic.”
*
They decide to split up after a week. “Our odds of survival improve if we travel independently,” Percy tells Neville as they stand on a different rooftop watching Death Eaters blow out the windows of a Muggle residential area. “If we don’t know where anyone is, they can’t get information from us.”
Neville squints as a Death Eater sets a two-story house ablaze. “You’re right.” He shakes Percy’s hand. “Can we do anything for your arm?”
“No,” Percy answers, curling his right hand into a fist to stop the tremors. “There’s no time for that, now.”
“Good luck,” Neville says and apparates away before Percy can reply.
*
Katie Bell’s body is dumped in the middle of London. The Muggle police have no leads. Percy stands near the back of the crowd and forces down the urge to be sick.
*
He runs into Shacklebolt by chance, noticing him from across the room in a cheap, greasy restaurant.
“You’re Alan and Matilda’s boy, aren’t you?” Shacklebolt asks as he sits at Percy’s table. “You look exactly like your father.”
Percy plays along, and they manage to get halfway through their meal before the front window blows in, and the Death Eaters step over the rubble.
*
The Muggle newspapers say it’s a new terrorist cell. Percy watches men and women on a television in a department store talk about whom to blame. Percy curls into his sweater and flinches when the salesperson asks if he needs help.
*
There’s eerie calm for two days. Percy hides away in a hotel room with a loaf of bread and some sliced ham. An owl lands on the windowsill with a note tied to its leg:
It’s happening.
Percy eats a sandwich and drinks water from a crinkly plastic cup. He waits for relief or elation or terror.
*
Charlie finds him four days later. Percy’s hunched over a cup of tea at a chain coffeeshop and only looks up when he recognizes the boots as dragonhide. “Hullo,” Percy says. He rubs at his eyes with his left hand and keeps his right hand tight around his mug. “It’s over?”
“It’s over,” Charlie tells him and sits down hard. He reaches for Percy’s cup, pulls a vial out of his pocket, and upends it into Percy’s tea. “From Draco and Severus. They say it won’t stop the shakes, but it should lessen them considerably. I asked why they couldn’t make it strong enough to stop them, and I got twenty minutes on dosages and being an idiot.”
“Thank you,” Percy says and gulps the rest of his tea. “Is everyone all right?”
“Surprisingly, yes. Fred fell off a cliff, but I got Henrietta to catch him.”
“Henrietta?”
“One of the Horntails.” Charlie flags down a young man in a green apron and gives him a friendly smile. “I know I’m supposed to wait at the counter, but I’m absolutely knackered, and I tip really well. Could I get a blackberry tea for me and a refill for my brother?”
The young man looks skeptical until Charlie hands him a twenty pound note. “Of course.”
“Great.” Charlie puts his attention back on Percy. “I was with the twins near Hogwarts. Bill and Lupin were being sneaky elsewhere. Ginny met up with Marcus Flint, and I think they’re responsible for a small explosion of trees east of Manchester, not that Ginny’s taking credit. We’re still waiting for Ron, but we got an owl saying he’s safe. Mum sent me to find you, and here I am.”
“I’ve been running,” Percy says.
“You did it well,” Charlie replies. “You’re still here. Mum and Dad have been pacing for days.”
“I don’t even know what day it is.”
“Saturday.”
“Oh.” Percy starts when the young man in the green apron puts a fresh cup of tea in front of him. “Thank you.” He blinks and sits up straighter. “Should we be talking about all of this?” He asks, the fog of his mind suddenly clearing. He wonders if Draco and Severus spiked his potion.
“The Muggle Prime Minister plans to make a general announcement,” Charlie says with a grimace. “As soon as we choose a new Minister of Magic.”
Percy blinks. “What? Why?”
“Because hundreds of Muggles died this time,” Charlie says matter-of-factly. “They used them whenever they could.”
Percy thinks of Oliver in his silver-studded belt and of all the people he saw in Muggle clothes. “I know some of it,” he says into his tea. “I heard some reports.”
“And it’s either admit it was Voldemort or let people think terrorists are trying to kill them.”
“Telling them magic is real and one of ours was trying to kill them won’t go over any more easily.”
“No,” Charlie agrees with a grimace, “but better the ugly truth than an ugly lie.”
Percy considers that. “I suppose.”
Charlie finishes his tea and stands up. “Come on. Mum and Dad are waiting for us before they serve dinner.”
*
Ron shows up halfway through dinner, Harry and Hermione in tow. He grumbles when Molly hugs him and sits next to Percy before reaching for the potatoes. “You look like hell,” Ron greets.
Percy raises his eyebrows at the incredibly vivid bruises that practically cover Ron’s face. “Haven’t been sleeping,” he answers blandly. “You, on the other hand, are the picture of health, despite having walked into-and this is just a broad guess-several walls and a lamp post.”
Ron grins. “Hey, Perce.”
“Hi, Ron.”
*
Percy sleeps for seventeen hours. When he finally wakes up and walks downstairs, he finds Minerva and Shacklebolt sitting at the kitchen table. “Hullo,” Percy greets and tries to flatten his hair.
“Percy,” Minerva replies with a nod. Kingsley merely raises a hand. “We’re very happy to see you up and around.”
“Thank you,” Percy says. He pours a cup of tea and sits across from the both of them. “How’s your leg?” He asks Kingsley.
“Completely healed, thank you. The Healers at St. Mungo’s were impressed with your tourniquet. Apparently, they rarely get to see Muggle medicine.”
“Happy to broaden their horizons, I suppose.” Percy raises his eyebrows when Minerva pulls out a piece of parchment and lays it on the table. “And this is?”
“The list of the missing. I thought you’d like to see it.”
Percy unrolls the parchment and reads the list slowly. “Everyone else is accounted for?” he asks as he sets the list aside.
“We have a few people handling clean up,” Minerva holds up a hand when Percy opens his mouth. “No, you may not,” she says flatly, “because we need your help in a different capacity.”
“I’ve been named Minister of Magic,” Shacklebolt says.
“Congratulations,” Percy says sincerely. “That’s wonderful news.”
“Thank you. I came to see you because I need a secretary,” Shacklebolt replies, sitting up straighter and leaning against the table.
Percy blinks. “I think they’re called assistants now.”
Shacklebolt looks taken aback for a moment. “I need a Secretary of Wizard/Muggle relations,” he explains.
“Oh.” Percy takes a sip of his tea. “Wouldn’t you prefer someone Muggle-born?”
“Seamus Finnigan has already accepted his position,” Kingsley says, “but I want wizards from both backgrounds.”
“I see.” Percy looks at Minerva. She’s smiling. Shacklebolt is looking at him expectantly. “My previous experience with the Ministry was very negative,” Percy says after a moment. “Some of it my own doing, but some of it the doing of the people for whom I worked.”
“It’s an entirely new Ministry,” Shacklebolt says. “It has to be. The original blew up.”
Percy smiles a little. “That is true.” He sips his tea again. “What would I be doing?”
“You’d be handling relations between Muggles and the wizarding world. Once the news comes out about us, I expect we’ll see quite a bit of reactionary anger.”
“That is a very polite assessment, Kingsley,” Minerva interjects.
“It will be an uphill climb,” Shacklebolt says seriously, “but it’s a climb worth taking.”
“I accept.” Percy holds out his hand to Shacklebolt. They shake. “When do we start?”
“It will be a few weeks, yet,” Shacklebolt says with a smile. “Once the loose ends are tied off, we’ll have a good place to start.”
“What do we have left?” Percy asks.
“More than enough,” Minerva says with a tired sigh. “But it’s not your concern for the moment. You need time to rest.”
“I can help,” Percy argues.
“You’ll about to be a cabinet secretary for the Ministry, Percy,” Minerva says with a smile. “Take a few days off.”
*
Draco apparates in just as Molly is carrying the bread to the table. “There you are,” she says in the same way she always greets her children. “Wash your hands before you sit down.”
Percy shares a confused look with Ron, Ginny, and the twins. Bill and Charlie seem completely nonplussed.
Draco sits down next to Charlie as Arthur walks in the backdoor from his shed. “Good to see you, son,” he says and clasps Draco’s shoulder.
Percy watches the twins have a conversation with their eyebrows and knows they’re about to cause some sort of fuss. “Draco,” he says as Fred opens his mouth, “I wanted to thank you for the potion you sent along with Charlie. It worked wonderfully.”
“You’re lucky you’re left-handed, or you’d have been in bigger trouble,” Draco replies as he snaps out his napkin and places it in his lap. “I’ll be here in the morning to reassess your arm and adjust your dosage.”
“We’re having breakfast at nine,” Molly says. “I can keep a plate warm if you’ll be later.”
“Nine is fine.” Draco’s cutting into his roast beef like it’s going to fight back.
George opens his mouth, but Charlie talks over his first syllable. “I heard Shacklebolt came to see you, Perce. Congratulations.”
Percy flushes a little. “Thank you. It’s a very good opportunity.”
“You’ve earned it,” Charlie tells him sincerely.
“What are you doing?” Ginny asks Percy as George tries to say something again.
“I am going to be a liaison between Muggles and wizards once we tell them about us.”
Ginny’s brow wrinkles. “I thought Seamus was asked to do that job.”
“We’re going to split duties,” Percy tells her. “I’m wizard-born with Muggle experience, and he’s Muggle-born with wizard experience, so we both have our strengths.”
“We’re very proud of you, Percy,” Molly says as Fred opens his mouth. “I’m proud of all of you, of course,” she continues, and everyone at the table-Draco included, Percy notices-smiles. “But especially of you tonight, dear. It’s a great compliment, and you’ll do wonderfully.”
“I wonder what the new Ministry will be like,” Draco says more to this fork and knife than to the table.
“I’d like a bigger office,” Arthur says with a wistful sigh. “Or at least some storage. We never had storage.”
“We’re still scrambling to find the duplicate copies of some of our more obscure curses at Gringotts,” Bill adds. “We had copies of everything, of course, but the goblins are loathe to give non-goblins replacements on anything seeing as it was wizards who blew up the bank.”
“We’re not working for the Minstry or Gringotts,” Fred says, looking proud he’s finally managed to get into the conversation. “So we’re great.”
“Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes will re-open as soon as the shop is repaired,” George adds, “and we don’t have to go through anyone to get our recipes.”
“I don’t know,” Arthur says, scratching his chin, “I think your mother still has a few of your more death-defying ideas tucked away somewhere.”
“And you still don’t get them back,” Molly says when Fred and George turn to her. “Now eat your dinner.”
*
A Muggle reporter demands that Kingsley prove it. Kingsley turns his microphone into a replica of Big Ben and then transfigures it into a microphone again. “Any other questions?” He asks, a slight twinkle in his eyes.
Percy winces when the reporters start yelling.
*
Percy learns the pain of a Muggle invention known as 24-hour news, and spends too many hours watching different, red-faced Muggles call wizards dangerous, unnatural, and sneaky. One or two of them concede that maybe not all wizards were going to ruin the world, but then they’d always talk about the Muggle deaths in the war and the cycle would repeat again.
“Hell,” Seamus says from across the office. His desk is already cluttered with memos and a scattering of pictures. “I really thought telling them we had a whole system of government set up for wizards would help.”
“Not to mention the schools,” Percy says with a sigh. His desk is carefully organized with only a picture of his family to make it personal. “It’ll calm down,” he tells Seamus.
“Right after someone takes a boot to the head,” Seamus replies darkly. He runs his hands through his hair and stands up. “Going to go walk this off.” He clicks off the tv set as he leaves.
Percy leans back in his chair and listens to Seamus mumble to himself as he walks up and down the hall. The new Ministry is only twelve days old, and they’re the only ones on the hallway for the moment. Percy wonders where Seamus will pace when they get neighbors.
“Well, I’ll be damned; Percy Weasley at a desk and not working.”
Percy snaps out of his thoughts and blinks a few times at Oliver, who’s leaning against his doorjamb and looking completely relaxed. “Oliver?”
“Last I checked.” Oliver steps into the office and pulls Percy into a hug when Percy tries to offer a handshake. “It is ridiculously good to see you.”
“It’s…it’s good to see you,” Percy replies, slightly stunned. He smoothes his robes when Oliver steps away and fumbles for something to say. “Where have you been?” He finally asks, and winces when he hears how sharp it comes out.
“Around,” Oliver says and runs a hand along the left side of his hair. There’s a pure black streak that wasn’t there before, Percy realizes. The leftover of some terrible hex that missed Oliver by a literal hair’s-breadth.
“You’ve been busy,” Percy says, eyeing the streak. “Can I ask?”
“All I can say is that it’s stuff for the Ministry,” Oliver tells him. “Messy, messy stuff. Involving fugitives.” He grimaces then shakes his head like he’s dislodging a fly. “And I think I’ve technically said too much. Anyway, I was just stopping in to check in with the Aurors, and Ginny mentioned that you were down here, so I wanted to say hello.”
“That’s very nice of you,” Percy says and wants to kick himself for his blandness. “That isn’t-” He bites down on his lip when Oliver breaks into an amused smile. “Fancy a drink?” Percy asks, surprised when he realizes he’s said it.
Oliver blinks, obviously surprised as well. Then he smiles. “Absolutely.”
Percy looks at his desk and listens to Seamus as he makes another trek of the hallway. “Seamus!” he calls out.
“Yeah?”
“I’m skipping early.”
Seamus pokes his head back into the office. “You’re wh-oh, hey, Oliver.”
“Seamus,” Oliver greets with a nod. “How’s things?”
“Exhausting,” Seamus says with a roll of his eyes. “You’re skipping?” He asks Percy.
“If you don’t mind.”
“Mind? No. Shocked? Yes.”
Before Percy can explain to Seamus that working his appointed hours does not make him some kind of oddity, Oliver has him by the elbow and is leading him out the door.
“I’m a little surprised you’re leaving, too,” Oliver tells Percy as they get on the elevator. “I mean, you do have a full fifteen minutes before you’re off the clock. You should be aligning paper clips or carefully rearranging your pencils.”
Percy laughs before he can stop himself. “And you should be on a Quidditch pitch trying not to get bludgeoned.”
“It’ll be another year before Quidditch picks up,” Oliver tells him. “Everyone’s still trying to put everything to rights. But Puddlemere wants me back if I still want it.”
“Is it even a question?” Percy asks with a grin.
“Of course not,” Oliver replies.
*
They go to a Muggle pub. A few people give Percy’s dark green robes a hard look, but the bartender takes their orders without asking questions.
“I think they don’t like you,” Oliver says, waving cheerily at a couple who are still staring.
“They’re scared,” Percy says with a shrug. “They’ll come to terms with things.”
“The Prophet says there’s been some altercations,” Oliver tells him.
“The Prophet says a lot of things,” Percy replies. “What they’re calling “altercations” are actually people just yelling. Everyone who’s come to the Ministry with questions has been about as polite as you can expect, given the circumstances.”
“They hate you on the telly,” Oliver argues.
“From what I can tell, everyone on the telly hates everyone.”
Oliver chuckles. “I noticed that, too.” He nods to the bartender when he sets down their drinks. “Thanks, mate,” he says.
The bartender gives them both a measuring look. “You’re one of those wizards,” he says to Percy.
“We both are,” Percy replies, pointing a thumb at Oliver. “I’ve just come from work.”
“That your uniform?” The bartender asks, eyeing Percy’s dark green robe.
“Yes, sir. I work at the Ministry of Magic.”
“Hmmm,” the bartender hums. He walks away to talk to someone else at the bar.
“Be honest,” Oliver says quietly, “did that scare the hell out of you?”
Percy tucks his right hand into the pocket of his robe. “A bit, yes.”
“Thought it was just me.”
*
Oliver sees him to the field near the Burrow and before Percy can say goodnight, he kisses him on the mouth. “War’s over,” he says when Percy just blinks at him in a daze. “I’m going to date you now.”
It takes a few more seconds for Percy to catch up. “I suppose it is.” He kisses Oliver firmly on the mouth and smiles when Oliver puts a hand on his waist. “I look forward to it.”
And now, a sequel!
Ta-Da
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
Part Two
In Between Days [3/3]
By Perpetual Motion
Percy’s pulled into a hug before he can even register they’ve arrived. “Hullo, Mum,” he says against her shoulder.
“Oh, honey,” Molly says and takes a step back as Percy’s arm twitches. “Are you injured?” She presses her hands along his sides and studies his face. “Did they hit you?”
“Most likely,” Draco Malfoy says from the side. “They do enjoy it.” He steps forward and puts a hand on Molly’s shoulder. “He needs looking over, Molly. Release your talons so I can take care of it.”
Percy wants to tell Draco not to talk to his mother that way, but he’s suddenly incredibly tired. “Something’s wr-”
*
He comes to in a small bedroom with blue walls and yellow curtains. Draco Malfoy is leaning over him and doing something to his right arm. “Did I faint?” Percy asks after a moment.
Draco looks up. “Oh, you’re not dead.” He sounds slightly disappointed at the fact. “The Death Eaters have set up their cells to act as an energy drain. You don’t feel it unless you’re rescued. It keeps our people from getting back into the fighting.”
“Oh,” Percy replies and feels his eyes slipping shut.
*
Percy wakes up and sees his mother at his bedside. “I’m okay,” he says at her worried look.
“Oh, Percy,” she says quietly and squeezes his hand. “We were so worried.”
“I’m sorry,” Percy tells her.
Molly’s face flushes. “Don’t you dare,” she says fiercely. “You’re a brave man. Don’t ever apologize for that.”
“Okay.” Percy yawns. “I think I’m falling asleep again,” he says.
“That’s fine, sweetheart.” Molly brushes her fingers through his hair. “You need your rest.”
*
When he wakes again it’s early morning. He blinks a few times to see if he’s going to fall back asleep and finds himself feeling rested.
“Oh, good, you’re awake,” Draco says as he looks up from scrawling something on a piece of parchment. He walks over and presses his wand to Percy’s temple. “Temperature’s normal. The energy drain has mostly faded. You’re surprisingly hydrated from having been in their care for nearly a week.”
“We had someone there,” Percy says. “Made my cup refillable.”
Draco smiles, just barely. “Blaise.” He rolls his eyes at Percy’s shocked look. “One, I am on your entirely over-noble side on all this. Two, he used to use that trick to pick up Muggle girls over holidays.”
“Oh,” Percy replies. He tries to sit up and nearly falls over when his right arm doesn’t move. “My arm-”
“I need time to correct your non-tremor potion,” Draco interrupts. “So you’re splinted.”
“Mum made that potion.”
“Your mother is a passable cook and rubbish at potions,” Draco replies.
Percy almost argues, but he remembers the way Draco had said his mother’s name with something close to respect when he’d first apparated back. “Where am I?” He asks instead.
“Granger’s house. Her parents offered their spare rooms for you invalids to get back on your feet.” Draco bends over his parchment and makes a note of something. “One of your brothers is on his way up to take your report. You’ll get fed in about an hour. Don’t get out of bed.”
Before Percy can ask which brother, Draco’s out the door.
Charlie walks in thirty seconds later, transfigures the bench at the end of the bed into a chair, and sits to Percy’s left. “Hey, Perce,” he says with a smile.
“Hullo,” Percy responds. “Just tell me when.”
Charlie opens a pad of paper and uncaps a biro. “Go ahead.”
Percy tells him everything from waking up in his bed to Lee Jordan showing up at his cell. The biro, it turns out, is charmed like a Quick-Quotes Quill, and it makes Percy smile a little when Charlie makes it pause in the same way he does.
“Good piece of work there,” Charlie tells him, nodding at the biro. “Everyone’s stolen it. Although I’ve heard a few stories about bad calibration.”
“You have to be precise,” Percy says. “I have some specifications written up, but they were in the safehouse.”
“We got them,” Charlie assures him. “They didn’t bother to rifle through your papers, or if they did, they didn’t move them much.”
Percy blinks. “If they didn’t want my papers, why were they there?”
Charlie’s eyebrows nearly touch when he furrows his brow. “For you,” he says slowly.
“Why?”
Charlie leans forward, hands coming to rest on the edge of the bed. “We only send you the top people, Percy. They came for you because of that.”
“Oh.” Percy swallows hard. “I didn’t realize.”
“Of course you didn’t,” Charlie says with a fond smile. “You never have.”
“Huh?” Percy asks.
“Nothing,” Charlie replies and stands. He pats Percy’s knee through the cover. “Get some rest. You look tired.”
Percy wants to argue, but his eyes are already drooping.
*
His father is sitting in the transfigured chair when Percy wakes up. He’s reading a book about Muggle history, and he smiles when he sees that Percy is awake. “There you are! Draco said you’d be in and out for at least the rest of the day, but you’ve been mostly out.”
Percy yawns and tries to stretch. The splint on his arm catches on the sheets.
“Careful,” Arthur says lightly, “I promised your mother you’d be in the same number of pieces when she came back.” He closes his book and reaches under his chair for a box. “I know how you hate being at loose ends.” He hands Percy a book.
“Julia Child?” Percy asks as he opens the book.
“Mrs. Granger informs me that she’s a very famous Muggle chef,” Arthur explains. “Your mother is a wonderful cook, but I thought you might be bored by now.”
Percy flips through the books, stopping to examine particularly colorful pictures. “Thank you,” he says quietly.
“Also,” Arthur says and hands over a different book, “to keep you up to date.”
It’s the latest edition of Advanced Potions Making. Percy smiles at his father. “This is brilliant.”
“I thought you might enjoy it.”
Percy reads for nearly two hours, his father reading by his side, and he doesn’t notice when he falls asleep.
*
Percy gets up the next day, ignoring Draco’s disapproving glare, and makes his way slowly to the kitchen. His mother is stirring something on the stove and shakes her head at him when he leans against the counter. “You should be sleeping,” she scolds.
“Did they get anyone?” Percy asks.
“Percy, darling, you should be sitting, at least.”
“Did they get anyone from my house?” He asks, pulling at his right arm. “Was there any information-”
Molly stops stirring, tucks a hand at Percy’s right elbow, and deliberately leads him to a chair at the small table tucked in a corner of the room. “No one, dear,” she says quietly as she makes him sit. “Not a single person. You did an absolutely brilliant job at all times.” She kisses the top of his head and holds his face between her hands. “And not a bit of this is due to something you did or did not do. Do you understand me?”
Percy nods. “Yes.”
“Good.” Molly brushes his hair away from his face. “As long as you’re up, I’ll make you a cup of tea, but you’ll need breakfast to go with it.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Percy mumbles. He looks around the kitchen as his mother moves around the stove and smiles at the books lined neatly on a shelf built into the wall. He’d always assumed Hermione’s appreciation for learning had come from her parents. He cocks his head sideways to read the titles, and Bill walks into the room.
“You’ll get a crick,” he says and pauses to kiss Molly on the head. “Enough water for another cup, or do I make my own?” He asks her.
“Away from my stove,” Molly orders, “or your hair will go up.”
Bill rolls his eyes as he sits. “Yes, Mum,” he mutters. He smiles at Percy. “Your color’s up.”
“Is it?” Percy asks. He hasn’t thought to consult a mirror.
“To be fair, your color was somewhere around eggshell when you came in, so you’re doing quite well. I think you’re up to cream.”
Percy manages a smile. “Oh, good. I was afraid I’d drop to lemon chiffon.”
Bill chuckles and scratches behind his ear. “I’ll warn you if you get there.” He looks at his hands, and then at Molly. “I’m going to tell him, Mum,” he says after a pause.
Molly turns on her heel, tea kettle in her hand, and gives Bill a stern look. “I don’t think-”
“Better to know,” Bill interrupts.
Percy looks back and forth between them, wondering what’s going on. “I don’t-”
“Let me finish the tea, at least, and I’ll leave you to it,” Molly concedes.
Bill nods. “All right.”
Percy tries again. “I don’t understand.”
“Bit of bad news you need to hear,” Bill says, face completely serious. “It’s my job to tell you, given my position in things.”
“Position?”
“Lupin and I-” Bill sighs when Molly rattles the kettle on the stove. “Well, if you’d move a bit faster, I could just get on with it.”
“Don’t talk back,” Molly snaps, and a moment later she’s carrying two cups of tea over to the table. She puts them down, retrieves the milk and sugar, and gives them both a long look that Percy can’t quite read. “I’ll be in the sitting room,” she says, her eyes not quite on either one of them.
Percy watches her leave and only looks at Bill again once she’s out of sight. “What is it?” he asks.
“When you sent the alarm that you’d been found out,” Bill begins again, “Lupin and I were sent to the safehouse to try and track you. We combed the whole place from end-to-end, and we only found the charm when Lupin thought to lift the microwave.”
“Charm?” Percy asks. There’s a cold weight settling in his stomach, and he takes a drink of tea.
“The charm that let the Death Eaters in, it was hidden under the microwave. It disabled the shielding spells for three very specific Death Eaters. Very, very luckily for us, one of them was our contact.”
Percy thinks about the three quick squeezes to his arm. “Blaise.”
“Yes,” Bill confirms.
“Did he set it? He was there-”
“No,” Bill interrupts. He stares into his tea for a moment. “It was Justin,” he finally says. “He planted it the last time he visited you, after the first time they found you.”
Percy can’t breathe for a moment. “Justin?” He finally pushes out. “But…do we know why?”
“We do,” Bill says. “He was at headquarters when we found the charm, and they detained him there. They captured his parents and sent him pictures of them everyday. They threatened to Crucio them to death if Justin didn’t assist them.” Bill taps his fingers on the table and clears his throat. “It was fake. They murdered his parents outright. Moody found the bodies two days before you went missing.”
“Oh,” Percy says quietly. He stares into his mug. “What will happen to him?”
“He’s out of the field, obviously. And he’s locked down at headquarters until the war’s over.” Bill shakes his head. “I don’t quite blame him, you know? But I would like the chance to rattle his teeth.”
Percy thinks about Justin for a moment, about the way he never had his wand raised. Was he trying to warn him, he wonders. And why was his wand raised the last time? “Did he send them the first time?” He asks.
“We don’t know. The charm we found behind the microwave was set on a timer. It would have expired after another twenty-four hours, and it had been set the day of Justin’s last visit.” Bill reaches out a hand and taps Percy on his left arm. “This isn’t your doing,” he says firmly. “We tried to explain to Justin that it could be Polyjuice or glamours, and we thought he listened.”
“I think he tried to tell me,” Percy says, looking at Bill’s face. “Not out loud, but I think-”
“You’ll go crazy wondering,” Bill interrupts. “Best to leave it for what it is.”
Percy takes another drink of his tea. He looks at the books on the shelf. “What happened to Blaise?” He asks after a minute. “Do they know-”
“Blaise was very sadly captured with all the other Death Eaters who showed up at the dummy addresses,” Bill says with a grin. “And Blaise, as far as they know, is trapped in a small, smelly cell same as them.”
Percy feels a smile pulling at his mouth. “And Blaise is actually…?”
“Very comfortably ensconced at another safehouse until such time as we can put him to work in the field again.”
“He did brilliantly,” Percy tells Bill. “I wasn’t absolutely certain he was on my side until he gave me that cup. And I’d patched him up previously.”
“I’ll send word that you said so,” Bill says and stands. He finishes off his tea and pats Percy on the shoulder. “I’m used to the twins nearly killing themselves,” he says in a tone that’s only half-joking. “Merlin knows they’ve made a life out of it. Try not to follow their bad example, all right?”
“I just want to get back to work,” Percy tells him, touching Bill’s hand for just a moment. “Any idea on when I can?”
“Mum’s in charge of that.” Bill chuckles at Percy’s groan. “Best of luck, little brother.” He walks out of the room, and Percy hears him tell Molly she can go back in.
“All finished with your conversation?” Molly asks as she picks up Bill’s empty cup.
“Yes, Mum,” Percy tells her. He reaches for her hand as she starts to walk away, and she curls around him instantly, his head cradled against her stomach. “Justin,” he murmurs, and makes himself breathe deep.
“Shhh,” Molly whispers. “It’s nothing you did, and it’s nothing you didn’t. Shhh.”
*
“Here,” Draco says two days later when he finds Percy on the back patio with a book. He’s holding out a small green ball. Percy tries to take the ball with his left hand, but Draco pulls it out of his reach. “With your right,” he orders.
Percy raises his eyebrows. “Why, precisely?”
“Because I’m the one in charge of fixing your arm,” Draco snipes. He holds out the ball again. Percy takes it with his right hand. “Squeeze it for three seconds at a time. 300 reps with your right hand, then 200 with your left. I don’t want your muscles getting uneven.”
Percy looks at the ball. “I don’t understand.”
Draco rolls his eyes. “Of course not. Short, stupid version for heroic idiot types: your right arm has lost muscle mass because you haven’t used it as much since the Death Eaters fucked it up. 300 reps on the right arm. 200 on the left.”
“What about a potion?” Percy asks as Draco starts to stalk away.
“300 reps on the right; 200 reps on the left,” Draco states without turning around.
“I still don’t-”
Draco spins on his heel, and his nostrils flare. “The arm tremors will lessen if you work on the muscles in your arm. However,” he stretches out the word into nearly four, annoyed syllables, “if you only take the half-ruined potion your mother makes and baby your arm-as you’ve been doing, idiotically-then your arm will slowly get worse until it is completely useless, much like you’re being in this moment.”
Percy’s eyebrows climb a little higher. “Is Severus aware you’ve stolen his attitude?”
“My attitude is completely my own, Weasley,” Draco snaps and turns again. “300 reps on the right-”
“200 on the left,” Percy finishes with a roll of his eyes. “I’ve got it.”
*
It’s two full weeks before Draco feels the muscles in Percy’s arm and agrees to take off the splint. He hands Percy a potion. “Once-a-day dose. Keep up with the exercises, and I may be able to cut you down from there.”
“Okay,” Percy says. He flexes his arm experimentally, and it twitches lightly. “Will I always need the potion?”
“Yes,” Draco says shortly. “But the exercises will always help.” He looks over his shoulder when the door to Percy’s room opens. “Arthur,” he greets flatly.
“Is he better?” Arthur asks, hands clenching in the hem of his sweater.
“Well enough to quit bothering me,” Draco replies. He hands Percy a rolled piece of parchment. “The potion.”
“Thank you,” Percy says as he takes the parchment. He shares an amused look with Arthur when Draco merely mutters under his breath and leaves the room.
“He doesn’t want to believe he’s got a good heart under all of that,” Arthur says as he sits next to Percy on the bed. “Your mother keeps trying to make him see it.”
“I remember those days,” Percy says and gives him a wry smile. “He says my arm is getting better.”
“Good. Excellent.” Arthur wipes his palms on his slacks and gives Percy a considering look. “Your mother thinks I can convince you to stay here. How she expects me to convince you, I don’t know, but I told her I would come in here and talk to you.”
Percy thinks for a moment. “Do you want me to stay?”
“We want all of you children to stay,” Arthur says after a pause. “If it were up to your mother and I, none of you would have a part in any of this.” Arthur looks down at the floor, “But your mother-and, honestly, myself-we worry about you the most. We nearly lost you once…” He clears his throat and pats Percy’s arm. “But if you want to get back into it, I can help you appeal to your mother.”
“Do I…I’ve been performing well, haven’t I?”
Arthur blinks at the question. “Pardon?” he asks, bewilderment sliding across his face.
“My work at the safehouse,” Percy explains, “it’s been satisfactory, yes?”
Arthur blinks again. “That you even have to ask…” He shakes his head. “Your work is exemplary, as it always has been, son.”
“I was raided,” Percy says flatly.
“Safehouses get raided,” Arthur says matter-of-factly. “We chose not to call them ‘raidhouses’ because the connotation seemed a touch too negative.” There’s the barest hint of humor in his eyes. “I suppose we could call them, ‘occasionally-you-must-run-very-fast-houses’, but then people may forget to apparate.”
Percy can’t help the chuckle that comes up from his chest. “It would be dreadful. The training to explain it would be nearly impossible to plan and organize.”
“Oh, I’m certain you could do it,” Arthur says with fatherly pride. He looks at Percy for a long moment, from the top of his head down to his toes. “We were so happy when you came home again,” he says quietly, his voice catching on the last word. “And we have always been immensely proud of your conviction.”
“Oh,” Percy says, having to work to swallow. “Thank you, Dad.”
Arthur pulls him into a one-armed hug and ruffles his hair. “You’re very welcome.” He beams at Percy and stands up, straightening his jumper. “So you’d like to go back?”
“Very much.”
“Well, then, let’s go talk to your mother.”
*
“No.”
“And why not?” Percy asks once he’s certain his mother will not elaborate.
“Because you’re unwell.”
“He is not,” Draco says from where he’s slouched in an armchair. “His arm’s better off than it was before. He’s been exceedingly well fed, and he’s rested so long I suspect he’ll sprout roots soon.”
“I don’t think-”
“Molly,” Arthur interrupts. “Percy is a full member of the Order. If Draco’s medical opinion is that he is healthy-”
“I am well aware of procedure, Arthur,” Molly snaps.
“Mum,” Percy interjects, “please. I can’t stay here for the rest of the war. People need my help, and unless you have a rational, logical reasons for refusing my request, the eventual answer will have to be yes.”
Molly glares at him. “I am well aware of that, as well.” She runs her hands through her hair, pats down her apron as though looking for a spare knut to tip an owl, and finally leaves her hands to hang at her sides. “We’ll have to send you to a safehouse that already has an organizer. Yours can’t be opened again for some time.”
“Okay,” Percy says evenly. “Will I assist in running that safehouse?”
“Yes.” Molly breathes deep and puts her hands on her hips. “You’ll leave in two days; we have to send word ahead, of course.” Her tone is crisp and unassailable. She puts her hands on Percy’s shoulders before walking around him and poking Draco in the chest. “Sit up straight,” she barks. Draco remains slouched, but Molly is out of the room and doesn’t see it.
“Well,” Arthur says into the silence, “that went rather smoothly.”
“You know she’s crying in the other room, right?” Draco asks. He raises his eyebrows when Arthur and Percy both glare at him. “Just making sure.”
*
“Supplies,” Molly says flatly, handing Percy a satchel. “And a few rations, in case something goes awry.”
“It’ll be fine, Mum,” Percy says as he slings the satchel strap over his shoulder.
“Good,” Molly replies. She straightens Percy’s collar and gives him a watery smile. “Be careful, dear.”
“You too,” he replies, and then he apparates.
When the disorientation wears off, Percy blinks twice. “This can’t be-” He nearly bites off his tongue when he realizes Oliver is standing on the other side of the door that attaches the front room to the sitting room. “Hullo,” Percy says slowly.
“Percy,” Oliver replies with a grin. He raises his eyebrows. “You know this next bit, right?”
It takes Percy a moment to realize Oliver is waiting for the password. “Oh! Yes. I took the train to Paris and saw the tower there.”
“It’s made of cheese, they tell me,” Oliver finishes.
Percy watches the shielding spells drop. “This is very odd.”
Oliver smiles and gestures Percy into the sitting room. “Which part?”
“All of it,” Percy says after a moment.
“There are four basic safehouse layouts, but I’m sure you knew that.”
“I did.”
“And I always liked yours the best, so I used it,” Oliver finishes. He leads Percy into the kitchen and opens the refrigerator. “Milk? Juice? Water? The kettle’s on, of course-”
“How did you end up here?” Percy interrupts as his sense of balance starts to return. “I thought you were back out there.”
“I was,” Oliver says and closes the refrigerator. He leans against the counter and looks Percy up and down. “I heard about you being taken,” he says quietly, “and between that and what happened to Pansy and all those Muggles, I needed to do something else for awhile. I needed to do something where I didn’t have to dress up or run for my life.”
“So you offered to take a safehouse?”
“I’d heard there was an opening.” Oliver’s smile is slightly crooked, like he’s not sure the joke is appropriate. “You’re okay, right? I didn’t get any special instructions, so I wasn’t-”
“I’m fine,” Percy tells him. “About as healthy as can be expected.”
“Good.” Oliver steps forward and touches Percy’s right arm. “And it’s all right?”
“Yes,” Percy says, wondering why his throat is suddenly dry. They stand very still for a moment until Percy clears his throat. “I brought you some supplies,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady.
“I was scared,” Oliver tells him. “When I heard about you getting hurt, I was…” He leans in and kisses Percy on the mouth.
Percy jumps. “Oliver-”
“Sorry,” Oliver says and steps away. He presses the back of his hand to his mouth and gives Percy a sheepish smile. “I’ll behave,” he promises. “Really. I just-Just the once.”
“I have to get ingredients for my anti-tremor potion,” Percy says evenly. He takes the satchel from his shoulder and hands it to Oliver. “Your supplies.”
“Thank you,” Oliver replies. He lifts a magnet on the fridge and hands a sheet of paper to Percy. “As long as you need to go out, you can do the shopping, get your bearings.”
Percy skims the list. “I assume we’re near a bus stop.”
“Half a block east.”
*
When Percy gets back from the shop he finds Oliver seasoning fish and melting down butter in a shallow pan. “I could have cooked,” Percy says as he starts to put the groceries away, feeling strangely out of place in the replica of his former kitchen.
“This is all a clever ruse,” Oliver says as he lays the fish fillets into the pan. “I inherited the mending from your previous safehouse.”
“And you’ve never learned to stitch a hem,” Percy replies and feels his stomach unknot. “Direct me to the pile, and I’ll stay out of your way.”
“It’s under the side table in the sitting room, but you don’t want to go anywhere.” Oliver grins widely. “We get to set dinner on fire.”
Percy’s can’t stop himself from raising his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”
Oliver points to the cookbook. “Salmon in whiskey and cream sauce. After the fish cooks, you douse it in whiskey and set it on fire.”
“You cannot be-” Percy pushes up his glasses as he skims the recipe. “So we’re setting fire to dinner,” he says with a nod.
Oliver hands him a small box of matches. “Make sure to jump back quickly.”
*
Three days later, Severus apparates in with Moody, both of them bleeding from head wounds. Percy notices Oliver’s hands shaking as he gets Moody prone on a bed.
“They need stitches,” Percy says to Oliver evenly. “The curved needles should be in my sewing kit.”
“Okay.” Oliver stands completely still for just a moment. “Needles,” he mutters, and walks out of the room.
“Don’t need stitches,” Moody growls. “Just wipe the blood from my eye-”
“I will body-bind you if I must,” Percy says quietly. He presses his wand to Severus’s temple and breathes out hard when it glows slightly green. “You have a mild concussion.”
“Of course I do,” Severus mutters. He closes his eyes for a moment. “There are two of you now?”
“I was raided,” Percy says shortly.
“Needles,” Oliver says as he walks back into the room. “And the surgical thread. I figured…you know…”
“Thank you,” Percy tells him as he takes the supplies. “I need the numbing potions from the shelf.”
“Sure.”
“Bit skittish, isn’t he?” Moody says as he shifts on the bed.
“First sight of blood,” Percy explains.
“Hmph,” Moody grunts in response.
Oliver comes back into the room and hands a vial of potion to Severus. He walks around the edge of the bed to hand Moody the other vial and starts when Moody clamps a hand on his wrist. “Yes, sir?”
“Blood’s part of war, son,” Moody states. “Get over it now, or you’re no good here.”
“Yes, sir,” Oliver says with a sharp nod. “Drink your potion.”
*
“You did very well,” Percy tells Oliver afterwards while Severus and Moody rest. He washes his hands in the kitchen sink and dries his hands on a towel Oliver hands him.
“I wasn’t expecting…” Oliver shakes his head. “I forgot that people come here after things happen.”
“You get used to it,” Percy assures him. “The question is, what do you do now?”
Oliver thinks for a moment. “Check on them every few hours, make lunch, and make sure they have rations when they leave.”
“Very good,” Percy says. His stomach twists a little when Oliver beams at him.
*
Roger Davies apparates in and never leaves the front room. “Out of rations,” he says.
“How much do you need?” Percy asks.
“Enough for six for a week.”
Percy looks at Oliver, but Oliver seems stuck in place, looking at Davies. Percy wonders what he sees. “I’ll grab them. You and Oliver can chat Quidditch.”
Roger smiles a little. “Thanks.”
When Percy comes back from the kitchen, rations shrunk to fit into a pile in the palm of his hand, Oliver and Roger are actually discussing the news from the front lines.
“There’s been a run of battles. Little things everywhere, but all of them timed really suspiciously, you know?” Roger gives Percy a nod when Percy carefully dumps the rations into his hand. “Thanks, Percy. Good to see you again.”
“Be careful, Roger,” Percy tells him.
“Do my best.” Roger lifts a hand to Oliver. “See you later, Wood.”
“Yeah,” Oliver murmurs. He watches the empty space after Roger apparates. “He’s very thin,” he says quietly.
“Is he?” Percy asks.
“His face has completely changed shape.” Oliver sits next to Percy on the couch and leans against Percy’s shoulder. “I hope he’ll be okay.”
Percy looks at Oliver’s profile from his peripheral vision. “I do, too.”
*
“I made lunch, did the dishes, made you a week’s worth of arm potion, and I’m seriously considering scrubbing the loo to keep myself occupied.” Oliver throws up his hands when Percy merely raises his eyebrows. “Distract me; I beg you. I’m so bored, I’m tempted to let you teach me to mend.”
“You’ve not the patience for it,” Percy says with a smile. “You could read something.”
“That requires sitting still.”
“You could jog,” Percy suggests.
“Went yesterday, and we’re expecting someone.” Oliver shakes his head. “How do you handle the waiting?” he asks as he flops next to Percy on the couch.
Percy marks his place in his book with a slip of paper. “It’s just part of it, I suppose.”
“It doesn’t make you crazy?”
“No.”
“Makes me crazy,” Oliver huffs.
*
The twins show up looking suspiciously neat and clean. Percy watches them greet Oliver and sees scabs on their knuckles. “Were you in a fight?”
“And nearly burned to death!” George says gleefully. “We had to knick fresh kit from a clothesline.”
“Spoils of war,” Fred adds, plucking at his blue and purple jumper. “It’s a great story. You’ll love it.”
It takes them three hours to tell the story. Oliver sets up the Quick-Quotes Quill and paper, and Percy makes dinner, knocking Fred and George aside with his shoulder when they get in the way.
“You know, Mum gives us hugs,” Fred tells him, interrupting George mid-sentence.
“Disregard,” Oliver tells the quill.
“Mum doesn’t have to take your reports,” Percy tells Fred.
“And our kitchen’s much bigger,” George adds.
“Where were you after you left Surrey?” Percy asks, and the report picks up again.
The twins eat dinner and dessert, make a show of waving goodbye, and then they’re gone. Percy makes sure Oliver signs the report and puts it in the freezer.
“They know how close they came, don’t they?” Oliver asks as he closes the freezer.
“I don’t ask,” Percy admits.
*
Ernie MacMillian shows up with twelve people, all bloody or limping or unconscious. He has a deep gash on the back of his right shoulder and winces when Percy cleans up the dried blood. “Semi-ambush,” he says between gritted teeth. “They showed up earlier than we were expecting.”
“What happened?” Oliver asks as he spoons out Skel-o-Grow for Terence Higgs.
“They’re running.” Ernie flinches when Percy starts to stitch his wound. “Can’t you just heal it?”
“Potions and Muggle medicine for whatever we can,” Percy tells him. “You know that. I can give you another dose of pain reliever if you need.”
“Give it to Padma,” Ernie says. “They hit her with a pretty nasty Crucio.”
“Why are they running?” Oliver asks as he checks Padma Patil’s pulse as she moans and tries to curl into a ball. “Easy,” Oliver says and taps his wand to her temple to let her fall unconscious.
“Harry’s getting close.”
Percy nearly drops his needle. “What?”
“Couple of the Death Eaters mentioned it. I don’t think headquarters knows, yet. I need to report in.”
“Let me finish stitching you up, and you can use the microwave.”
Ernie nods and falls silent while Percy finishes his work. Percy gives him another pain relieving potion and waves him to the kitchen. He turns to ask Oliver if he needs help and finds him staring at the far wall.
“This isn’t where I should be,” Oliver says quietly.
Percy looks around the room. Everyone is either sleeping or drugged, and Percy can hear Ernie talking quietly but urgently in the kitchen. “Let’s go to the sitting room,” he offers.
Oliver follows him out, stopping briefly to squeeze Ernie’s shoulder. He sits next to Percy on the couch and stares at his hands. “I can’t do this. I thought I needed to be here…”
“But?” Percy prompts when Oliver is quiet for a few seconds.
“But every time we patch someone up, I wonder what I could be doing instead. I can’t…the aftermath isn’t my place.” Oliver looks at Percy, his eyes sad. “I needed time away, but I think I have to be out there again.”
Percy tucks his right arm against his body as it starts to shake. It’s stress, he tells himself, and ignores the way his left hand shakes as badly. “Are you certain?”
Oliver looks away again. “I think so.”
“It’s a bad night,” Percy says. “Get some rest.”
“There’s only one bed left,” Oliver points out, “and no room to transfigure another without altering the charm on the back room.”
“I can sleep on the couch,” Percy offers.
“Your arm’s already shaking from overuse. I can sleep out here, or we can-” He presses his lips together and shakes his head. “I’ll take the couch.”
Percy wants to offer to share the bed. He wants to say yes to everything Oliver has offered. “This could all be over tomorrow,” he says instead.
“Maybe, but they’ll need people to help clean up in the aftermath.”
It’s true, Percy knows. No war just ends because its leader dies. There are loyalists who will keep fighting no matter the state of the rest of their side. “If you decide to leave, it’ll take a few days.”
“I know,” Oliver says. He stands up and runs his hands through his hair. “Maybe it’ll be quiet until then.”
“Is it because of me?” Percy asks before Oliver can walk away.
“No,” Oliver says sharply. “This is because of me,” he says in a softer tone. “I can’t stay here and watch people come in injured. I’m not made to patch people up. I need to be out there.”
Percy searches for something to say. “I’ve always been an administrator.”
A grin slides across Oliver’s face, and he puts a hand over his mouth to hide it. “Does anyone outside our dorm know you kept a file of every report you ever wrote for class?”
“Plagiarism is a serious issue,” Percy replies, deadpan.
“Because, obviously, someone wants your first-year Charms paper. Which you kept on file.” Oliver sits back on the couch and nudges Percy’s shoulder with his own. “It’s not you. It really isn’t. And once all of this is over, I’m going to show up here and make you cook me dinner.”
“I cook dinner for everyone.”
“You know what I mean.”
Percy looks down at the floor and feels himself flush. “Yes.”
Ernie walks into the sitting room, pausing for just a moment to give Oliver and Percy a considering look. “Is this a conversation about my squad?”
“No,” Percy says and stands. “Do you need something?”
“I have to go give a full report to the Council.” Ernie glances towards the back room. “My people?”
“We’ll take care of them,” Percy assures him. “Do you need food? Clothes? I can send you with some more pain reliving potion so your shoulder stays numb.”
Ernie shakes his head. “They’ve got all that there.” He pats himself down for his wand and pulls it from his back pocket. “I’ll be back if I can. Tell them to pay attention to their orders.”
“I will.” Percy drops the shielding spells so Ernie can walk into the front room. “Be careful,” he tells him.
“Thanks, Percy. Oliver.” Ernie gives them both a nod, and then he apparates.
“Makes me crazy,” Oliver says after a moment. “To watch them leave, to see everyone else who’s here. I really can’t understand how you do it.”
Percy takes a deep breath and gives Oliver a shrug. “It’s what needs to be done.”
*
The night before Oliver leaves, he makes Percy lemon chicken with a sticky-sweet sauce and kisses him as soon as he finishes eating. “Please,” he says against Percy’s mouth.
“We-”
“I really could be dead tomorrow,” Oliver interrupts.
It’s unfair to mention it. Percy wants to pull away and scold Oliver for being so conniving, but he wants the kiss, the warmth, Oliver’s thumb bruising his hip. It’s not a relationship, Percy thinks. It’s just sex. Percy wraps both hands in Oliver’s T-shirt and pulls him in tight. He sighs when Oliver presses him against the wall and wraps his foot around Oliver’s ankle. “Okay,” he breathes into Oliver’s ear. “Yes.”
*
Percy treats wounded every night for a week. Tonks shows up on day three, a small cut on her collarbone. She’s there to help, she informs him, and Percy is slightly surprised to find out that she has steady, sure hands when patching up the wounded.
“How bad is it?” he asks her very late one night. Four people had come in with missing bones; two others had nearly died from internal bleeding. “Is this the worst of it?”
“No,” Tonks tells him. She reaches for Percy’s right arm and starts to massage it, working from his wrist up to his shoulder. “You’re doing your exercises?”
“Everyday. And taking my potion. It’s just strain.” Percy watches the fine tremors work up his arm. “Thank you.”
“We all do what we can,” Tonks replies and keeps working.
*
Draco shows up, gives Percy’s arm a long look, and sets up a cauldron in the kitchen. “I’m making your potion stronger.”
“Why?”
“Because your arm shakes,” Draco says snidely. “And it’s not supposed to do that.”
“You told me to always expect it to do that.”
“No. I said to expect to use a potion for the rest of your life to stop it. Your arm shouldn’t shake after doing required work.”
“I was up for 37 hours dealing with injured,” Percy says flatly.
“Required work,” Draco repeats.
*
Blaise Zabini dies from his injuries in the very early hours of a Thursday. Percy uses a healing spell to close the wounds on his forehead that spell out “traitor”.
*
Hannah Abbot shows up with six, apparates out after she’s given the password, and immediately comes back with seven more. “I’m fine,” she tells Percy when he tries to check on her. “Tell me what to do.”
They save everyone, and as soon as people are stable, Hannah apparates them away to bring back more.
*
Luna shows up, speaking with complete lucidity, and it takes Percy forty minutes to figure out she’s been half-Oblivated.
“I’ve always very much liked unbuttered toast,” she tells Percy. “It’s such an easy treat, and I like dry foods.”
He wonders what it means that Luna being lucid terrifies him about the state of the war.
*
“We have to expand your back room,” Lupin says. “Everyone’s absolutely up to their necks.”
Percy doesn’t mention he hasn’t slept in three days. He drinks a vial of Pepper-Up, passes a vial to Lupin, and they set to work. When they’re finished, they have twenty-seven beds, but Percy can tell by the dimness of Lupin’s eyes it’s not enough.
*
Draco comes back again, leaves three satchels of shrunken potions, and apparates out before Percy can even ask him for the password.
*
Minerva pings him in the microwave one morning. “They’re coming.”
Percy double-wards the shields and makes everyone who isn’t unconscious grab someone who is. “Go anywhere,” he orders. “Anywhere safe. We’ll find you.”
Everyone disapparates, and Percy starts to make a cup of tea. He makes sure to knock it over when he hears the crackling hiss of the Death Eaters trying to get through the shielding spells. He makes sure he looks scared when he apparates as one reaches for his shirt.
*
He apparates onto a rooftop. When he turns around, Neville throws him a bag of supplies. “We run,” Neville says before Percy can ask. “We’ll help who we can.”
*
Colin Creevy blinks at them when Percy and Neville roll him over. “Oh, hello,” he says. “Have we met?”
Neville thinks to take the film from his camera. Percy gives Colin a biscuit, confirms he’s been Oblivated, and tells him he’s dreaming.
“Crazy dream,” Colin says. “It had all this magic.”
*
They decide to split up after a week. “Our odds of survival improve if we travel independently,” Percy tells Neville as they stand on a different rooftop watching Death Eaters blow out the windows of a Muggle residential area. “If we don’t know where anyone is, they can’t get information from us.”
Neville squints as a Death Eater sets a two-story house ablaze. “You’re right.” He shakes Percy’s hand. “Can we do anything for your arm?”
“No,” Percy answers, curling his right hand into a fist to stop the tremors. “There’s no time for that, now.”
“Good luck,” Neville says and apparates away before Percy can reply.
*
Katie Bell’s body is dumped in the middle of London. The Muggle police have no leads. Percy stands near the back of the crowd and forces down the urge to be sick.
*
He runs into Shacklebolt by chance, noticing him from across the room in a cheap, greasy restaurant.
“You’re Alan and Matilda’s boy, aren’t you?” Shacklebolt asks as he sits at Percy’s table. “You look exactly like your father.”
Percy plays along, and they manage to get halfway through their meal before the front window blows in, and the Death Eaters step over the rubble.
*
The Muggle newspapers say it’s a new terrorist cell. Percy watches men and women on a television in a department store talk about whom to blame. Percy curls into his sweater and flinches when the salesperson asks if he needs help.
*
There’s eerie calm for two days. Percy hides away in a hotel room with a loaf of bread and some sliced ham. An owl lands on the windowsill with a note tied to its leg:
It’s happening.
Percy eats a sandwich and drinks water from a crinkly plastic cup. He waits for relief or elation or terror.
*
Charlie finds him four days later. Percy’s hunched over a cup of tea at a chain coffeeshop and only looks up when he recognizes the boots as dragonhide. “Hullo,” Percy says. He rubs at his eyes with his left hand and keeps his right hand tight around his mug. “It’s over?”
“It’s over,” Charlie tells him and sits down hard. He reaches for Percy’s cup, pulls a vial out of his pocket, and upends it into Percy’s tea. “From Draco and Severus. They say it won’t stop the shakes, but it should lessen them considerably. I asked why they couldn’t make it strong enough to stop them, and I got twenty minutes on dosages and being an idiot.”
“Thank you,” Percy says and gulps the rest of his tea. “Is everyone all right?”
“Surprisingly, yes. Fred fell off a cliff, but I got Henrietta to catch him.”
“Henrietta?”
“One of the Horntails.” Charlie flags down a young man in a green apron and gives him a friendly smile. “I know I’m supposed to wait at the counter, but I’m absolutely knackered, and I tip really well. Could I get a blackberry tea for me and a refill for my brother?”
The young man looks skeptical until Charlie hands him a twenty pound note. “Of course.”
“Great.” Charlie puts his attention back on Percy. “I was with the twins near Hogwarts. Bill and Lupin were being sneaky elsewhere. Ginny met up with Marcus Flint, and I think they’re responsible for a small explosion of trees east of Manchester, not that Ginny’s taking credit. We’re still waiting for Ron, but we got an owl saying he’s safe. Mum sent me to find you, and here I am.”
“I’ve been running,” Percy says.
“You did it well,” Charlie replies. “You’re still here. Mum and Dad have been pacing for days.”
“I don’t even know what day it is.”
“Saturday.”
“Oh.” Percy starts when the young man in the green apron puts a fresh cup of tea in front of him. “Thank you.” He blinks and sits up straighter. “Should we be talking about all of this?” He asks, the fog of his mind suddenly clearing. He wonders if Draco and Severus spiked his potion.
“The Muggle Prime Minister plans to make a general announcement,” Charlie says with a grimace. “As soon as we choose a new Minister of Magic.”
Percy blinks. “What? Why?”
“Because hundreds of Muggles died this time,” Charlie says matter-of-factly. “They used them whenever they could.”
Percy thinks of Oliver in his silver-studded belt and of all the people he saw in Muggle clothes. “I know some of it,” he says into his tea. “I heard some reports.”
“And it’s either admit it was Voldemort or let people think terrorists are trying to kill them.”
“Telling them magic is real and one of ours was trying to kill them won’t go over any more easily.”
“No,” Charlie agrees with a grimace, “but better the ugly truth than an ugly lie.”
Percy considers that. “I suppose.”
Charlie finishes his tea and stands up. “Come on. Mum and Dad are waiting for us before they serve dinner.”
*
Ron shows up halfway through dinner, Harry and Hermione in tow. He grumbles when Molly hugs him and sits next to Percy before reaching for the potatoes. “You look like hell,” Ron greets.
Percy raises his eyebrows at the incredibly vivid bruises that practically cover Ron’s face. “Haven’t been sleeping,” he answers blandly. “You, on the other hand, are the picture of health, despite having walked into-and this is just a broad guess-several walls and a lamp post.”
Ron grins. “Hey, Perce.”
“Hi, Ron.”
*
Percy sleeps for seventeen hours. When he finally wakes up and walks downstairs, he finds Minerva and Shacklebolt sitting at the kitchen table. “Hullo,” Percy greets and tries to flatten his hair.
“Percy,” Minerva replies with a nod. Kingsley merely raises a hand. “We’re very happy to see you up and around.”
“Thank you,” Percy says. He pours a cup of tea and sits across from the both of them. “How’s your leg?” He asks Kingsley.
“Completely healed, thank you. The Healers at St. Mungo’s were impressed with your tourniquet. Apparently, they rarely get to see Muggle medicine.”
“Happy to broaden their horizons, I suppose.” Percy raises his eyebrows when Minerva pulls out a piece of parchment and lays it on the table. “And this is?”
“The list of the missing. I thought you’d like to see it.”
Percy unrolls the parchment and reads the list slowly. “Everyone else is accounted for?” he asks as he sets the list aside.
“We have a few people handling clean up,” Minerva holds up a hand when Percy opens his mouth. “No, you may not,” she says flatly, “because we need your help in a different capacity.”
“I’ve been named Minister of Magic,” Shacklebolt says.
“Congratulations,” Percy says sincerely. “That’s wonderful news.”
“Thank you. I came to see you because I need a secretary,” Shacklebolt replies, sitting up straighter and leaning against the table.
Percy blinks. “I think they’re called assistants now.”
Shacklebolt looks taken aback for a moment. “I need a Secretary of Wizard/Muggle relations,” he explains.
“Oh.” Percy takes a sip of his tea. “Wouldn’t you prefer someone Muggle-born?”
“Seamus Finnigan has already accepted his position,” Kingsley says, “but I want wizards from both backgrounds.”
“I see.” Percy looks at Minerva. She’s smiling. Shacklebolt is looking at him expectantly. “My previous experience with the Ministry was very negative,” Percy says after a moment. “Some of it my own doing, but some of it the doing of the people for whom I worked.”
“It’s an entirely new Ministry,” Shacklebolt says. “It has to be. The original blew up.”
Percy smiles a little. “That is true.” He sips his tea again. “What would I be doing?”
“You’d be handling relations between Muggles and the wizarding world. Once the news comes out about us, I expect we’ll see quite a bit of reactionary anger.”
“That is a very polite assessment, Kingsley,” Minerva interjects.
“It will be an uphill climb,” Shacklebolt says seriously, “but it’s a climb worth taking.”
“I accept.” Percy holds out his hand to Shacklebolt. They shake. “When do we start?”
“It will be a few weeks, yet,” Shacklebolt says with a smile. “Once the loose ends are tied off, we’ll have a good place to start.”
“What do we have left?” Percy asks.
“More than enough,” Minerva says with a tired sigh. “But it’s not your concern for the moment. You need time to rest.”
“I can help,” Percy argues.
“You’ll about to be a cabinet secretary for the Ministry, Percy,” Minerva says with a smile. “Take a few days off.”
*
Draco apparates in just as Molly is carrying the bread to the table. “There you are,” she says in the same way she always greets her children. “Wash your hands before you sit down.”
Percy shares a confused look with Ron, Ginny, and the twins. Bill and Charlie seem completely nonplussed.
Draco sits down next to Charlie as Arthur walks in the backdoor from his shed. “Good to see you, son,” he says and clasps Draco’s shoulder.
Percy watches the twins have a conversation with their eyebrows and knows they’re about to cause some sort of fuss. “Draco,” he says as Fred opens his mouth, “I wanted to thank you for the potion you sent along with Charlie. It worked wonderfully.”
“You’re lucky you’re left-handed, or you’d have been in bigger trouble,” Draco replies as he snaps out his napkin and places it in his lap. “I’ll be here in the morning to reassess your arm and adjust your dosage.”
“We’re having breakfast at nine,” Molly says. “I can keep a plate warm if you’ll be later.”
“Nine is fine.” Draco’s cutting into his roast beef like it’s going to fight back.
George opens his mouth, but Charlie talks over his first syllable. “I heard Shacklebolt came to see you, Perce. Congratulations.”
Percy flushes a little. “Thank you. It’s a very good opportunity.”
“You’ve earned it,” Charlie tells him sincerely.
“What are you doing?” Ginny asks Percy as George tries to say something again.
“I am going to be a liaison between Muggles and wizards once we tell them about us.”
Ginny’s brow wrinkles. “I thought Seamus was asked to do that job.”
“We’re going to split duties,” Percy tells her. “I’m wizard-born with Muggle experience, and he’s Muggle-born with wizard experience, so we both have our strengths.”
“We’re very proud of you, Percy,” Molly says as Fred opens his mouth. “I’m proud of all of you, of course,” she continues, and everyone at the table-Draco included, Percy notices-smiles. “But especially of you tonight, dear. It’s a great compliment, and you’ll do wonderfully.”
“I wonder what the new Ministry will be like,” Draco says more to this fork and knife than to the table.
“I’d like a bigger office,” Arthur says with a wistful sigh. “Or at least some storage. We never had storage.”
“We’re still scrambling to find the duplicate copies of some of our more obscure curses at Gringotts,” Bill adds. “We had copies of everything, of course, but the goblins are loathe to give non-goblins replacements on anything seeing as it was wizards who blew up the bank.”
“We’re not working for the Minstry or Gringotts,” Fred says, looking proud he’s finally managed to get into the conversation. “So we’re great.”
“Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes will re-open as soon as the shop is repaired,” George adds, “and we don’t have to go through anyone to get our recipes.”
“I don’t know,” Arthur says, scratching his chin, “I think your mother still has a few of your more death-defying ideas tucked away somewhere.”
“And you still don’t get them back,” Molly says when Fred and George turn to her. “Now eat your dinner.”
*
A Muggle reporter demands that Kingsley prove it. Kingsley turns his microphone into a replica of Big Ben and then transfigures it into a microphone again. “Any other questions?” He asks, a slight twinkle in his eyes.
Percy winces when the reporters start yelling.
*
Percy learns the pain of a Muggle invention known as 24-hour news, and spends too many hours watching different, red-faced Muggles call wizards dangerous, unnatural, and sneaky. One or two of them concede that maybe not all wizards were going to ruin the world, but then they’d always talk about the Muggle deaths in the war and the cycle would repeat again.
“Hell,” Seamus says from across the office. His desk is already cluttered with memos and a scattering of pictures. “I really thought telling them we had a whole system of government set up for wizards would help.”
“Not to mention the schools,” Percy says with a sigh. His desk is carefully organized with only a picture of his family to make it personal. “It’ll calm down,” he tells Seamus.
“Right after someone takes a boot to the head,” Seamus replies darkly. He runs his hands through his hair and stands up. “Going to go walk this off.” He clicks off the tv set as he leaves.
Percy leans back in his chair and listens to Seamus mumble to himself as he walks up and down the hall. The new Ministry is only twelve days old, and they’re the only ones on the hallway for the moment. Percy wonders where Seamus will pace when they get neighbors.
“Well, I’ll be damned; Percy Weasley at a desk and not working.”
Percy snaps out of his thoughts and blinks a few times at Oliver, who’s leaning against his doorjamb and looking completely relaxed. “Oliver?”
“Last I checked.” Oliver steps into the office and pulls Percy into a hug when Percy tries to offer a handshake. “It is ridiculously good to see you.”
“It’s…it’s good to see you,” Percy replies, slightly stunned. He smoothes his robes when Oliver steps away and fumbles for something to say. “Where have you been?” He finally asks, and winces when he hears how sharp it comes out.
“Around,” Oliver says and runs a hand along the left side of his hair. There’s a pure black streak that wasn’t there before, Percy realizes. The leftover of some terrible hex that missed Oliver by a literal hair’s-breadth.
“You’ve been busy,” Percy says, eyeing the streak. “Can I ask?”
“All I can say is that it’s stuff for the Ministry,” Oliver tells him. “Messy, messy stuff. Involving fugitives.” He grimaces then shakes his head like he’s dislodging a fly. “And I think I’ve technically said too much. Anyway, I was just stopping in to check in with the Aurors, and Ginny mentioned that you were down here, so I wanted to say hello.”
“That’s very nice of you,” Percy says and wants to kick himself for his blandness. “That isn’t-” He bites down on his lip when Oliver breaks into an amused smile. “Fancy a drink?” Percy asks, surprised when he realizes he’s said it.
Oliver blinks, obviously surprised as well. Then he smiles. “Absolutely.”
Percy looks at his desk and listens to Seamus as he makes another trek of the hallway. “Seamus!” he calls out.
“Yeah?”
“I’m skipping early.”
Seamus pokes his head back into the office. “You’re wh-oh, hey, Oliver.”
“Seamus,” Oliver greets with a nod. “How’s things?”
“Exhausting,” Seamus says with a roll of his eyes. “You’re skipping?” He asks Percy.
“If you don’t mind.”
“Mind? No. Shocked? Yes.”
Before Percy can explain to Seamus that working his appointed hours does not make him some kind of oddity, Oliver has him by the elbow and is leading him out the door.
“I’m a little surprised you’re leaving, too,” Oliver tells Percy as they get on the elevator. “I mean, you do have a full fifteen minutes before you’re off the clock. You should be aligning paper clips or carefully rearranging your pencils.”
Percy laughs before he can stop himself. “And you should be on a Quidditch pitch trying not to get bludgeoned.”
“It’ll be another year before Quidditch picks up,” Oliver tells him. “Everyone’s still trying to put everything to rights. But Puddlemere wants me back if I still want it.”
“Is it even a question?” Percy asks with a grin.
“Of course not,” Oliver replies.
*
They go to a Muggle pub. A few people give Percy’s dark green robes a hard look, but the bartender takes their orders without asking questions.
“I think they don’t like you,” Oliver says, waving cheerily at a couple who are still staring.
“They’re scared,” Percy says with a shrug. “They’ll come to terms with things.”
“The Prophet says there’s been some altercations,” Oliver tells him.
“The Prophet says a lot of things,” Percy replies. “What they’re calling “altercations” are actually people just yelling. Everyone who’s come to the Ministry with questions has been about as polite as you can expect, given the circumstances.”
“They hate you on the telly,” Oliver argues.
“From what I can tell, everyone on the telly hates everyone.”
Oliver chuckles. “I noticed that, too.” He nods to the bartender when he sets down their drinks. “Thanks, mate,” he says.
The bartender gives them both a measuring look. “You’re one of those wizards,” he says to Percy.
“We both are,” Percy replies, pointing a thumb at Oliver. “I’ve just come from work.”
“That your uniform?” The bartender asks, eyeing Percy’s dark green robe.
“Yes, sir. I work at the Ministry of Magic.”
“Hmmm,” the bartender hums. He walks away to talk to someone else at the bar.
“Be honest,” Oliver says quietly, “did that scare the hell out of you?”
Percy tucks his right hand into the pocket of his robe. “A bit, yes.”
“Thought it was just me.”
*
Oliver sees him to the field near the Burrow and before Percy can say goodnight, he kisses him on the mouth. “War’s over,” he says when Percy just blinks at him in a daze. “I’m going to date you now.”
It takes a few more seconds for Percy to catch up. “I suppose it is.” He kisses Oliver firmly on the mouth and smiles when Oliver puts a hand on his waist. “I look forward to it.”
And now, a sequel!
Ta-Da