Fic: The Luckiest [1/2] Harry Potter [Percy/Oliver]
Title: The Luckiest [1/2]
Author: Perpetual Motion
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Percy/Oliver
Rating: R
Summary: A direct sequel to " In Between Days" in which the war is over, but not really and book 7 continues to be completely ignored. Percy works for the Ministry, Oliver is a touch shady, Tonks and Shacklebolt prove their level of badass, and love is warm and gooey [most of the time]. Also, Seamus plays chorus, and The Golden Trio barely get a nod.
Author's Notes: I will never be able to say enough nice things about shoshannagold. She is amazing. I wish every writer could have one. Any errors left in this story are entirely my own fault. And thank you to everyone who's been so excited to see the follow-up to "In Between Days" and has been happily following the growth of "Electric Boogaloo" [the non-serious working title]. You're all wonderful. Hope this meets up with expectations. The title of the story comes from the Ben Folds's song of the same name.
Disclaimer: Bullshit. Completely.
The Luckiest [1/2]
By Perpetual Motion
Two weeks after Minister Shacklebolt’s announcement to the Muggle community, Percy finds himself answering questions at the gate of the Ministry.
“Are wizards safe?” a man asks, pushing a digital recorder near Percy’s mouth.
Percy has to breathe slowly to keep from flinching. “Wizards are as safe as non-magical people.”
“What about Voldemort?”
“What about Jack the Ripper?” Percy counters. He presses back a smirk at the reporter’s glare. “One bad non-magical person does not speak for all non-magical people,” Percy continues. “And one bad wizard does not speak for all wizards.” He checks his pocket watch and gives the assembled reporters a sharp nod. “I can take one more question before I’m late.”
A woman with a cameraman gets her question in first. “We’ve been getting reports that non-magical people are having trouble getting in touch with the Ministry via telephone or electronic communication. What is the Ministry doing to fix the problem?”
“We are currently implementing telephones and computers into the Ministry,” Percy says, feeling slightly more at ease. “My colleague, Seamus Finnigan, and I are helping oversee the project. The telephone system will be completely installed in another three days. The computers will take a few more weeks, due to the training our wizard-born staff will require, but we have non-magical born staff who will be ready to help via e-mail as soon as the system is running.” Percy makes a point to look at his watch again. “Pardon me, ladies and gentlemen, but I must get to work.”
“Nice work,” Seamus tells him when Percy walks into the office.
Percy sighs and mutes the television with a flick of his wand. “Have I already made the news?”
“The woman with the last question was live.” Seamus grins as Percy curses. “I do have good news.”
“Yes?”
“We got approval for an assistant.” Seamus bats at the memos that are trying to poke him in the head. “So these can fly at whoever that ends up being.”
“That’s something,” Percy agrees and catches a memo as it tries to fly into his ear. “When can we set up appointments?”
*
Oliver is slouching against the front gate of the Ministry when Percy walks outside at the end of the day. “Dinner?” Oliver asks.
“I made the news,” Percy says, pulling a face. “I promised Mum I’d come home for dinner every time I make the news.” He smiles when Oliver laughs.
“Even though you live there?”
“You’re welcome to join us and get clarification yourself, if you want,” Percy offers without thinking. They’ve had a drink, a kiss, and the months during the war when Percy had forcibly attempted to have nothing. He’s not certain that’s enough to invite Oliver home for dinner.
“I’d like that.” Oliver reaches for Percy’s hand and lets him apparate them both into the Burrow.
“Mum?” Percy calls out as he leads Oliver from the living room to the kitchen. “I brought Oliver.” He takes a deep breath to try and slow down his heartbeat.
“That’s wonderful,” Molly says as she turns from the stove. She hugs Oliver before he can get away, and then she hugs Percy. “Was everything all right at work today?”
“Seamus and I are getting an assistant,” Percy tells her. “And the telephone installation is going well.” He wonders if his mother will ask how Oliver ended up invited to dinner, and he wonders what he’ll say in response.
“That’s nice,” Molly says to Percy, and she gives Oliver an interested look. “And what are you doing now, Oliver?”
“Nothing I can talk about,” Oliver says as he sits at the table.
“Ron mentioned he’s seen you near some of the sights he’s been checking,” Molly tells him. “But you’re not an Auror.”
“No, I’m not,” Oliver confirms. “And that’s honestly all I can say.”
“If that’s the case, then you two can de-gnome the garden until dinner,” Molly replies, a smirk starting on her face.
Her response settles the butterflies in Percy’s stomach. “I was waiting for that,” Percy tells Oliver. “Mum hates not knowing, so she’ll put you to work instead.”
“They’ve been biting,” Molly calls as they walk out the back door.
Oliver unclasps his robe and lays it out on the grass near the garden. He walks halfway down a row of carrots and eyes the ground line. “Got one!” he yells, yanking up a gnome by its legs and sending it flying over the fence.
Percy lays his robe next to Oliver’s and starts to roll up his sleeves. “Ron and Harry usually see who can throw them the farthest.”
“Should you be throwing with your arm?” Oliver asks as he sends another gnome over the fence.
“I’ll stop if it bothers me,” Percy promises. He steps into the garden and walks towards the tomato plants. It only takes a few shakes to send the gnomes running. One tries to kick him, but Percy grabs it and flings it over the fence.
“Nice,” Oliver says, shading his eyes to watch it land.
*
They collapse onto their robes half an hour later. Percy rubs at his right arm and shakes his head when Oliver looks concerned. “Preemptive measure,” he tells him. “Draco says the massage will keep it from cramping after I’ve used my arm extensively.”
Oliver bats away Percy’s hand and starts kneading Percy’s arm. “I know a bit about this sort of thing.” He smirks when Percy chuckles. “Not like that. Well, yes, like that, but I also know something about massage. I’ve played a bit of Quidditch, you see.”
“Have you?” Percy asks, mock-surprised. “I don’t recall you ever mentioning it.”
“I’m incredibly modest and shy,” Oliver replies. He carefully presses his thumbs into the bend of Percy’s elbow. “The new Quidditch season is still months off,” he says. “Not sure what I’ll do until then.”
“It sounded like the Ministry keeps you busy.”
Oliver shrugs and drops one hand down to massage Percy’s palm. “They do, and I’m sure they’ll do so until I tell them I’m otherwise engaged, but I miss Quidditch. I’d like to get back into the habit of my head injuries being mostly not life-threatening.”
Percy looks at the black streak in Oliver’s hair and swallows hard. “Any idea when you can tell me about that?” he gestures to the streak with a nod.
“Not anytime soon, still,” Oliver replies.
It’s an answer Percy expects, and he watches Oliver’s forearms flex as he works his way up Percy’s bicep. “Is it strange that I invited you to dinner?” he asks after a moment.
Oliver looks up, thumbs skimming Percy’s wrist. “What do you mean?”
“We’ve barely…” Percy swallows hard. “We’ve barely been seeing one another, and I’ve always heard that inviting someone for a family dinner…” He grimaces when he can’t figure out how to say what he means.
“Your Mum’s been after you and the twins to get me to dinner since first year,” Oliver says. He presses his lips together to keep from smiling. “It’s not weird.”
Percy looks him in the eyes and flushes a little. “You think it’s funny I’m asking.”
“No, I don’t,” Oliver disagrees, but the grin is already breaking across his face. “I think it’s endearing.”
“I’m not entirely sure that’s better,” Percy replies, trying to be severe. Oliver’s smile wins him over, and he finds himself smiling as well. “As long as it’s not awkward.”
“It’s not,” Oliver assures him. “I’m glad you-”
“Dinner!” Molly calls out the backdoor. “Don’t forget to wash up!”
“Yes, Mum!” Percy yells in return. He turns back to Oliver, planning to ask him to finish his thought, but Oliver kisses him softly before he can say anything. “Are you trying to court me?” he asks, half-joking.
Oliver smiles. “Maybe a little.” He stands and pulls Percy to his feet before throwing both of their robes over his arm. “After you,” he says, and there’s a leer in his tone that makes Percy shake his head.
Molly watches them carefully as they wash up. Percy counts the plates on the table. One of him, one for Oliver, one for his mum, one for his dad, and another he can’t place. “Who else is coming?” Percy asks as he and Oliver sit down.
“Draco,” Molly says as she hands Percy the bread basket. “If he doesn’t get caught up at St. Mungo’s, of course.”
“Draco works at St. Mungo’s?” Oliver asks, obviously surprised. Percy wonders if he really wants to ask why Draco is coming to the Burrow for dinner.
“He proved himself-” Molly cuts off at the pop of apparition in the living room and cranes her neck to see who it is. “Hullo, dear,” she says to Arthur.
“Hullo,” Arthur replies, kissing her cheek. “Dinner smells wonderful. Today was-oh, hullo, Oliver.” Arthur extends his hand.
“Hullo, Mr. Weasley,” Oliver replies, shaking firmly. “How have you been?”
“Busy.” Arthur pats Percy’s shoulder as he takes his seat. “There have been a number of Muggles-”
“Non-magical people,” Percy corrects immediately. He grimaces. “Sorry, Dad. It’s-”
“No, no.” Arthur waves a hand to stop Percy’s apology. “I’ve gotten the same memos, and the sooner I get used to the new wording, the better.”
“Wording?” Oliver asks.
“The Ministry is trying to not use the term ‘Muggle’,” Arthur explains. “There’s concern that Mug-non-magical people-will think it’s a bad word.”
“They’ve always been very sensitive to such things,” Molly interjects as she glances at the wall clock. “Not that magical people don’t have their own words they don’t like, naturally, but to think they’d get worked up over something as honestly bland as “Muggle”…” She shakes her head.
“Word substitution is a useful trick, Mum,” Percy tells her. “Saying someone is non-magical is much more self-explanatory than calling someone a Muggle.”
“Is there a new term for Muggle-borns?” Oliver asks as he cuts his meat.
Percy grimaces. “Not yet. It’s proven to be a headache, honestly. ‘Non-magical born’ is a bit too involved.”
“Speaking of,” Arthur says, “I saw you on the news. You did very well.”
“Were you frightened?” Molly asks Percy.
“Annoyed, mostly.” Percy sips his water. “It’s been the same questions for days, and the news they have just keeps repeating everything.”
“It’s a waste of time-” Oliver starts, but he’s interrupted as Draco apparates into the kitchen.
“You’re late,” Molly tells Draco fondly. She fixes up Draco’s plate and walks around the table to touch him on the shoulder. “They work you entirely too hard.”
“We had a team of Aurors show up to get patched as I was about to leave,” Draco says, nodding to Arthur when Arthur passes him the butter. “Nothing serious, but we had to un-hex a few people.” Draco glances at Percy. “How’s your arm?”
“Very well, thank you,” Percy replies.
Draco nods and begins to eat his dinner. He says nothing else the rest of the meal, and Percy can’t help but watch him from the corner of his eye. When they’ve had dessert, Draco stands, allows Molly to give him a very light hug, and apparates away.
“Huh,” Oliver says as he carries his plate to the sink. “I recall an entirely different Draco.”
“I recall a brat,” Percy agrees, “but he’s been nothing but professional in regards to my arm,” he says before his mother can scold him.
“He had an awful time of it during the war,” Arthur says quietly, helping Molly stack the serving dishes.
“He doesn’t talk about it,” Molly adds, “but when the Order found him, he was half-starved and obviously beaten.”
Percy thinks about that for a moment. “Who found him?”
“Charlie led a team on a Death Eater location,” Molly says. She narrows her eyes when Percy chuckles. “And what, precisely, is so funny?”
“Nothing,” Percy says and slides a glance to Oliver. Oliver’s very studiously running water over the dishes, but his eyes are shining. “It’s just that most people take in stray crups, Mum.”
“Don’t be terrible,” Molly says, but she’s smiling a little when she pecks Percy on the cheek. She waves Percy and Oliver away from the sink and shoos them towards the living room. “Get out of here before you make a bigger mess.”
“I need something to read,” Oliver says conversationally as they walk into the living room. “I’ve got everything in my new flat but books. Mind if I take a look at yours?”
“Not at all,” Percy replies. He leads the way upstairs and jumps when Oliver kisses him after he’s closed his bedroom door. “Oh.”
Oliver chuckles. “Hullo.”
Percy relaxes into the next kiss. “Hullo,” he murmurs against Oliver’s mouth as he tosses a silencing charm at the door.
*
He sees Oliver off two hours later, one of his books tucked under Oliver’s arm. “Thanks for coming to dinner,” he says as Oliver gets ready to apparate. He can’t stop the smile that slides across his face.
“Thanks for the invite,” Oliver responds, a smile on his own face. He takes a step closer and glances behind Percy at the lit windows of the Burrow. “Can I kiss you goodbye?”
“Of course.”
“Your parents might be watching.”
Percy smiles. “It’s all right,” he says, “but thank you for being so concerned.”
*
Seamus and Percy set up interviews with five people; two witches, a wizard, and two Muggles. One of the witches informs them that she has no plans to learn how to use a computer or a telephone, and she thinks it’s foolishness to tell the Muggles anything. Percy escorts her to the door before Seamus responds with more than a rolling of his eyes. The wizard has all the personality of a wet rag, and one of the Muggles answers all their questions with a snappish, angry tone.
“Didn’t we make a list of requirements?” Seamus asks between interviews. “I am entirely certain we made a list of requirements, and being a pain in the arse was not on the list.”
“I know,” Percy says, taking off his glasses to rub his eyes. He eyes the paperwork that is leaning to the left on his desk. “I wonder how many of these are angry letters.”
“At least Mug-non-magical people can’t send Howlers.”
“I suppose that’s something.” Percy shares a wry smile with Seamus and glances at the clock. “Back ye, into the bowels of hell, unto the fire and pain.”
Seamus blinks. “What?”
“We’ve got two more interviews to get through,” Percy says wearily. “I can not believe I miss my old job.”
“It is not nearly that bad,” Seamus replies so seriously that they end up laughing.
*
Jill is short, blonde, and has a CV that boasts six years as some type of office assistant. “I’m not a witch,” she tells Percy and Seamus before they can ask. “But the ad said you needed someone comfortable with non-magical office machines, and I know I can learn everything else. I have excellent people skills, as well.”
She smiles when Percy breaks his quill and absentmindedly transfigures a spare biscuit into a replacement. “That is so neat.”
They split the references list, and it comes up glowing. The only reason not to hire her is backlash. The other interviewee hadn’t even shown up for the appointment.
“They’re say we’re just trying to be politically correct,” Percy says to Seamus. “We’ll get accused of refusing to hire a magical person because we want to show how diverse we are.”
“She’s the best person who applied for the position,” Seamus argues. “I’d rather listen to blowhards call us names than have to worry about not getting a Floo or an e-mail from Shacklebolt.”
Percy lets Seamus call Jill with the offer so that he can be the one to create and organize the outer office with a desk, a chair, a computer, a telephone, and a series of slightly squeaky padded chairs. He puts in an order for a fireplace and finds himself smiling when he looks at the finished set-up.
*
“She seems to be getting on well,” Percy tells Oliver two nights later. “The first day, she brought all my memos into the office in a closed box. She thought they’d fly away.”
Oliver chuckles and opens a bottle of red wine. “It makes a certain type of sense if you haven’t encountered Ministry memos before. Sounds like you and Seamus found someone who’ll be able to handle the weirdness in general.”
“It’s a relief to be certain of that,” Percy confesses. He watches Oliver crumble ground beef into a sauce pan and add black pepper and beef broth. “All right,” he says, sliding down the counter to give Oliver room, “I give up. What’s for dinner?”
“You really don’t know?” Oliver asks, grinning.
“There’s ground beef and red pepper and broth, and you’re opening a tin of tomato paste. I’m almost fearful to try and connect the dots.”
“It’s bolognese sauce,” Oliver says as he adds the two tablespoons of tomato paste to the sauce. “I made my own pasta, as well.”
Percy’s eyes widen. “You made your own pasta?”
“It’s simple,” Oliver tells him. “It’s just flour, water, salt, and egg. You mix it up, beat it up, and then you roll it out and slice it into whatever shape you want.”
Percy shakes his head at the thought. “It’s a bit above for a simple dinner, isn’t it? I didn’t realize you’d be putting in so much effort.”
“You don’t romance someone with something you can make everyday,” Oliver says as he reaches around Percy for a dish towel. “That’s cheating.”
“Oh,” Percy says quietly and feels himself flush a little. “I didn’t realize…well, I did realize, but-”
Oliver chuckles and nudges Percy to the side with his hip. “It’s kind of nice to see you flustered,” he says as he pulls a small bowl out of a cupboard. “It reminds me of school.”
Percy feels himself smile. “You may be the only person who can say that with a straight face.”
Oliver pauses in plucking oregano from the potted plant on his windowsill. “I liked you at school,” he says, voice low. “It’s not your fault people wouldn’t make the effort.”
“I know what I was like at school,” Percy says quietly. “And I’m amazed, looking back, that I even managed to make friends with you.”
“And date Penelope,” Oliver adds, the serious look on his face relaxing into a grin.
Percy pulls a face. “Oh, yes, that.”
Oliver sprinkles the oregano into the sauce and opens a cupboard to pull down his homemade pasta. “There’s a pasta spoon in the drawer to your left,” he tells Percy.
Percy checks the drawer and hands Oliver the spoon. “Are you certain I can’t help?”
“You never could stand still while other people worked,” Oliver teases. He watches Percy try not to fidget and holds out the spoon. “You can watch the noodles. Just treat them like regular noodles.” He steps to the side to give Percy room at the stove and picks up a different spoon to stir the sauce. “How did you end up dating Penelope?”
“Truthfully?” Percy asks.
Oliver glances at Percy and smiles at the way Percy is concentrating on pouring olive oil into the pan with the pasta. “Oh, this is going to be good.”
“We were studying together a lot, and then we…”
“And then she told you that you were dating,” Oliver finishes.
“And so we dated,” Percy confirms.
Oliver checks the doneness of the ground beef and gives Percy a very serious look. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
Percy blinks at Oliver. “Oh?”
“We’re dating.” Oliver manages to keep a straight face until Percy pokes him in the chest with his spaghetti spoon. “Hey!” He grabs a towel and wipes at the slightly oily spot on his shirt. “Great. Now I need to change shirts.”
“You don’t need to change,” Percy says blandly. “You can just take off your shirt.”
Oliver pauses, towel nearly dropping out of his hand. “Did you just make an innuendo?”
“Merely a suggestion.” Percy smirks when Oliver makes a show of removing his shirt. “Now I could make an innuendo.”
Oliver steps behind Percy and guides his hand to start stirring the noodles again. “I put a lot of effort into this,” he says near Percy’s ear. “I don’t want it ruined.”
“Now who’s making innuendo?” Percy asks. He shivers when Oliver breathes on his neck.
*
Percy opens the front door of the Burrow as quietly as possible. He’s trying to sneak past the living room when he hears a throat clearing. “Hi, Mum,” he greets sheepishly.
“You’re late,” Molly says as she stands up from the couch. She puts aside her book and puts her hands on her hips. “I don’t ask for you to leave me a schedule, but when you say you’ll be home by eleven, I expect-”
“I know, Mum,” Percy interrupts. “I’m sorry. Oliver and I lost track of time.”
“Did you?” The reading lamp casts her in a strong half-shadow, but Percy can see the smile on one side of her mouth.
“I’m going to bed,” he says before she can ask questions. He kisses her on the cheek and takes the hug she gives him.
“He’s a very nice young man,” Molly says as Percy starts up the stairs.
“I’ll tell him you said so,” Percy calls over his shoulder.
*
“Concerned mother to see you,” Jill says quietly to Percy.
Percy glances out the door and sees a tall, slender woman with black hair and an envelope in her hand that Percy recognizes as the Hogwarts acceptance letter. “Name?” he asks.
“She won’t give one,” Jill replies.
“Hmm,” Percy thinks for a moment and finally nods. “Let her in. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you,” Jill says with a small smile and walks back into the outer office.
“Are you Percy Weasley?” the woman asks in greeting. She looks slightly terrified as a nasally-voiced witch makes an announcement over the Floo.
“Yes, ma’am.” Percy stands, straightens his robes, walks around his desk, and offers his hand. It twitches as she reaches for it, and Percy grimaces. “My apologies. I’ve got a bit of a tic.”
“My name is Charlotte Smythe.” She shakes his hand gingerly, as if weighing his fingers for purchase. “My daughter got a letter,” she holds it up, and Percy can see the wrinkles in the envelope from Ms. Smythe’s grip. “It says she gets to go to that wizard school, but she’s not a wizard.”
“Please, sit down, Ms. Smythe,” Percy gestures to a chair and makes sure she’s comfortable before he takes his own chair. “Can I get you a cup of tea?”
“That would be lovely,” Ms. Smythe says. Her eyes widen when Percy points his wand at the tea cart and makes it roll across the floor. “Is that what she’ll learn there?”
“Amongst other things,” Percy says. He presses his wand to the teapot and smiles at her. “What would you like?”
“Lady Grey, if you have it.”
Percy taps the teapot once and pours, the fruity smell of Lady Grey tea fills the office. “Sugar? Milk? Honey?”
“Sugar, please.”
Percy places the sugar on the edge of his desk and hands Ms. Smythe a tea cup, saucer, and spoon. “Please, help yourself.” He makes his own cup of tea and sits down again, waiting until Ms. Smythe takes her first sip before speaking. “I’m a wizard-born,” he tells her. “So I always expected to go to Hogwarts. I can’t imagine what a shock it must be to have no idea of Hogwarts, and then to find out there are wizards and witches, and then to find out that your daughter…”
“Amelia,” Ms. Smythe supplies.
“Amelia is one of them.”
“One of our neighbors saw the owl land on our window, and we had to call the police to calm him down,” Ms. Smythe says. “Amelia was terrified. She didn’t understand why he was yelling, you see. She’s always had a very active imagination, and she loves fantasy stories, so she thought it was wonderful news.”
“And it can be,” Percy says soothingly. “You just have to work through the surprise, I think.” He picks up one of the pictures on his desk and hands it to Ms. Smythe. He watches the shock on her face as she realizes the picture is moving. “The woman in the second row, with the brown hair, do you see her?”
“Yes.” Ms. Smythe pokes at the picture.
“Her name is Hermione Granger. She comes from a non-magical family, and she’s an absolutely brilliant person. Not just magically, but academically and otherwise. She’ll be teaching at Hogwarts this fall.” Percy watches Ms. Smythe stare at the picture. “There are a great many good witches and wizards out there. Voldemort and his followers did terrible things, but he does not represent all of us.”
“What happens if she doesn’t go?” Ms. Smythe asks softly.
“Untrained magic has two alternatives. Sometimes the person’s magic simply stays dormant. Other times, the person’s magic will flare without the person even realizing what he or she is doing. I know a man who accidentally made the glass enclosure of a very large snake disappear because he wasn’t aware he was magical. And there are people who chose not to go to Hogwarts or another of the schools, and they had similar issues.”
Ms. Smythe carefully puts the picture back on Percy’s desk. She picks up her tea and sips it again. “We can say no, can’t we?”
“Of course,” Percy says evenly. “The Hogwarts letter is always an invitation, never an ultimatum.”
“I see.” Ms. Smythe looks around the office and watches as two memos zoom in the door and float above Percy’s desk. “We have friends who lost an aunt in your war,” she says after a moment. “They watched her get tortured to death.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Percy replies. He sets down his tea cup and watches Ms. Smythe as she takes a deep breath.
“Are there private tutors?”
“I have a short list available,” Percy says, and reaches into his desk. “All persons wanting to teach magic in a private setting must be certified with the Ministry, and you can always contact us to double-check someone’s standing.” He hands her a sheet of paper with a list of name and addresses. “Private tutoring is a very good option if you’re nervous about Amelia being away from home.”
“What about later on, if she wants to go to the school?”
“One of the professors at Hogwarts will put her through a series of short tests to see how far her skills have progressed and place her with students of her level.”
“I see.”
Percy breathes in slowly and watches the indecision slide across Ms. Smythe’s face. “Ms. Smythe,” he says to get her to look at him, “when the Ministry was first founded, magical people were in hiding. We were being burned or drowned or pushed off cliffs. Magical wars were fought amongst magical people, and the Ministry assumed it would always be that way. Had the Ministry known Voldemort and his followers were going to so blatantly disregard the lives of non-magical people, I like to believe that someone here would have told the general public. But I doubt it would have happened that way.”
Ms. Smythe blinks at Percy. “I don’t understand.”
“One of the reasons the last war came to be was because foolish people chose to ignore it. There were obvious signs that a war was approaching, and they were routinely and purposefully hidden and mocked. Minister Shacklebolt chose to make our presence known because it is the only way we have to apologize for what our war did to all the non-magical people of Britian. It’s not fair that your friends lost their aunt. It’s not right that your neighbor was so angry, and that’s at the feet of the Ministry.”
Percy takes a deep breath. “We’re sorry, Ms. Smythe, everyone of us here, and many, many more who are not in this building. You shouldn’t be here to speak to me about being fearful for Amelia’s safety, but you are, and part of that blame is my own.”
Ms. Smythe doesn’t say anything for a long moment. She finally stands, places her tea cup on the edge of Percy’s desk, and gives him a sharp nod. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Weasley.”
“It’s my pleasure, Ms. Smythe.” Percy stands up and sees her to the door.
*
“You should have Flooed me,” Seamus tells him later. “Or called; I was only down in Records. I could have helped you talk to her.”
“I don’t think her response would have been any different,” Percy replies. “I think she just wanted to see what we look like.”
Seamus wrinkles his nose. “Think she expected a third eye?” He sneezes loudly as he tries to brush the dust from his robes.
“Maybe,” Percy says. “Or she was wondering if we’d do something strange to her.” Jill walks into the office, and Percy looks at her. “Yes?”
“Oliver Wood to see you,” she says.
“Oliver,” Percy calls loud enough to get Oliver to walk into the room, “what has you over here today?”
“This and that,” Oliver answers. “I just finished a report to some people, and I thought I’d see if you wanted to go to the cinema tonight.”
Percy glances at the clock. “I’ve another hour here, but I’m free after that. I can Floo Dad, and he can tell Mum that I won’t be home for dinner.”
“Mind if I just hang around here?” Oliver asks.
Percy looks over at Seamus, and Seamus gives him a distracted nod. “Sit down, please.” Oliver’s arm brushes his as he walks to a chair, and Percy presses down a smile. “Tea?”
Oliver is grinning at Seamus’s ongoing battle with the dust on his robes. “No, thanks.” He sits in the chair across from Percy’s desk and chats with Seamus while Percy floos his father and replies to his correspondence. He occasionally joins the conversation when Oliver says something particularly ridiculous. When they leave at five o’clock, Oliver presses his hand to the small of Percy’s back. This time Percy lets himself smile.
*
Shacklebolt catches him as he’s on his way to lunch the three days later. “I need to speak with you. I’d be happy to buy your lunch so that I don’t interrupt any further than necessary.”
It takes Percy a moment to get over the shock of the offer. His previous bosses had never been so considerate. “I was just headed to the cafe down the street.”
“I know it,” Shacklebolt says with a smile. “They have excellent sandwiches.”
They walk in silence, and Percy is surprised to find it comfortable. He lets Shacklebolt precede him into the cafe and nods to agree to a table in the back corner.
“I hope we don’t have a repeat of our last lunch,” Shacklebolt says with a small, wry smile.
“The war’s over, so probably not,” Percy replies with a wry smile of his own.
They order tea, sandwiches, and a heaping bowl of chips. Percy takes three bites of his sandwich before Shacklebolt speaks. “I want to make you an official spokesperson for Magical/Non-Magical relations.”
Percy nearly chokes. “Pardon?” he wheezes out as he takes a large drink of tea.
“I received an e-mail from a Ms. Smythe today. She had incredibly glowing words for you and informed me she and her husband have decided that their daughter will go to Hogwarts. She spoke very highly of your kindness and tact.”
“She did?”
Shacklebolt chuckles. “You can’t honestly be so shocked at the news.”
“I was certain she’d hole the girl away for the rest of her life,” Percy admits. “I really am surprised at the news.”
“And the offer?”
“That as well.” Percy chews on a chip and watches Shackelbolt wait for an explanation. “There are members of my family who are particularly gifted at talking,” he says, and pauses when Shacklebolt outright laughs. “I’ve never had the gift.”
“There’s talking and there’s tact,” Shacklebolt says flatly, but the smile stays in his eyes. “I need the second.”
“What about Seamus?”
“Seamus’s last interview ended with him informing some reporter that said reporter was a twat. Seamus is no longer allowed to talk to reporters.”
“I suppose they don’t care for such language on their telly stations.”
“I suppose not.” Shacklebolt leans on the table, hands folded around the edges of his sandwich plate. “Minerva is staggering the letters from Hogwarts to give us time to find our feet in explaining the honest lack of danger to the students from non-magical families. I need you to treat everyone like Ms. Smythe. Be tactful but honest. Will you take the job?”
Percy considers it for a few minutes. Across the table, Shacklebolt looks relaxed enough to wait him out the entire afternoon if he must. “I accept,” he says finally. “And I would like to apologize in advance if I jam my foot in my mouth.”
“Duly noted,” Shacklebolt replies. He holds out his hand. “Thank you.”
Percy shakes his hand. “It’s my pleasure, sir.”
*
“A promotion!” Oliver says as he and Percy sit down at the pub for drinks. “Bet your mum was pleased.”
“Dad as well,” Percy confirms. “The twins sent a nameplate that flashes between my name and calling me a wanker.”
Oliver laughs. “How about the rest?”
“Ginny stopped by to say congratulations, and the rest don’t know just yet. Although I’m certain Mum’s started getting out the word.”
“I thought Ron was working from the Ministry right now.”
“He’s elsewhere currently,” Percy tells him, noticing when Oliver shifts. “But I think you know that.”
“I might have seen him around,” Oliver says casually.
“I think-” Percy cuts off as the waitress drops off their drinks. “Thank you,” he tells her.
“You’re welcome. Anything else for you?”
“Not at the moment,” Percy tells her. He watches Oliver take a sip of his drink. “I think,” Percy picks up the conversation, “that I can probably guess what you’ve been doing.”
“Oh?” Oliver asks. “Because I’m not doing anything.” His poker face is convincing, as is the loose way he holds his shoulders.
“I’m fairly certain that you’re helping round up the last of the Death Eaters,” Percy says evenly. “Not that you can say anything about it.”
“I would if I could,” Oliver admits quietly. “But if I tell you nothing-”
“Then nothing will happen to me,” Percy finishes. He sips his drink. “How much longer?”
“I’m not sure. I’m travelling less.”
“So’s Ron,” Percy tells him.
“Keep up with Ron,” Oliver suggests. “He’s a fairly accurate measurement on certain matters.”
“I am aware that telling you to be careful is somewhat hopeless, but be careful anyway, all right?” Percy says after a moment.
“I’ll try,” Oliver says so solemnly that Percy feels like he’s been given a promise.
*
Shacklebolt holds a meeting every Thursday with his various cabinet members. Percy’s habit is to pay attention to anything related to Wizard/Non-Magical relations and spend the rest of the time nodding politely. He listens closely when Tonks gives the Auror report and realizes that half of what she says is nothing at all. She has plenty of names and locations for everything to sound good, but when Percy reads over the minutes later in the afternoon, he sees minor discrepancies. And he sees that Shacklebolt has allowed them.
“Back in a minute,” Percy says to Seamus, who is currently on the telephone. Seamus waves him away, and Percy tells Jill to take messages until he returns. He rides the elevator to the fifth floor and walks down to the Auror office. There is no one in the waiting area, and the black-haired man at the desk waves Percy through after buzzing Tonks’s office.
“Percy,” Tonks greets and stands up. She immediately hits her waste bin with her foot. “What brings you all the way up here?”
He wonders where to start. A flat accusation of lying will probably get him thrown out without a second thought. “I have some questions about your department,” he says, hoping it’s neutral enough to work.
“Which part?” Tonks asks as she sits. She leans back in her chair and looks completely relaxed.
“I was reviewing the minutes from today’s meeting,” Percy starts and watches her. “There were some discrepancies in your report, and Minister Shacklebolt seemed to miss them. Either because he missed them, or because he expected them to be there.”
Tonks gives Percy a long, measured look. “Not your business,” she says flatly.
“I have two siblings who answer to you. And I have-”
“I don’t care,” Tonks says deliberately. “It’s not your business.” The way she sits up straighter and adjusts her shoulders reminds Percy that she’s been trained by Moody.
“Tell me how bad it is,” Percy requests. “Please,” he adds when the color rises in Tonks’s cheeks.
“Why?” she challenges. “There’s no professional reason to keep you in the loop.”
Percy thinks about it for a moment. “Because I know just enough to be scared,” he admits. “And because I know more than enough what will happen if anyone is caught.”
Tonks squints at him. She leans back an inch. “Not as bad as you’re thinking, worse than what the reporters know.”
“They don’t know you’re out hunting,” Percy says.
“We’re finishing business,” Tonks corrects. She stands up. “I have a meeting.”
Percy thinks about the woman who sat on his couch in the safehouse and massaged the ache out of his arm. “Thank you,” he says as he exits.
Part Two
Author: Perpetual Motion
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Percy/Oliver
Rating: R
Summary: A direct sequel to " In Between Days" in which the war is over, but not really and book 7 continues to be completely ignored. Percy works for the Ministry, Oliver is a touch shady, Tonks and Shacklebolt prove their level of badass, and love is warm and gooey [most of the time]. Also, Seamus plays chorus, and The Golden Trio barely get a nod.
Author's Notes: I will never be able to say enough nice things about shoshannagold. She is amazing. I wish every writer could have one. Any errors left in this story are entirely my own fault. And thank you to everyone who's been so excited to see the follow-up to "In Between Days" and has been happily following the growth of "Electric Boogaloo" [the non-serious working title]. You're all wonderful. Hope this meets up with expectations. The title of the story comes from the Ben Folds's song of the same name.
Disclaimer: Bullshit. Completely.
The Luckiest [1/2]
By Perpetual Motion
Two weeks after Minister Shacklebolt’s announcement to the Muggle community, Percy finds himself answering questions at the gate of the Ministry.
“Are wizards safe?” a man asks, pushing a digital recorder near Percy’s mouth.
Percy has to breathe slowly to keep from flinching. “Wizards are as safe as non-magical people.”
“What about Voldemort?”
“What about Jack the Ripper?” Percy counters. He presses back a smirk at the reporter’s glare. “One bad non-magical person does not speak for all non-magical people,” Percy continues. “And one bad wizard does not speak for all wizards.” He checks his pocket watch and gives the assembled reporters a sharp nod. “I can take one more question before I’m late.”
A woman with a cameraman gets her question in first. “We’ve been getting reports that non-magical people are having trouble getting in touch with the Ministry via telephone or electronic communication. What is the Ministry doing to fix the problem?”
“We are currently implementing telephones and computers into the Ministry,” Percy says, feeling slightly more at ease. “My colleague, Seamus Finnigan, and I are helping oversee the project. The telephone system will be completely installed in another three days. The computers will take a few more weeks, due to the training our wizard-born staff will require, but we have non-magical born staff who will be ready to help via e-mail as soon as the system is running.” Percy makes a point to look at his watch again. “Pardon me, ladies and gentlemen, but I must get to work.”
“Nice work,” Seamus tells him when Percy walks into the office.
Percy sighs and mutes the television with a flick of his wand. “Have I already made the news?”
“The woman with the last question was live.” Seamus grins as Percy curses. “I do have good news.”
“Yes?”
“We got approval for an assistant.” Seamus bats at the memos that are trying to poke him in the head. “So these can fly at whoever that ends up being.”
“That’s something,” Percy agrees and catches a memo as it tries to fly into his ear. “When can we set up appointments?”
*
Oliver is slouching against the front gate of the Ministry when Percy walks outside at the end of the day. “Dinner?” Oliver asks.
“I made the news,” Percy says, pulling a face. “I promised Mum I’d come home for dinner every time I make the news.” He smiles when Oliver laughs.
“Even though you live there?”
“You’re welcome to join us and get clarification yourself, if you want,” Percy offers without thinking. They’ve had a drink, a kiss, and the months during the war when Percy had forcibly attempted to have nothing. He’s not certain that’s enough to invite Oliver home for dinner.
“I’d like that.” Oliver reaches for Percy’s hand and lets him apparate them both into the Burrow.
“Mum?” Percy calls out as he leads Oliver from the living room to the kitchen. “I brought Oliver.” He takes a deep breath to try and slow down his heartbeat.
“That’s wonderful,” Molly says as she turns from the stove. She hugs Oliver before he can get away, and then she hugs Percy. “Was everything all right at work today?”
“Seamus and I are getting an assistant,” Percy tells her. “And the telephone installation is going well.” He wonders if his mother will ask how Oliver ended up invited to dinner, and he wonders what he’ll say in response.
“That’s nice,” Molly says to Percy, and she gives Oliver an interested look. “And what are you doing now, Oliver?”
“Nothing I can talk about,” Oliver says as he sits at the table.
“Ron mentioned he’s seen you near some of the sights he’s been checking,” Molly tells him. “But you’re not an Auror.”
“No, I’m not,” Oliver confirms. “And that’s honestly all I can say.”
“If that’s the case, then you two can de-gnome the garden until dinner,” Molly replies, a smirk starting on her face.
Her response settles the butterflies in Percy’s stomach. “I was waiting for that,” Percy tells Oliver. “Mum hates not knowing, so she’ll put you to work instead.”
“They’ve been biting,” Molly calls as they walk out the back door.
Oliver unclasps his robe and lays it out on the grass near the garden. He walks halfway down a row of carrots and eyes the ground line. “Got one!” he yells, yanking up a gnome by its legs and sending it flying over the fence.
Percy lays his robe next to Oliver’s and starts to roll up his sleeves. “Ron and Harry usually see who can throw them the farthest.”
“Should you be throwing with your arm?” Oliver asks as he sends another gnome over the fence.
“I’ll stop if it bothers me,” Percy promises. He steps into the garden and walks towards the tomato plants. It only takes a few shakes to send the gnomes running. One tries to kick him, but Percy grabs it and flings it over the fence.
“Nice,” Oliver says, shading his eyes to watch it land.
*
They collapse onto their robes half an hour later. Percy rubs at his right arm and shakes his head when Oliver looks concerned. “Preemptive measure,” he tells him. “Draco says the massage will keep it from cramping after I’ve used my arm extensively.”
Oliver bats away Percy’s hand and starts kneading Percy’s arm. “I know a bit about this sort of thing.” He smirks when Percy chuckles. “Not like that. Well, yes, like that, but I also know something about massage. I’ve played a bit of Quidditch, you see.”
“Have you?” Percy asks, mock-surprised. “I don’t recall you ever mentioning it.”
“I’m incredibly modest and shy,” Oliver replies. He carefully presses his thumbs into the bend of Percy’s elbow. “The new Quidditch season is still months off,” he says. “Not sure what I’ll do until then.”
“It sounded like the Ministry keeps you busy.”
Oliver shrugs and drops one hand down to massage Percy’s palm. “They do, and I’m sure they’ll do so until I tell them I’m otherwise engaged, but I miss Quidditch. I’d like to get back into the habit of my head injuries being mostly not life-threatening.”
Percy looks at the black streak in Oliver’s hair and swallows hard. “Any idea when you can tell me about that?” he gestures to the streak with a nod.
“Not anytime soon, still,” Oliver replies.
It’s an answer Percy expects, and he watches Oliver’s forearms flex as he works his way up Percy’s bicep. “Is it strange that I invited you to dinner?” he asks after a moment.
Oliver looks up, thumbs skimming Percy’s wrist. “What do you mean?”
“We’ve barely…” Percy swallows hard. “We’ve barely been seeing one another, and I’ve always heard that inviting someone for a family dinner…” He grimaces when he can’t figure out how to say what he means.
“Your Mum’s been after you and the twins to get me to dinner since first year,” Oliver says. He presses his lips together to keep from smiling. “It’s not weird.”
Percy looks him in the eyes and flushes a little. “You think it’s funny I’m asking.”
“No, I don’t,” Oliver disagrees, but the grin is already breaking across his face. “I think it’s endearing.”
“I’m not entirely sure that’s better,” Percy replies, trying to be severe. Oliver’s smile wins him over, and he finds himself smiling as well. “As long as it’s not awkward.”
“It’s not,” Oliver assures him. “I’m glad you-”
“Dinner!” Molly calls out the backdoor. “Don’t forget to wash up!”
“Yes, Mum!” Percy yells in return. He turns back to Oliver, planning to ask him to finish his thought, but Oliver kisses him softly before he can say anything. “Are you trying to court me?” he asks, half-joking.
Oliver smiles. “Maybe a little.” He stands and pulls Percy to his feet before throwing both of their robes over his arm. “After you,” he says, and there’s a leer in his tone that makes Percy shake his head.
Molly watches them carefully as they wash up. Percy counts the plates on the table. One of him, one for Oliver, one for his mum, one for his dad, and another he can’t place. “Who else is coming?” Percy asks as he and Oliver sit down.
“Draco,” Molly says as she hands Percy the bread basket. “If he doesn’t get caught up at St. Mungo’s, of course.”
“Draco works at St. Mungo’s?” Oliver asks, obviously surprised. Percy wonders if he really wants to ask why Draco is coming to the Burrow for dinner.
“He proved himself-” Molly cuts off at the pop of apparition in the living room and cranes her neck to see who it is. “Hullo, dear,” she says to Arthur.
“Hullo,” Arthur replies, kissing her cheek. “Dinner smells wonderful. Today was-oh, hullo, Oliver.” Arthur extends his hand.
“Hullo, Mr. Weasley,” Oliver replies, shaking firmly. “How have you been?”
“Busy.” Arthur pats Percy’s shoulder as he takes his seat. “There have been a number of Muggles-”
“Non-magical people,” Percy corrects immediately. He grimaces. “Sorry, Dad. It’s-”
“No, no.” Arthur waves a hand to stop Percy’s apology. “I’ve gotten the same memos, and the sooner I get used to the new wording, the better.”
“Wording?” Oliver asks.
“The Ministry is trying to not use the term ‘Muggle’,” Arthur explains. “There’s concern that Mug-non-magical people-will think it’s a bad word.”
“They’ve always been very sensitive to such things,” Molly interjects as she glances at the wall clock. “Not that magical people don’t have their own words they don’t like, naturally, but to think they’d get worked up over something as honestly bland as “Muggle”…” She shakes her head.
“Word substitution is a useful trick, Mum,” Percy tells her. “Saying someone is non-magical is much more self-explanatory than calling someone a Muggle.”
“Is there a new term for Muggle-borns?” Oliver asks as he cuts his meat.
Percy grimaces. “Not yet. It’s proven to be a headache, honestly. ‘Non-magical born’ is a bit too involved.”
“Speaking of,” Arthur says, “I saw you on the news. You did very well.”
“Were you frightened?” Molly asks Percy.
“Annoyed, mostly.” Percy sips his water. “It’s been the same questions for days, and the news they have just keeps repeating everything.”
“It’s a waste of time-” Oliver starts, but he’s interrupted as Draco apparates into the kitchen.
“You’re late,” Molly tells Draco fondly. She fixes up Draco’s plate and walks around the table to touch him on the shoulder. “They work you entirely too hard.”
“We had a team of Aurors show up to get patched as I was about to leave,” Draco says, nodding to Arthur when Arthur passes him the butter. “Nothing serious, but we had to un-hex a few people.” Draco glances at Percy. “How’s your arm?”
“Very well, thank you,” Percy replies.
Draco nods and begins to eat his dinner. He says nothing else the rest of the meal, and Percy can’t help but watch him from the corner of his eye. When they’ve had dessert, Draco stands, allows Molly to give him a very light hug, and apparates away.
“Huh,” Oliver says as he carries his plate to the sink. “I recall an entirely different Draco.”
“I recall a brat,” Percy agrees, “but he’s been nothing but professional in regards to my arm,” he says before his mother can scold him.
“He had an awful time of it during the war,” Arthur says quietly, helping Molly stack the serving dishes.
“He doesn’t talk about it,” Molly adds, “but when the Order found him, he was half-starved and obviously beaten.”
Percy thinks about that for a moment. “Who found him?”
“Charlie led a team on a Death Eater location,” Molly says. She narrows her eyes when Percy chuckles. “And what, precisely, is so funny?”
“Nothing,” Percy says and slides a glance to Oliver. Oliver’s very studiously running water over the dishes, but his eyes are shining. “It’s just that most people take in stray crups, Mum.”
“Don’t be terrible,” Molly says, but she’s smiling a little when she pecks Percy on the cheek. She waves Percy and Oliver away from the sink and shoos them towards the living room. “Get out of here before you make a bigger mess.”
“I need something to read,” Oliver says conversationally as they walk into the living room. “I’ve got everything in my new flat but books. Mind if I take a look at yours?”
“Not at all,” Percy replies. He leads the way upstairs and jumps when Oliver kisses him after he’s closed his bedroom door. “Oh.”
Oliver chuckles. “Hullo.”
Percy relaxes into the next kiss. “Hullo,” he murmurs against Oliver’s mouth as he tosses a silencing charm at the door.
*
He sees Oliver off two hours later, one of his books tucked under Oliver’s arm. “Thanks for coming to dinner,” he says as Oliver gets ready to apparate. He can’t stop the smile that slides across his face.
“Thanks for the invite,” Oliver responds, a smile on his own face. He takes a step closer and glances behind Percy at the lit windows of the Burrow. “Can I kiss you goodbye?”
“Of course.”
“Your parents might be watching.”
Percy smiles. “It’s all right,” he says, “but thank you for being so concerned.”
*
Seamus and Percy set up interviews with five people; two witches, a wizard, and two Muggles. One of the witches informs them that she has no plans to learn how to use a computer or a telephone, and she thinks it’s foolishness to tell the Muggles anything. Percy escorts her to the door before Seamus responds with more than a rolling of his eyes. The wizard has all the personality of a wet rag, and one of the Muggles answers all their questions with a snappish, angry tone.
“Didn’t we make a list of requirements?” Seamus asks between interviews. “I am entirely certain we made a list of requirements, and being a pain in the arse was not on the list.”
“I know,” Percy says, taking off his glasses to rub his eyes. He eyes the paperwork that is leaning to the left on his desk. “I wonder how many of these are angry letters.”
“At least Mug-non-magical people can’t send Howlers.”
“I suppose that’s something.” Percy shares a wry smile with Seamus and glances at the clock. “Back ye, into the bowels of hell, unto the fire and pain.”
Seamus blinks. “What?”
“We’ve got two more interviews to get through,” Percy says wearily. “I can not believe I miss my old job.”
“It is not nearly that bad,” Seamus replies so seriously that they end up laughing.
*
Jill is short, blonde, and has a CV that boasts six years as some type of office assistant. “I’m not a witch,” she tells Percy and Seamus before they can ask. “But the ad said you needed someone comfortable with non-magical office machines, and I know I can learn everything else. I have excellent people skills, as well.”
She smiles when Percy breaks his quill and absentmindedly transfigures a spare biscuit into a replacement. “That is so neat.”
They split the references list, and it comes up glowing. The only reason not to hire her is backlash. The other interviewee hadn’t even shown up for the appointment.
“They’re say we’re just trying to be politically correct,” Percy says to Seamus. “We’ll get accused of refusing to hire a magical person because we want to show how diverse we are.”
“She’s the best person who applied for the position,” Seamus argues. “I’d rather listen to blowhards call us names than have to worry about not getting a Floo or an e-mail from Shacklebolt.”
Percy lets Seamus call Jill with the offer so that he can be the one to create and organize the outer office with a desk, a chair, a computer, a telephone, and a series of slightly squeaky padded chairs. He puts in an order for a fireplace and finds himself smiling when he looks at the finished set-up.
*
“She seems to be getting on well,” Percy tells Oliver two nights later. “The first day, she brought all my memos into the office in a closed box. She thought they’d fly away.”
Oliver chuckles and opens a bottle of red wine. “It makes a certain type of sense if you haven’t encountered Ministry memos before. Sounds like you and Seamus found someone who’ll be able to handle the weirdness in general.”
“It’s a relief to be certain of that,” Percy confesses. He watches Oliver crumble ground beef into a sauce pan and add black pepper and beef broth. “All right,” he says, sliding down the counter to give Oliver room, “I give up. What’s for dinner?”
“You really don’t know?” Oliver asks, grinning.
“There’s ground beef and red pepper and broth, and you’re opening a tin of tomato paste. I’m almost fearful to try and connect the dots.”
“It’s bolognese sauce,” Oliver says as he adds the two tablespoons of tomato paste to the sauce. “I made my own pasta, as well.”
Percy’s eyes widen. “You made your own pasta?”
“It’s simple,” Oliver tells him. “It’s just flour, water, salt, and egg. You mix it up, beat it up, and then you roll it out and slice it into whatever shape you want.”
Percy shakes his head at the thought. “It’s a bit above for a simple dinner, isn’t it? I didn’t realize you’d be putting in so much effort.”
“You don’t romance someone with something you can make everyday,” Oliver says as he reaches around Percy for a dish towel. “That’s cheating.”
“Oh,” Percy says quietly and feels himself flush a little. “I didn’t realize…well, I did realize, but-”
Oliver chuckles and nudges Percy to the side with his hip. “It’s kind of nice to see you flustered,” he says as he pulls a small bowl out of a cupboard. “It reminds me of school.”
Percy feels himself smile. “You may be the only person who can say that with a straight face.”
Oliver pauses in plucking oregano from the potted plant on his windowsill. “I liked you at school,” he says, voice low. “It’s not your fault people wouldn’t make the effort.”
“I know what I was like at school,” Percy says quietly. “And I’m amazed, looking back, that I even managed to make friends with you.”
“And date Penelope,” Oliver adds, the serious look on his face relaxing into a grin.
Percy pulls a face. “Oh, yes, that.”
Oliver sprinkles the oregano into the sauce and opens a cupboard to pull down his homemade pasta. “There’s a pasta spoon in the drawer to your left,” he tells Percy.
Percy checks the drawer and hands Oliver the spoon. “Are you certain I can’t help?”
“You never could stand still while other people worked,” Oliver teases. He watches Percy try not to fidget and holds out the spoon. “You can watch the noodles. Just treat them like regular noodles.” He steps to the side to give Percy room at the stove and picks up a different spoon to stir the sauce. “How did you end up dating Penelope?”
“Truthfully?” Percy asks.
Oliver glances at Percy and smiles at the way Percy is concentrating on pouring olive oil into the pan with the pasta. “Oh, this is going to be good.”
“We were studying together a lot, and then we…”
“And then she told you that you were dating,” Oliver finishes.
“And so we dated,” Percy confirms.
Oliver checks the doneness of the ground beef and gives Percy a very serious look. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
Percy blinks at Oliver. “Oh?”
“We’re dating.” Oliver manages to keep a straight face until Percy pokes him in the chest with his spaghetti spoon. “Hey!” He grabs a towel and wipes at the slightly oily spot on his shirt. “Great. Now I need to change shirts.”
“You don’t need to change,” Percy says blandly. “You can just take off your shirt.”
Oliver pauses, towel nearly dropping out of his hand. “Did you just make an innuendo?”
“Merely a suggestion.” Percy smirks when Oliver makes a show of removing his shirt. “Now I could make an innuendo.”
Oliver steps behind Percy and guides his hand to start stirring the noodles again. “I put a lot of effort into this,” he says near Percy’s ear. “I don’t want it ruined.”
“Now who’s making innuendo?” Percy asks. He shivers when Oliver breathes on his neck.
*
Percy opens the front door of the Burrow as quietly as possible. He’s trying to sneak past the living room when he hears a throat clearing. “Hi, Mum,” he greets sheepishly.
“You’re late,” Molly says as she stands up from the couch. She puts aside her book and puts her hands on her hips. “I don’t ask for you to leave me a schedule, but when you say you’ll be home by eleven, I expect-”
“I know, Mum,” Percy interrupts. “I’m sorry. Oliver and I lost track of time.”
“Did you?” The reading lamp casts her in a strong half-shadow, but Percy can see the smile on one side of her mouth.
“I’m going to bed,” he says before she can ask questions. He kisses her on the cheek and takes the hug she gives him.
“He’s a very nice young man,” Molly says as Percy starts up the stairs.
“I’ll tell him you said so,” Percy calls over his shoulder.
*
“Concerned mother to see you,” Jill says quietly to Percy.
Percy glances out the door and sees a tall, slender woman with black hair and an envelope in her hand that Percy recognizes as the Hogwarts acceptance letter. “Name?” he asks.
“She won’t give one,” Jill replies.
“Hmm,” Percy thinks for a moment and finally nods. “Let her in. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you,” Jill says with a small smile and walks back into the outer office.
“Are you Percy Weasley?” the woman asks in greeting. She looks slightly terrified as a nasally-voiced witch makes an announcement over the Floo.
“Yes, ma’am.” Percy stands, straightens his robes, walks around his desk, and offers his hand. It twitches as she reaches for it, and Percy grimaces. “My apologies. I’ve got a bit of a tic.”
“My name is Charlotte Smythe.” She shakes his hand gingerly, as if weighing his fingers for purchase. “My daughter got a letter,” she holds it up, and Percy can see the wrinkles in the envelope from Ms. Smythe’s grip. “It says she gets to go to that wizard school, but she’s not a wizard.”
“Please, sit down, Ms. Smythe,” Percy gestures to a chair and makes sure she’s comfortable before he takes his own chair. “Can I get you a cup of tea?”
“That would be lovely,” Ms. Smythe says. Her eyes widen when Percy points his wand at the tea cart and makes it roll across the floor. “Is that what she’ll learn there?”
“Amongst other things,” Percy says. He presses his wand to the teapot and smiles at her. “What would you like?”
“Lady Grey, if you have it.”
Percy taps the teapot once and pours, the fruity smell of Lady Grey tea fills the office. “Sugar? Milk? Honey?”
“Sugar, please.”
Percy places the sugar on the edge of his desk and hands Ms. Smythe a tea cup, saucer, and spoon. “Please, help yourself.” He makes his own cup of tea and sits down again, waiting until Ms. Smythe takes her first sip before speaking. “I’m a wizard-born,” he tells her. “So I always expected to go to Hogwarts. I can’t imagine what a shock it must be to have no idea of Hogwarts, and then to find out there are wizards and witches, and then to find out that your daughter…”
“Amelia,” Ms. Smythe supplies.
“Amelia is one of them.”
“One of our neighbors saw the owl land on our window, and we had to call the police to calm him down,” Ms. Smythe says. “Amelia was terrified. She didn’t understand why he was yelling, you see. She’s always had a very active imagination, and she loves fantasy stories, so she thought it was wonderful news.”
“And it can be,” Percy says soothingly. “You just have to work through the surprise, I think.” He picks up one of the pictures on his desk and hands it to Ms. Smythe. He watches the shock on her face as she realizes the picture is moving. “The woman in the second row, with the brown hair, do you see her?”
“Yes.” Ms. Smythe pokes at the picture.
“Her name is Hermione Granger. She comes from a non-magical family, and she’s an absolutely brilliant person. Not just magically, but academically and otherwise. She’ll be teaching at Hogwarts this fall.” Percy watches Ms. Smythe stare at the picture. “There are a great many good witches and wizards out there. Voldemort and his followers did terrible things, but he does not represent all of us.”
“What happens if she doesn’t go?” Ms. Smythe asks softly.
“Untrained magic has two alternatives. Sometimes the person’s magic simply stays dormant. Other times, the person’s magic will flare without the person even realizing what he or she is doing. I know a man who accidentally made the glass enclosure of a very large snake disappear because he wasn’t aware he was magical. And there are people who chose not to go to Hogwarts or another of the schools, and they had similar issues.”
Ms. Smythe carefully puts the picture back on Percy’s desk. She picks up her tea and sips it again. “We can say no, can’t we?”
“Of course,” Percy says evenly. “The Hogwarts letter is always an invitation, never an ultimatum.”
“I see.” Ms. Smythe looks around the office and watches as two memos zoom in the door and float above Percy’s desk. “We have friends who lost an aunt in your war,” she says after a moment. “They watched her get tortured to death.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Percy replies. He sets down his tea cup and watches Ms. Smythe as she takes a deep breath.
“Are there private tutors?”
“I have a short list available,” Percy says, and reaches into his desk. “All persons wanting to teach magic in a private setting must be certified with the Ministry, and you can always contact us to double-check someone’s standing.” He hands her a sheet of paper with a list of name and addresses. “Private tutoring is a very good option if you’re nervous about Amelia being away from home.”
“What about later on, if she wants to go to the school?”
“One of the professors at Hogwarts will put her through a series of short tests to see how far her skills have progressed and place her with students of her level.”
“I see.”
Percy breathes in slowly and watches the indecision slide across Ms. Smythe’s face. “Ms. Smythe,” he says to get her to look at him, “when the Ministry was first founded, magical people were in hiding. We were being burned or drowned or pushed off cliffs. Magical wars were fought amongst magical people, and the Ministry assumed it would always be that way. Had the Ministry known Voldemort and his followers were going to so blatantly disregard the lives of non-magical people, I like to believe that someone here would have told the general public. But I doubt it would have happened that way.”
Ms. Smythe blinks at Percy. “I don’t understand.”
“One of the reasons the last war came to be was because foolish people chose to ignore it. There were obvious signs that a war was approaching, and they were routinely and purposefully hidden and mocked. Minister Shacklebolt chose to make our presence known because it is the only way we have to apologize for what our war did to all the non-magical people of Britian. It’s not fair that your friends lost their aunt. It’s not right that your neighbor was so angry, and that’s at the feet of the Ministry.”
Percy takes a deep breath. “We’re sorry, Ms. Smythe, everyone of us here, and many, many more who are not in this building. You shouldn’t be here to speak to me about being fearful for Amelia’s safety, but you are, and part of that blame is my own.”
Ms. Smythe doesn’t say anything for a long moment. She finally stands, places her tea cup on the edge of Percy’s desk, and gives him a sharp nod. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Weasley.”
“It’s my pleasure, Ms. Smythe.” Percy stands up and sees her to the door.
*
“You should have Flooed me,” Seamus tells him later. “Or called; I was only down in Records. I could have helped you talk to her.”
“I don’t think her response would have been any different,” Percy replies. “I think she just wanted to see what we look like.”
Seamus wrinkles his nose. “Think she expected a third eye?” He sneezes loudly as he tries to brush the dust from his robes.
“Maybe,” Percy says. “Or she was wondering if we’d do something strange to her.” Jill walks into the office, and Percy looks at her. “Yes?”
“Oliver Wood to see you,” she says.
“Oliver,” Percy calls loud enough to get Oliver to walk into the room, “what has you over here today?”
“This and that,” Oliver answers. “I just finished a report to some people, and I thought I’d see if you wanted to go to the cinema tonight.”
Percy glances at the clock. “I’ve another hour here, but I’m free after that. I can Floo Dad, and he can tell Mum that I won’t be home for dinner.”
“Mind if I just hang around here?” Oliver asks.
Percy looks over at Seamus, and Seamus gives him a distracted nod. “Sit down, please.” Oliver’s arm brushes his as he walks to a chair, and Percy presses down a smile. “Tea?”
Oliver is grinning at Seamus’s ongoing battle with the dust on his robes. “No, thanks.” He sits in the chair across from Percy’s desk and chats with Seamus while Percy floos his father and replies to his correspondence. He occasionally joins the conversation when Oliver says something particularly ridiculous. When they leave at five o’clock, Oliver presses his hand to the small of Percy’s back. This time Percy lets himself smile.
*
Shacklebolt catches him as he’s on his way to lunch the three days later. “I need to speak with you. I’d be happy to buy your lunch so that I don’t interrupt any further than necessary.”
It takes Percy a moment to get over the shock of the offer. His previous bosses had never been so considerate. “I was just headed to the cafe down the street.”
“I know it,” Shacklebolt says with a smile. “They have excellent sandwiches.”
They walk in silence, and Percy is surprised to find it comfortable. He lets Shacklebolt precede him into the cafe and nods to agree to a table in the back corner.
“I hope we don’t have a repeat of our last lunch,” Shacklebolt says with a small, wry smile.
“The war’s over, so probably not,” Percy replies with a wry smile of his own.
They order tea, sandwiches, and a heaping bowl of chips. Percy takes three bites of his sandwich before Shacklebolt speaks. “I want to make you an official spokesperson for Magical/Non-Magical relations.”
Percy nearly chokes. “Pardon?” he wheezes out as he takes a large drink of tea.
“I received an e-mail from a Ms. Smythe today. She had incredibly glowing words for you and informed me she and her husband have decided that their daughter will go to Hogwarts. She spoke very highly of your kindness and tact.”
“She did?”
Shacklebolt chuckles. “You can’t honestly be so shocked at the news.”
“I was certain she’d hole the girl away for the rest of her life,” Percy admits. “I really am surprised at the news.”
“And the offer?”
“That as well.” Percy chews on a chip and watches Shackelbolt wait for an explanation. “There are members of my family who are particularly gifted at talking,” he says, and pauses when Shacklebolt outright laughs. “I’ve never had the gift.”
“There’s talking and there’s tact,” Shacklebolt says flatly, but the smile stays in his eyes. “I need the second.”
“What about Seamus?”
“Seamus’s last interview ended with him informing some reporter that said reporter was a twat. Seamus is no longer allowed to talk to reporters.”
“I suppose they don’t care for such language on their telly stations.”
“I suppose not.” Shacklebolt leans on the table, hands folded around the edges of his sandwich plate. “Minerva is staggering the letters from Hogwarts to give us time to find our feet in explaining the honest lack of danger to the students from non-magical families. I need you to treat everyone like Ms. Smythe. Be tactful but honest. Will you take the job?”
Percy considers it for a few minutes. Across the table, Shacklebolt looks relaxed enough to wait him out the entire afternoon if he must. “I accept,” he says finally. “And I would like to apologize in advance if I jam my foot in my mouth.”
“Duly noted,” Shacklebolt replies. He holds out his hand. “Thank you.”
Percy shakes his hand. “It’s my pleasure, sir.”
*
“A promotion!” Oliver says as he and Percy sit down at the pub for drinks. “Bet your mum was pleased.”
“Dad as well,” Percy confirms. “The twins sent a nameplate that flashes between my name and calling me a wanker.”
Oliver laughs. “How about the rest?”
“Ginny stopped by to say congratulations, and the rest don’t know just yet. Although I’m certain Mum’s started getting out the word.”
“I thought Ron was working from the Ministry right now.”
“He’s elsewhere currently,” Percy tells him, noticing when Oliver shifts. “But I think you know that.”
“I might have seen him around,” Oliver says casually.
“I think-” Percy cuts off as the waitress drops off their drinks. “Thank you,” he tells her.
“You’re welcome. Anything else for you?”
“Not at the moment,” Percy tells her. He watches Oliver take a sip of his drink. “I think,” Percy picks up the conversation, “that I can probably guess what you’ve been doing.”
“Oh?” Oliver asks. “Because I’m not doing anything.” His poker face is convincing, as is the loose way he holds his shoulders.
“I’m fairly certain that you’re helping round up the last of the Death Eaters,” Percy says evenly. “Not that you can say anything about it.”
“I would if I could,” Oliver admits quietly. “But if I tell you nothing-”
“Then nothing will happen to me,” Percy finishes. He sips his drink. “How much longer?”
“I’m not sure. I’m travelling less.”
“So’s Ron,” Percy tells him.
“Keep up with Ron,” Oliver suggests. “He’s a fairly accurate measurement on certain matters.”
“I am aware that telling you to be careful is somewhat hopeless, but be careful anyway, all right?” Percy says after a moment.
“I’ll try,” Oliver says so solemnly that Percy feels like he’s been given a promise.
*
Shacklebolt holds a meeting every Thursday with his various cabinet members. Percy’s habit is to pay attention to anything related to Wizard/Non-Magical relations and spend the rest of the time nodding politely. He listens closely when Tonks gives the Auror report and realizes that half of what she says is nothing at all. She has plenty of names and locations for everything to sound good, but when Percy reads over the minutes later in the afternoon, he sees minor discrepancies. And he sees that Shacklebolt has allowed them.
“Back in a minute,” Percy says to Seamus, who is currently on the telephone. Seamus waves him away, and Percy tells Jill to take messages until he returns. He rides the elevator to the fifth floor and walks down to the Auror office. There is no one in the waiting area, and the black-haired man at the desk waves Percy through after buzzing Tonks’s office.
“Percy,” Tonks greets and stands up. She immediately hits her waste bin with her foot. “What brings you all the way up here?”
He wonders where to start. A flat accusation of lying will probably get him thrown out without a second thought. “I have some questions about your department,” he says, hoping it’s neutral enough to work.
“Which part?” Tonks asks as she sits. She leans back in her chair and looks completely relaxed.
“I was reviewing the minutes from today’s meeting,” Percy starts and watches her. “There were some discrepancies in your report, and Minister Shacklebolt seemed to miss them. Either because he missed them, or because he expected them to be there.”
Tonks gives Percy a long, measured look. “Not your business,” she says flatly.
“I have two siblings who answer to you. And I have-”
“I don’t care,” Tonks says deliberately. “It’s not your business.” The way she sits up straighter and adjusts her shoulders reminds Percy that she’s been trained by Moody.
“Tell me how bad it is,” Percy requests. “Please,” he adds when the color rises in Tonks’s cheeks.
“Why?” she challenges. “There’s no professional reason to keep you in the loop.”
Percy thinks about it for a moment. “Because I know just enough to be scared,” he admits. “And because I know more than enough what will happen if anyone is caught.”
Tonks squints at him. She leans back an inch. “Not as bad as you’re thinking, worse than what the reporters know.”
“They don’t know you’re out hunting,” Percy says.
“We’re finishing business,” Tonks corrects. She stands up. “I have a meeting.”
Percy thinks about the woman who sat on his couch in the safehouse and massaged the ache out of his arm. “Thank you,” he says as he exits.
Part Two