Fic: The Luckiest [2/2] Harry Potter [Percy/Oliver]
Title: The Luckiest [2/2]
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.
Part One
The Luckiest [2/2]
By Perpetual Motion
*
He needs to talk to someone, Percy thinks. He needs to get a second opinion. He goes home that night, sits in the kitchen, and watches his mother cook. “They’re rounding up Death Eaters,” he says as she checks something in the oven.
“Of course they are,” Molly replies.
Percy blinks. He hadn’t been expecting that. “You sound like you know something,” he tells her after a moment.
Molly wipes her hands on her apron, brushes a lock of hair from her face, and gives Percy a considering look. She walks across the kitchen and sits down, reaching out to cover Percy’s hands with her own. “Do you remember the first war?” she asks.
Percy thinks about it for a moment, and he sees bits and pieces of memory. “You used to come in my room with the twins and make us sit and be very quiet. You said we couldn’t use magic.”
“I did,” Molly agrees. “We were in a safehouse, the four of us. Bill and Charlie were at school, and your father was working with the Order. We couldn’t use magic because we were afraid of being tracked.”
“You worked with the Order some,” Percy says. He remembers a series of meetings around a large, square table. “I sat under the table and made cat’s cradles.”
“And read,” Molly tells him. “And your father was in the field most of the time.”
Percy thinks about that and realizes, suddenly, that he only remembers his father in late-night hugs. “Dad hunted Death Eaters?” he asks.
“Captured,” Molly corrects. “It’s part of the aftermath, dear.” Something on the stove top sizzles, and Molly stands up to stir a pot. “It has to be done,” she says, looking over her shoulder. “Wars don’t end at the last public battle, Percy.”
The way she says it, quiet and determined, makes it stick in Percy’s head all through dinner.
*
A week later, Percy is drafting a press release about the most recent updates to the Ministry’s communication system. He’s double-checking the newest phone numbers against the master list when he hears the Floo in the outer office whoosh to life.
“Percy,” Jill says as she steps into the office, “it’s your mother.”
Percy looks up, head still filled with numbers, and is abruptly brought fully into the moment at the way Jill is clutching her hands. “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t quite understand her. It’s something about Draco Malfoy.”
Percy stands and hurries into the front office. His mother’s face, even with the distortion of the flames, looks washed out and worried. “Mum, what’s going on?” he asks, trying to keep his voice even.
“Draco…they showed up at St. Mungo’s…they-”
“Mum.” Percy interrupts. “Calm.”
She takes a deep breath, and she’s calm. “Wizengamot members showed up at St. Mungo’s and took Draco away. He’s being accused-”
“Is he here?” Percy interrupts again.
“I don’t know. But they took him, Percy,” Molly says. “They dragged him away from his patients. I’ve Flooed Charlie, but he can’t make it from Romania-”
“Hold on, Mum.” Percy turns to Jill. “Call down to the…” he trails off when she holds up a finger. She’s already on the phone.
“Is the Wizengamot in session?” she asks into the receiver. Her lips thin, and Percy feels his stomach drop.
“I’ll Floo you back, Mum.” Percy turns on his heel and runs out the door. He pushes his way onto a waiting elevator and snaps at the attendant to take him immediately to the Wizengamot.
“You’ll have to wait-”
“Now.” Percy doesn’t know if it’s his tone or his glare, but the attendant closes the gate and sets the elevator on express. Percy tries to keep himself still, but his right arm twitches anyway, and Percy flexes his hand slowly, the way Draco taught him during the war.
The elevator squeals to a halt, and Percy slides around the half-open gate to rush down the hall. He nearly trips over his own feet at the sight of Tonks-hair short, spiked, and striped orange and red-arguing fiercely with the guard at the door.
“I don’t give a sweet fuck-all how high you rank,” Tonks is hissing as Percy comes into hearing range. “Wizengamot members are not allowed to drag wizards off the street with no evidence. Aurors-”
“The Wizengamot is already in session,” the guard responds coolly. He gives Percy a passing glance. “Sir-”
Percy body binds him, levitates him out of the way, and yanks on the door. It doesn’t budge. “Alohomora!” He yells, but the lock doesn’t turn.
“Tried that before I argued with him,” Tonks says from behind him. She pulls out her own wand. “Let’s try it together.” The lock doesn’t turn, but it melts, and Tonks throws open the door viciously, Percy right on her heels.
The members of the Wizengamot all look at Percy and Tonks in shock. Tonks starts yelling; Percy zeroes in on Draco and cuts across the floor. “Are you all right?” he asks when he reaches Draco’s side.
“They grabbed me,” Draco hisses between his teeth. He grimaces. “The chair is-” He bites his lip, and his nostrils flare. “Hurts,” he says so quietly Percy almost doesn’t hear him over Tonks’s continued diatribe.
“I do not believe you understand the role of the Wizengamot,” one of the witches is saying to Tonks.
“I don’t believe you can’t figure out how quickly I’m going to hex you,” Tonks replies.
“Tonks,” Percy cuts in, his voice low, but his anger carries. “They’ve done something to the chair.”
Tonks whirls around, the bridge of her nose sharpening as her hair flashes black. “What about the chair?”
“It’s causing him pain.” Percy presses his wand to the chair and immediately pulls away when Draco gasps loudly. “And it’s set up-”
“As a torture device,” Tonks finishes. She very carefully puts a hand on Draco’s shoulder. “We’ll-” She starts to say, but the doors to the chamber are thrown open again.
It’s Ginny and Ron, wands out, Shacklebolt at their backs. “Stand down, or I will force you down,” he bellows as Ginny and Ron fan out. Tonks steps forward to cover the middle section as Shacklebolt steps up to the chair and holds his hands an inch from the back of Draco’s head. “End it,” he orders.
“Minister Shacklebolt, I think-” one of the wizards starts.
“You do not,” Shacklebolt interrupts,” or you wouldn’t dare try to make this sound acceptable. End it.”
Draco slumps a moment later, Percy catching him before he hits the floor. “Charlie,” he mutters into Percy’s shoulder.
“He’s on his way,” Percy murmurs. “He’s getting here as fast as he can.”
“Okay,” Draco says, but his eyes say thank you.
*
Shacklebolt calls down all in-house Aurors to help him keep the Wizengamot members in place while he starts questioning. Percy gets Draco to his office and waves off Seamus before he can ask any questions. “I need a couch,” he says.
Seamus immediately transfigures his desk and watches as Percy gets Draco settled. He looks like he wants to ask a hundred questions. “Whiskey?” he offers.
“Three fingers,” Draco says as he presses his palms against his eyes. “The pittance that was once my father’s fortune for the chance to put those bastards into that chair.”
“Chair?” Seamus asks Percy.
“The Wizengamot appears to have forgotten that this isn’t Fudge’s ministry,” Percy says and feels his stomach roll.
“Shacklebolt seemed very willing to remind them they’re power hungry idiots,” Draco mutters. “That’s something.” He nods when Seamus hands him his whiskey.
Seamus passes a second glass to Percy. “Don’t,” he says before Percy can argue. “You were here during Fudge.”
Percy feels himself smiling and takes a sip. “Thank you, Seamus.”
Seamus shrugs. “Hell, all I had to do was pour whiskey.”
“It’s appreciated,” Percy tells him.
“Just answer the couch if it rings,” Seamus replies.
*
Charlie makes it to the Ministry at half-five. Percy is in the outer office comparing to-do lists with Jill when he storms in, hair wild from a broom ride Percy doesn’t want to imagine. “In there,” Percy says with a jerk of his thumb. “He’s sleeping.”
“Is he-” Charlie looks from Percy to the inner office.
“I had Madame Pomfrey check him personally. He’ll be fine once he’s had some rest.”
“And Shacklebolt-”
“Still with the Wizengamot. I haven’t tried to interrupt.” Percy puts a hand on Charlie’s back and gives him a small shove. “He’s in there,” he repeats quietly. “He’s been asking for you.” Percy watches Charlie walk into his office and crouch in front of Draco’s sleeping form. “Make sure they’re not interrupted,” he tells Jill. “I have to go check on someone.”
*
Percy apparates to an alley a block from Oliver’s apartment and makes short work of the walk. Oliver answers the door with an ice pack on the left side of his face. “Hex,” he says before Percy can ask. “The medi-witch was worried about crossing spells.”
Percy moves the ice pack to get a look at the mark on Oliver’s face. The medi-witch had healed the cut, but the bruise is still dark purple. Percy puts the ice pack back in place. “How much longer are you going to do this?” Percy asks.
Oliver shrugs and grimaces. He rolls his left shoulder. “Until it’s finished.”
Percy presses his lips together and follows Oliver into the sitting room. He shakes his head when Oliver offers tea and watches the careful way Oliver sits. “The Wizengamot tried to hold a private torture hearing for Draco,” he says. “Mum managed to Floo me before it got very bad, but…” Percy shakes his head and puts his head in his hands. “It’s supposed to be different now. There aren’t supposed to be secret tribunals. You’re not supposed to be chasing Death Eaters. I shouldn’t be talking down terrified mothers with angry neighbors. It’s…nothing’s really changed, has it?”
Oliver doesn’t say anything for a moment. He adjusts his grip on the ice pack and leans farther into the couch. “Things go wrong sometimes, Percy. That’s part of everything.”
“Maybe I should quit.”
“Because losing someone with a sense of right and wrong is exactly what we need right now,” Oliver deadpans.
Percy tries to glare at Oliver, but he can’t find the energy. “I tried to get Tonks to tell me what you’re doing,” he says after a pause.
“I bet that went well.” Oliver grins. “Or she bounced you.”
“Not quite,” Percy replies. “She didn’t tell me anything, but she allowed me to leave with my dignity. And then she helped me melt the lock on the Wizengamot chamber.”
“I know you don’t like what I’m doing,” Oliver says, “especially after having to save Draco like that, but we’re trying our best not to be suspect. It’s just…” Oliver shrugs and winces again. “There are only so many ways to deal with evil people.”
Percy watches Oliver for a moment, checks him for scars he hasn’t seen before. “I’m not here to stop you. I’m not here to blame you. I just want…please don’t be stupid about this,” he says quietly. “I don’t want-”
“Come here,” Oliver says and pulls Percy towards him with the hand not holding the ice pack. He reclines back on the couch, taking Percy down with him. “What they did is inexcusable. I’m working very hard to be the opposite of that.”
“I know,” Percy tells him. “I trust you.”
“Thank you,” Oliver says quietly. He presses a kiss to the top of Percy’s head. “I promise to quit chasing them as soon as I can.”
“The Ministry has Aurors, you know.” It sounds petulant once he says it, but Percy doesn’t want to take it back.
“Not enough,” Oliver says. “Not for the amount of work that has to be done.”
Percy leans against Oliver’s shoulder and listens to him breathe. “Do it carefully,” he nearly whispers. “Do it honestly.”
“I’ll try,” Oliver says quietly. “It’s the best I can do.”
*
“Minister Shacklebolt said to send you upstairs as soon as I saw you,” Jill greets Percy when he walks in the next morning.
“Hmm.” Percy hangs up his travelling cloak and shifts his satchel to his right hand. “Anything else?”
“The Minister says everything else is on hold.”
“Wonderful,” Percy mutters. “Has Seamus’s desk turned back into his desk?”
“Yes,” Jill says.
“Well, there’s that at least.” He smoothes a hand over his hair and gives her a nod. “I’ll ring down if I need you to reschedule anything.” He turns on his heel and walks down the hall to the elevator. The attendant looks slightly scared when Percy boards, and Percy makes sure to keep his voice perfectly neutral when he requests Shacklebolt’s office.
“Express, sir?” the attendant asks.
“That won’t be necessary.” Percy watches the numbers over the door flash on and off as he waits for his stop. He wonders what Shacklebolt will say and gets a sudden dash of freezing cold fear in his stomach. He didn’t Floo Shacklebolt when he ran to the Wizengamot chamber. He barged down there on his own and initiated a confrontation without approval. It wasn’t his place to-
“Minister Shacklebolt’s office, Sir,” the attendant says.
“Thank you,” Percy replies. He’s surprised to find his legs steady when he steps off the lift. Shacklebolt’s assistant smiles at him.
“Mr. Weasley, Minister Shacklebolt told me to send you straight in.” Her smile seems genuine and comfortable, but Percy’s seen the same smile on Jill’s face when she’s greeted people Percy gives bad news. Another cold dash of fear makes Percy's right arm shake, and he makes himself breathe deep.
“Percy,” Shacklebolt greets when Percy opens his office door, “can I get you a tea?”
“Whatever you’re having, Sir,” Percy says. He sits down on a dark green couch perpendicular to the door and wonders if he should sit across from the desk instead.
“Here you go.” Shacklebolt holds out a cup and saucer. He sits on the other end of the couch and sips his own tea. “Thank you for coming in straight away; I know you hate to have your routine rearranged.”
“It’s-” Percy stops and clears his throat. “It’s no trouble, Sir.”
“I’ll keep it brief so it stays that way.” Shacklebolt sets down his cup and saucer and leans back into the couch. “I dismissed the entirety of the Wizengamot after I finished interrogations yesterday, and I want to apologize to you for having to be involved in any way.”
Percy blinks. He sips his tea. He blinks again. He waits another ten seconds for Shacklebolt to start admonishing him. “I don’t understand,” he finally admits. “I thought-” He pauses, not wanting to admit to anything, but Shacklebolt looks completely confused. “I thought I was being fired,” Percy says in a rush.
Shacklebolt blinks. “Where would you get an idea like that?”
“Previous ministers…” Percy trails off and looks into his tea cup. “And now that I start to say it aloud, it seems very ridiculous.” He looks up again, and Shacklebolt is smiling slightly.
“Given yesterday’s problem, I’m very happy to hear it sounds ridiculous.” Shacklebolt smoothes the front of his robes and looks away from Percy for a moment. “Do you recall Harry speaking in front of the Wizengamot?”
Percy manages not to cringe, but it’s an effort. “Yes.”
“Some of the members of that Wizengamot fought with me during the war, and I thought they could be trusted afterwards. I thought they understood what I expected in their behavior, but I overestimated.”
“Not all of them could have-”
“They went along with it,” Shacklebolt interrupts. “It does not matter how much they may have protested at any point; they were quiet when the ringleaders dragged Draco Malfoy into that chair. I want a Wizengamot that actually pays attention to the rules of order that are in our laws, not the rules they’ve created for themselves.”
Percy breathes deep, the last of his tension fading away. “I’m very glad to hear that,” he says firmly.
“I’m glad you still believe me when I say it,” Shacklebolt replies. He picks up his tea and takes a sip. “I want your help creating a new Wizengamot,” he says after he swallows. “I want you to make me a list of people you think could do the job well; who will pay attention to the law and not just assume certain people are responsible for certain acts.”
“Are you asking other people to do this as well?” Percy asks.
“Yes. I am having the heads of all the departments assemble lists.”
“I have Seamus in my department,” Percy says, “and Jill, I suppose.”
“The list does not need to be strictly ministerial,” Shacklebolt clarifies. “You know many people in and out of the Ministry, and you have a moral compass that agrees to abide by set rules. I want you to use it to help me create a Wizengamot that has a moral compass as well.”
Percy blinks, uncertain how to respond to the praise. “I’ll do my very best, Sir.”
“I’ve no doubt,” Shacklebolt replies with a nod.
*
“The Wizengamot thing is all over the Mug-non-magical news,” Oliver tells Percy when they meet for lunch at a sandwich cart. The man running the cart gives them a suspicious look.
“We’ve had the telly on in the office all morning,” Percy says with a grimace. “Seamus has been threatening to start taking a drink for every half-truth.”
“I’m off today; I could join that game.”
“Please don’t,” Percy says with a smile as he pays the cart man. The cart man eyes the money for a moment before pocketing it. Percy manages not to roll his eyes. “If you showed up, I think Seamus would actually do it.”
Oliver smiles and leads Percy to a bench to eat. “You could play sick for the rest of the day,” he suggests. “We could go to my flat and play…checkers.”
Percy raises his eyebrows. “Checkers?”
“Or something,” Oliver says innocently, but there’s a look in his eyes.
Percy looks at Oliver for a moment. Oliver’s leaning back on the bench, drink balanced on his knee with one hand, sandwich in the other. He’s in denims and a button-down red shirt. Percy can see the curve of his collarbone at the open collar of his shirt, and he wants to reach out and touch. “If I could,” he says, and makes sure there’s weight on his words.
Oliver’s smile drops to a smirk. “The fact that I can tempt you is pretty good,” he says. “I can work up from there.”
Percy takes a bite of his sandwich. He chews slowly and watches Oliver watch him. “Stop it,” he mumbles as he take a sip of his drink.
Oliver laughs. “I’ll be good,” he promises. He brushes sandwich crumbs off his hands and drops a hand to Percy’s leg. “Mostly.”
“You are impossible,” Percy says, but he doesn’t make Oliver move his hand.
*
As the Hogwarts letters increase, more and more people show up in front of the Ministry to protest. They want to keep their children “normal”, they yell, and they think the Hogwarts staff are going to turn their children over to the Wizengamot for torture. Shacklebolt holds two press conferences to try and explain. Percy and Seamus draft half a dozen press releases to clear up confusion. No one is listening, it seems, and the crowd grows regularly.
One day they start throwing rocks. Percy gets hit in the head and reels back a few paces. He’d been deep in conversation with some reporter, explaining for the ninth or tenth time that the Hogwarts letter wasn’t an order that would lead to torture but an invitation for children to be properly trained in magic. The reporter looks mildly shocked when Percy touches his forehead and stares at the blood on his fingertips.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Percy says evenly, and the reporter waves him away hurriedly.
Jill’s face drops from a professional smile into wide, scared eyes at the sight of Percy’s bloody forehead. “What do I need to do?” she asks, her voice surprisingly even against the sudden loss of color on her face.
Percy pulls a tissue from the box on her desk and presses it against the cut. “Floo St. Mungo’s. Tell them we’ll probably need a Medi-wizard for the day, and get me someone in the Health and Safety office so we can log the injury. Please.”
“Yes, sir,” Jill says, and reaches for the Floo powder.
Percy nods at her, wincing when it makes his head throb. He walks into the office and holds up his hand before Seamus can ask. “Rock,” he says.
“Have you called Security?”
Percy blinks. “I didn’t even think about it.”
“I’ll do it,” Seamus offers. “You just sit there and try not to bleed on your desk.”
“Thank you.” Percy transfigures a blank sheet of parchment into a cold compress and presses it to his forehead. “I wonder-” he starts as the phone rings. “Yes?” he says when he picks up.
“Health and Safety, sir,” Jill says, “and the doctor should be here shortly.”
“Thank you. Please put the call through.”
Percy spends fifteen agonizing minutes explaining to the witch in Health and Safety that, no, no Ministry employee threw the rock at him and, yes, he was sure it was a rock, and, yes, he was also certain he’d been hit in the head. He’s interrupted on his third run-through of his story when Draco walks into the office, hangs up the phone, and tilts back Percy’s head to get a look at his wound.
“Brilliant work, Weasley,” Draco mutters as he presses his wand to Percy’s head. “You’ve a mild concussion.”
“Oh,” Percy replies. “Did you volunteer to check on me?”
Draco snorts. “I’m the newest Medi-wizard on staff and something of a pariah thanks to the cranks you work with. Hold still.” He closes the cut on Percy’s head with a slow slide of his wand. “I can only give you a pain relieving potion for the concussion. A rock doesn’t count as a war-time offense, so the quick-fix potion is unadvisable.”
“The pain reliever will be fine,” Percy says, and drinks down the potion Draco hands him. “Thank you.”
“I’ll be down in Health and Safety filling out the forms if you jump in front of any other rocks,” Draco replies and leaves.
Seamus shakes his head when the door closes. “That is still so weird.”
“Hmmm?” Percy murmurs as he presses his fingers against his head again.
“He’s not a complete twat. He’s still a semi-twat, mind, but not a complete twat.”
Percy chuckles at that. “Did you think he’d stay static?”
Seamus thinks about it for a moment. “I think I tried not to think about it,” he finally says. “It was easier to work with him during the war when I wasn’t trying to expect a certain reaction.”
“I suppose,” Percy replies after a moment.
“It’s kind of nice he’s still a twat,” Seamus adds. “Brings a bit of consistency to the world.”
*
Arthur stops in for a few minutes, looks at Percy’s healed cut, and pats him on the shoulder. “The London Times has you on their front homepage,” he tells him.
“Grand,” Percy mutters and doesn’t bother explaining that the front page is the homepage. “I’m very glad Mum’s disallowed a computer in the house,” he says instead.
“You’re also on the front of the Prophet.” Arthur smiles in sympathy when Percy buries his head in his hands.
*
Seamus bursts out laughing when a medium-sized orange-brown owl flies in the window and settles on the perch on Percy’s desk. The owl is wearing a tiny party hat and an equally tiny, silvery cape embroidered with “Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes”. The hat blinks between, “Hope you feel better”, and “We let Mum yell at us instead, so you owe us ten quid or new ears”.
“Tell them hullo,” Seamus says as he gathers his papers and leaves for a meeting.
Percy mutters in acknowledgement and eyes the vanishing crème the twins have sent. He tests it on a corner of his desk and isn’t surprised when the corner disappears. The attached card tells him to try it on his head, and Percy wonders exactly how terrified Jill would be if she walked in to find him missing a piece of his face. It makes him smile, and he walks to the outer office to show her how it works.
“I could use that,” Jill says with a grin reminiscent of the twins. “Where do I get some?”
“Consider it a bonus,” Percy tells her and leaves it on the edge of her desk.
*
Oliver storms in during the late afternoon and throws the Prophet onto Percy’s desk. “You could have Flooed,” he snaps in greeting.
Percy reaches for the paper and waves Jill away from the door in the same motion. He watches Picture-Percy wince as he’s hit in the head. “Seems you heard about it,” he replies, slightly confused at Oliver’s tone.
“Yes, I heard about it, but usually when one’s boyfriend is injured, he Floos you before the afternoon edition prints.”
Percy blinks. “Boyfriend?”
Oliver looks completely lost for a moment. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “Why do you sound-” He presses his lips together, but the tail end of a laugh gets loose anyway.
“What?” Percy asks, feeling more confused by the second. “First you’re angry, and now you’re laughing-”
“Perce,” Oliver interrupts, “you know we’ve been dating, right?”
“Of course!” Percy says hurriedly, feeling a sudden rush up his spine. “I just hadn’t…” he pulls at the neck of his robes while Oliver laughs. “I don’t have a sense of when things change from dating to…serious dating,” he tells Oliver, feeling less embarrassed than he thinks he should. Oliver’s laughter should bother him, but there’s such warmth on his face as he smiles at Percy that it makes Percy relax. “I’ll Floo next time.”
“Thank you,” Oliver says. He leans over and kisses Percy quickly. “Still on for dinner at my place tonight?”
“Yes,” Percy agrees. “I have to stop by the Burrow to change, but I should be there by seven.”
“Seven,” Oliver repeats, and gives Percy a quick smile before he leaves.
*
Molly declares that the last Saturday of August will be a family day. It will start with everyone coming to stay at the Burrow Friday night. “Make sure Oliver gets here in time for dinner,” she says to Percy so casually that he agrees automatically. It’s only when he tells Oliver about the invitation as they wait in line for a film that he realizes the implication.
“Mum apparently thinks we’re very serious,” Percy tells Oliver, feeling a flush warm the tips of his ears.
Oliver smiles. “Good; then we won’t need to have that discussion.”
“I suppose not,” Percy smiles in return.
*
“Seamus?” Shacklebolt asks Percy. “He’s a bit quick-tempered.”
“And likes to call people out when they’re wrong and trying to pretend otherwise,” Percy says. “He also has an excellent memory and enjoys a good debate.”
Shacklebolt nods slowly. “He could do well on the Wizengamot.” He skims the rest of Percy’s list. “No nepotism?” he asks with a smile.
Percy thinks about Ron’s short fuse, Ginny’s easy annoyance, Bill’s trouble sitting still, Charlie’s need to be near death constantly, and the twins’s…everything. “How could I choose?” he asks drily.
Shacklebolt laughs. “However indeed?”
*
Percy presses Oliver against the door of his flat and brushes his hand against the side of Oliver’s head. He gives a grunt of frustration when he can’t tangle his fingers in Oliver’s hair. “You weren’t required to cut it,” he grumbles against Oliver’s mouth as Oliver tugs him towards the bedroom.
“I always cut my hair before the first practice,” Oliver tells him. “It brings good luck.”
“Superstition,” Percy replies, then yelps as Oliver bodily lifts him and carries him into the bedroom. “Cheating!” he insists laughingly as Oliver throws him onto the bed.
Oliver crawls onto the bed after him, straddling Percy’s hips and undoing the buttons on his shirt. He kisses Percy’s neck, then his collarbone, and he presses his palm to Percy’s right shoulder when it starts to shake. “All right?”
“It’s the endorphins,” Percy reminds him. “No pain at all.” He arches when Oliver grazes his teeth against his ear.
“Good,” Oliver whispers into Percy’s ear. He finishes unbuttoning Percy’s shirt and pulls Percy up to get it off of him. He falls over inelegantly when Percy suddenly shifts his weight and sends him toppling onto his back. “Well!”
Percy pulls at Oliver’s T-shirt and scratches his nails along Oliver’s abdomen experimentally. Oliver groans, and Percy does it again before pulling off Oliver’s shirt. He presses his fingers to the scar on Oliver’s collarbone. “What happened?” he asks.
“Puddlemere’s last game before the war went off officially; I got a Bludger straight in the chest and crashed on the stairs in the stands. Landed just right to break my collar bone and get a pretty nasty gash.”
Percy smiles to himself and licks the scar. “I assumed it was from the war.”
“Everybody does,” Oliver says. He presses his face against Percy’s hand when Percy traces the line of dark hair on the side of his head. “No one asks on that one, obviously.”
“Obviously,” Percy agrees and kisses Oliver slowly, tongue licking the edge of Oliver’s mouth.
*
Afterwards, Oliver presses in tight against Percy and presses his fingers to a scatter of small, round scars on the inside of Percy’s left elbow. “What are those?”
“Fred and George rigged a game of Exploding Snap,” Percy says, inspecting the scars. “They felt the explosions weren’t interesting enough.”
Oliver shows him a slight indention in the webbing between his thumb and forefinger. “The third time I apparated I splinched myself. Mum and Dad wouldn’t fix it because they thought it would remind me to concentrate.”
Percy finds a nearly forgotten stripe on his elbow. “Fell off my broom when I was nine.”
“Slipped in Hogsmeade,” Oliver says about the small scar over his left eyebrow. He traces Percy’s nose with a fingertip and smiles when Percy presses against his hand. “I have something to tell you,” he murmurs against Percy’s neck.
“Hmm?” Percy hums.
“I’m through with the Ministry. Gave them my notice when I got the owl from the Puddlemere coach. Cleared everything this afternoon.”
Percy looks at Oliver for a long moment. “Really?”
“No more rounding up Death Eaters for me,” Oliver says, smiling as Percy beams at him. “I’m officially retired.”
“Wonderful,” Percy breathes out as Oliver nuzzles his chest. “That’s wonderful.”
*
“Lost a bet,” George says, eyes expectant.
“Lost a lot of bets,” Fred antes.
“No and no,” Oliver replies. “I do actually like him.”
“Oh, come on,” Fred scoffs, “no one likes Percy.”
“Charming,” Percy says from his spot next to Oliver. “It’s a wonder you two remain single.”
“Charlie’s single,” George responds, “and he doesn’t point out your flaws.”
“I am not single, and you well know it,” Charlie hollers from where he’s floating in the pond.
“Draco doesn’t count! He’s weird!” Fred calls in return.
“At least he’s not an incessant juvenile with a silly joke shop!”
Percy flashes Charlie a grateful smile when the twins turn and rush at him. Charlie grins in return as he dunks them both easily. “And to think, I was afraid you wouldn’t have a good time,” he says to Oliver.
“You’re lucky I knew the twins beforehand,” Oliver says. “It’s a wonder any of you have any chance with those two around.” He stretches out on the blanket and tucks his arms behind his head. “You should get your own place,” he says conversationally.
“Oh?” Percy asks, looking around the pond. Charlie’s still fighting off Fred and George. His parents are under a large umbrella a few dozen yards away. Bill and Fleur are on the opposite side of the pond, dangling their feet in the water and sitting very close. Ron, Ginny, and Harry are sitting in a semi-circle farther up the bank, all three of them sketching some sort of ridiculous Quidditch strategy and arguing about the promise of the upcoming season. Hermione and Draco are sitting in rickety lawn chairs, five feet apart, each reading their separate books and occasionally chatting. The thought of moving out of the Burrow again fills him with equal parts interest and concern. “I might.”
“The lease is up on my flat in another few months,” Oliver replies. “I’d like someplace closer to the Puddlemere practice pitch. There are some places about equal distance from the pitch to the Ministry.”
Percy shades his eyes to look at Oliver. Oliver’s smiling at him. “If you’d be interested,” Oliver says. “In a few months.”
“Yes,” Percy says before he can stop himself. “Yes,” he says again just to hear it.
Oliver beams.
*
Shacklebolt walks into Percy and Seamus’s office the day the Hogwarts Express leaves and beams as he places a bottle of champagne on each of their desks. “Congratulations, gentlemen. The Hogwarts Express is full thanks to your hard work.”
“There’s still plenty more to do,” Percy says as Jill walks in with champagne flutes and a small plate of biscuits. “A dozen families chose not to pursue a magical education at all.”
“We can worry about it in five minutes,” Seamus says before Shacklebolt can do more than look amused. He pops the cork on the champagne and pours for everyone.
Shacklebolt hands Percy his flute and holds up his own. “To victory in battle,” he says with a smile. “Whatever the battle may be.”
*
“I can not believe I agreed to this,” Seamus says a few weeks later as he puts on his Wizengamot robes. “If I have to read one more decree this week, I’m going to burn down the chamber and flee to Canada.”
“Canada still recognizes British power,” Percy replies.
“Someplace else, then. Maybe someplace warm, even.” Seamus says as he puts on his hat.
“You could decree that there will be no more decrees,” Percy offers. He ducks when Seamus throws a quill at his head.
*
Two months into the school year, three students leave Hogwarts. One is a pureblood, the other two are non-magical born. Percy doesn’t sleep well for three days.
“You did everything you could,” Oliver tells him, an arm and leg thrown over Percy to keep him in bed. “Hell, you probably did twice as much as was required by your position. You have to lose sometime.”
“I know,” Percy says. “Rationally, I know. But irrationally-”
“You can’t save the whole world, you know.”
“You’re one to talk,” Percy snaps tiredly. “You wouldn’t stop throwing yourself in front of other people’s hexes.”
“Gives me good practice in dealing with you in a mood like this.” Oliver curls in closer to Percy and tucks his nose under Percy’s ear. “Sometimes you lose,” he says quietly. “But look how many children are still there.”
“Waiting to leave, probably,” Percy grouses.
“I’m going to sleep. Wake me when you’ve shaken off the worst of this.” Oliver curls his hand tight around Percy’s side and breathes out warm on Percy’s neck. “Unless you actually want to talk about this.”
“No,” Percy says and wraps his fingers around Oliver’s forearm. “Not like it’ll change anything.”
*
Minerva invites Percy and Seamus to the Holiday Break dinner. Percy asks Oliver to come with him as they skim the classifieds for a suitable flat for rent.
“There’s a team meeting that day,” Oliver tells him, “but I should be able to make it a few minutes before dinner.”
*
The invitation for Christmas is addressed to “Percy and Oliver”, even though Percy is still living at the Burrow. He shows the invitation to Oliver during dinner at Oliver’s flat. Oliver smiles. “Of course I’ll go,” he says.
Percy marks the box next to ‘yes’ and sends it away with Hermes. “You’ll probably get a sweater,” he tells Oliver. “If you have a preferred color, I can tell Mum.”
“My very own Weasley sweater?” Oliver asks. “I want it in gray.”
*
January second is incredibly cold. The heater in their new flat takes time to warm up, and Percy conjures a small blue fire to keep them warm as they unpack. He’s transfiguring the living room walls into bookshelves when Oliver comes up behind him and presses his cold nose into Percy’s neck.
“Just realized something,” Oliver says into Percy’s hair.
“Oh?” Percy asks, reaching up a hand to check the air coming out of the vent. “I think it’s slightly warmer.”
“Mmm,” Oliver replies. “I love you,” he says after a moment.
Percy freezes, hand still suspended in the air. “Was this the something you’ve just realized?” he asks shakily.
“I realized I haven’t said it,” Oliver explains. “And I can’t say I’ll remember to say it very often, so I figured I’d say it now.”
“Oh.” Percy turns and looks Oliver in the eyes. He brushes his thumb against the dark streak in Oliver’s hair. “I love you, too.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes.”
Oliver beams. “Oh, good. Hate to think we’d have to break the lease.”
Percy laughs. “Terrible,” he mutters with a shake of his head.
“I’m going to start dinner,” Oliver replies. “If I can find the pans.”
Percy watches him walk into the kitchen and listens as he shifts boxes. He’s home, he thinks, and smiles as he finishes unpacking his books.
And now, the sequel to the sequel: It's a Strange Way to Tell You
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.
Part One
The Luckiest [2/2]
By Perpetual Motion
*
He needs to talk to someone, Percy thinks. He needs to get a second opinion. He goes home that night, sits in the kitchen, and watches his mother cook. “They’re rounding up Death Eaters,” he says as she checks something in the oven.
“Of course they are,” Molly replies.
Percy blinks. He hadn’t been expecting that. “You sound like you know something,” he tells her after a moment.
Molly wipes her hands on her apron, brushes a lock of hair from her face, and gives Percy a considering look. She walks across the kitchen and sits down, reaching out to cover Percy’s hands with her own. “Do you remember the first war?” she asks.
Percy thinks about it for a moment, and he sees bits and pieces of memory. “You used to come in my room with the twins and make us sit and be very quiet. You said we couldn’t use magic.”
“I did,” Molly agrees. “We were in a safehouse, the four of us. Bill and Charlie were at school, and your father was working with the Order. We couldn’t use magic because we were afraid of being tracked.”
“You worked with the Order some,” Percy says. He remembers a series of meetings around a large, square table. “I sat under the table and made cat’s cradles.”
“And read,” Molly tells him. “And your father was in the field most of the time.”
Percy thinks about that and realizes, suddenly, that he only remembers his father in late-night hugs. “Dad hunted Death Eaters?” he asks.
“Captured,” Molly corrects. “It’s part of the aftermath, dear.” Something on the stove top sizzles, and Molly stands up to stir a pot. “It has to be done,” she says, looking over her shoulder. “Wars don’t end at the last public battle, Percy.”
The way she says it, quiet and determined, makes it stick in Percy’s head all through dinner.
*
A week later, Percy is drafting a press release about the most recent updates to the Ministry’s communication system. He’s double-checking the newest phone numbers against the master list when he hears the Floo in the outer office whoosh to life.
“Percy,” Jill says as she steps into the office, “it’s your mother.”
Percy looks up, head still filled with numbers, and is abruptly brought fully into the moment at the way Jill is clutching her hands. “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t quite understand her. It’s something about Draco Malfoy.”
Percy stands and hurries into the front office. His mother’s face, even with the distortion of the flames, looks washed out and worried. “Mum, what’s going on?” he asks, trying to keep his voice even.
“Draco…they showed up at St. Mungo’s…they-”
“Mum.” Percy interrupts. “Calm.”
She takes a deep breath, and she’s calm. “Wizengamot members showed up at St. Mungo’s and took Draco away. He’s being accused-”
“Is he here?” Percy interrupts again.
“I don’t know. But they took him, Percy,” Molly says. “They dragged him away from his patients. I’ve Flooed Charlie, but he can’t make it from Romania-”
“Hold on, Mum.” Percy turns to Jill. “Call down to the…” he trails off when she holds up a finger. She’s already on the phone.
“Is the Wizengamot in session?” she asks into the receiver. Her lips thin, and Percy feels his stomach drop.
“I’ll Floo you back, Mum.” Percy turns on his heel and runs out the door. He pushes his way onto a waiting elevator and snaps at the attendant to take him immediately to the Wizengamot.
“You’ll have to wait-”
“Now.” Percy doesn’t know if it’s his tone or his glare, but the attendant closes the gate and sets the elevator on express. Percy tries to keep himself still, but his right arm twitches anyway, and Percy flexes his hand slowly, the way Draco taught him during the war.
The elevator squeals to a halt, and Percy slides around the half-open gate to rush down the hall. He nearly trips over his own feet at the sight of Tonks-hair short, spiked, and striped orange and red-arguing fiercely with the guard at the door.
“I don’t give a sweet fuck-all how high you rank,” Tonks is hissing as Percy comes into hearing range. “Wizengamot members are not allowed to drag wizards off the street with no evidence. Aurors-”
“The Wizengamot is already in session,” the guard responds coolly. He gives Percy a passing glance. “Sir-”
Percy body binds him, levitates him out of the way, and yanks on the door. It doesn’t budge. “Alohomora!” He yells, but the lock doesn’t turn.
“Tried that before I argued with him,” Tonks says from behind him. She pulls out her own wand. “Let’s try it together.” The lock doesn’t turn, but it melts, and Tonks throws open the door viciously, Percy right on her heels.
The members of the Wizengamot all look at Percy and Tonks in shock. Tonks starts yelling; Percy zeroes in on Draco and cuts across the floor. “Are you all right?” he asks when he reaches Draco’s side.
“They grabbed me,” Draco hisses between his teeth. He grimaces. “The chair is-” He bites his lip, and his nostrils flare. “Hurts,” he says so quietly Percy almost doesn’t hear him over Tonks’s continued diatribe.
“I do not believe you understand the role of the Wizengamot,” one of the witches is saying to Tonks.
“I don’t believe you can’t figure out how quickly I’m going to hex you,” Tonks replies.
“Tonks,” Percy cuts in, his voice low, but his anger carries. “They’ve done something to the chair.”
Tonks whirls around, the bridge of her nose sharpening as her hair flashes black. “What about the chair?”
“It’s causing him pain.” Percy presses his wand to the chair and immediately pulls away when Draco gasps loudly. “And it’s set up-”
“As a torture device,” Tonks finishes. She very carefully puts a hand on Draco’s shoulder. “We’ll-” She starts to say, but the doors to the chamber are thrown open again.
It’s Ginny and Ron, wands out, Shacklebolt at their backs. “Stand down, or I will force you down,” he bellows as Ginny and Ron fan out. Tonks steps forward to cover the middle section as Shacklebolt steps up to the chair and holds his hands an inch from the back of Draco’s head. “End it,” he orders.
“Minister Shacklebolt, I think-” one of the wizards starts.
“You do not,” Shacklebolt interrupts,” or you wouldn’t dare try to make this sound acceptable. End it.”
Draco slumps a moment later, Percy catching him before he hits the floor. “Charlie,” he mutters into Percy’s shoulder.
“He’s on his way,” Percy murmurs. “He’s getting here as fast as he can.”
“Okay,” Draco says, but his eyes say thank you.
*
Shacklebolt calls down all in-house Aurors to help him keep the Wizengamot members in place while he starts questioning. Percy gets Draco to his office and waves off Seamus before he can ask any questions. “I need a couch,” he says.
Seamus immediately transfigures his desk and watches as Percy gets Draco settled. He looks like he wants to ask a hundred questions. “Whiskey?” he offers.
“Three fingers,” Draco says as he presses his palms against his eyes. “The pittance that was once my father’s fortune for the chance to put those bastards into that chair.”
“Chair?” Seamus asks Percy.
“The Wizengamot appears to have forgotten that this isn’t Fudge’s ministry,” Percy says and feels his stomach roll.
“Shacklebolt seemed very willing to remind them they’re power hungry idiots,” Draco mutters. “That’s something.” He nods when Seamus hands him his whiskey.
Seamus passes a second glass to Percy. “Don’t,” he says before Percy can argue. “You were here during Fudge.”
Percy feels himself smiling and takes a sip. “Thank you, Seamus.”
Seamus shrugs. “Hell, all I had to do was pour whiskey.”
“It’s appreciated,” Percy tells him.
“Just answer the couch if it rings,” Seamus replies.
*
Charlie makes it to the Ministry at half-five. Percy is in the outer office comparing to-do lists with Jill when he storms in, hair wild from a broom ride Percy doesn’t want to imagine. “In there,” Percy says with a jerk of his thumb. “He’s sleeping.”
“Is he-” Charlie looks from Percy to the inner office.
“I had Madame Pomfrey check him personally. He’ll be fine once he’s had some rest.”
“And Shacklebolt-”
“Still with the Wizengamot. I haven’t tried to interrupt.” Percy puts a hand on Charlie’s back and gives him a small shove. “He’s in there,” he repeats quietly. “He’s been asking for you.” Percy watches Charlie walk into his office and crouch in front of Draco’s sleeping form. “Make sure they’re not interrupted,” he tells Jill. “I have to go check on someone.”
*
Percy apparates to an alley a block from Oliver’s apartment and makes short work of the walk. Oliver answers the door with an ice pack on the left side of his face. “Hex,” he says before Percy can ask. “The medi-witch was worried about crossing spells.”
Percy moves the ice pack to get a look at the mark on Oliver’s face. The medi-witch had healed the cut, but the bruise is still dark purple. Percy puts the ice pack back in place. “How much longer are you going to do this?” Percy asks.
Oliver shrugs and grimaces. He rolls his left shoulder. “Until it’s finished.”
Percy presses his lips together and follows Oliver into the sitting room. He shakes his head when Oliver offers tea and watches the careful way Oliver sits. “The Wizengamot tried to hold a private torture hearing for Draco,” he says. “Mum managed to Floo me before it got very bad, but…” Percy shakes his head and puts his head in his hands. “It’s supposed to be different now. There aren’t supposed to be secret tribunals. You’re not supposed to be chasing Death Eaters. I shouldn’t be talking down terrified mothers with angry neighbors. It’s…nothing’s really changed, has it?”
Oliver doesn’t say anything for a moment. He adjusts his grip on the ice pack and leans farther into the couch. “Things go wrong sometimes, Percy. That’s part of everything.”
“Maybe I should quit.”
“Because losing someone with a sense of right and wrong is exactly what we need right now,” Oliver deadpans.
Percy tries to glare at Oliver, but he can’t find the energy. “I tried to get Tonks to tell me what you’re doing,” he says after a pause.
“I bet that went well.” Oliver grins. “Or she bounced you.”
“Not quite,” Percy replies. “She didn’t tell me anything, but she allowed me to leave with my dignity. And then she helped me melt the lock on the Wizengamot chamber.”
“I know you don’t like what I’m doing,” Oliver says, “especially after having to save Draco like that, but we’re trying our best not to be suspect. It’s just…” Oliver shrugs and winces again. “There are only so many ways to deal with evil people.”
Percy watches Oliver for a moment, checks him for scars he hasn’t seen before. “I’m not here to stop you. I’m not here to blame you. I just want…please don’t be stupid about this,” he says quietly. “I don’t want-”
“Come here,” Oliver says and pulls Percy towards him with the hand not holding the ice pack. He reclines back on the couch, taking Percy down with him. “What they did is inexcusable. I’m working very hard to be the opposite of that.”
“I know,” Percy tells him. “I trust you.”
“Thank you,” Oliver says quietly. He presses a kiss to the top of Percy’s head. “I promise to quit chasing them as soon as I can.”
“The Ministry has Aurors, you know.” It sounds petulant once he says it, but Percy doesn’t want to take it back.
“Not enough,” Oliver says. “Not for the amount of work that has to be done.”
Percy leans against Oliver’s shoulder and listens to him breathe. “Do it carefully,” he nearly whispers. “Do it honestly.”
“I’ll try,” Oliver says quietly. “It’s the best I can do.”
*
“Minister Shacklebolt said to send you upstairs as soon as I saw you,” Jill greets Percy when he walks in the next morning.
“Hmm.” Percy hangs up his travelling cloak and shifts his satchel to his right hand. “Anything else?”
“The Minister says everything else is on hold.”
“Wonderful,” Percy mutters. “Has Seamus’s desk turned back into his desk?”
“Yes,” Jill says.
“Well, there’s that at least.” He smoothes a hand over his hair and gives her a nod. “I’ll ring down if I need you to reschedule anything.” He turns on his heel and walks down the hall to the elevator. The attendant looks slightly scared when Percy boards, and Percy makes sure to keep his voice perfectly neutral when he requests Shacklebolt’s office.
“Express, sir?” the attendant asks.
“That won’t be necessary.” Percy watches the numbers over the door flash on and off as he waits for his stop. He wonders what Shacklebolt will say and gets a sudden dash of freezing cold fear in his stomach. He didn’t Floo Shacklebolt when he ran to the Wizengamot chamber. He barged down there on his own and initiated a confrontation without approval. It wasn’t his place to-
“Minister Shacklebolt’s office, Sir,” the attendant says.
“Thank you,” Percy replies. He’s surprised to find his legs steady when he steps off the lift. Shacklebolt’s assistant smiles at him.
“Mr. Weasley, Minister Shacklebolt told me to send you straight in.” Her smile seems genuine and comfortable, but Percy’s seen the same smile on Jill’s face when she’s greeted people Percy gives bad news. Another cold dash of fear makes Percy's right arm shake, and he makes himself breathe deep.
“Percy,” Shacklebolt greets when Percy opens his office door, “can I get you a tea?”
“Whatever you’re having, Sir,” Percy says. He sits down on a dark green couch perpendicular to the door and wonders if he should sit across from the desk instead.
“Here you go.” Shacklebolt holds out a cup and saucer. He sits on the other end of the couch and sips his own tea. “Thank you for coming in straight away; I know you hate to have your routine rearranged.”
“It’s-” Percy stops and clears his throat. “It’s no trouble, Sir.”
“I’ll keep it brief so it stays that way.” Shacklebolt sets down his cup and saucer and leans back into the couch. “I dismissed the entirety of the Wizengamot after I finished interrogations yesterday, and I want to apologize to you for having to be involved in any way.”
Percy blinks. He sips his tea. He blinks again. He waits another ten seconds for Shacklebolt to start admonishing him. “I don’t understand,” he finally admits. “I thought-” He pauses, not wanting to admit to anything, but Shacklebolt looks completely confused. “I thought I was being fired,” Percy says in a rush.
Shacklebolt blinks. “Where would you get an idea like that?”
“Previous ministers…” Percy trails off and looks into his tea cup. “And now that I start to say it aloud, it seems very ridiculous.” He looks up again, and Shacklebolt is smiling slightly.
“Given yesterday’s problem, I’m very happy to hear it sounds ridiculous.” Shacklebolt smoothes the front of his robes and looks away from Percy for a moment. “Do you recall Harry speaking in front of the Wizengamot?”
Percy manages not to cringe, but it’s an effort. “Yes.”
“Some of the members of that Wizengamot fought with me during the war, and I thought they could be trusted afterwards. I thought they understood what I expected in their behavior, but I overestimated.”
“Not all of them could have-”
“They went along with it,” Shacklebolt interrupts. “It does not matter how much they may have protested at any point; they were quiet when the ringleaders dragged Draco Malfoy into that chair. I want a Wizengamot that actually pays attention to the rules of order that are in our laws, not the rules they’ve created for themselves.”
Percy breathes deep, the last of his tension fading away. “I’m very glad to hear that,” he says firmly.
“I’m glad you still believe me when I say it,” Shacklebolt replies. He picks up his tea and takes a sip. “I want your help creating a new Wizengamot,” he says after he swallows. “I want you to make me a list of people you think could do the job well; who will pay attention to the law and not just assume certain people are responsible for certain acts.”
“Are you asking other people to do this as well?” Percy asks.
“Yes. I am having the heads of all the departments assemble lists.”
“I have Seamus in my department,” Percy says, “and Jill, I suppose.”
“The list does not need to be strictly ministerial,” Shacklebolt clarifies. “You know many people in and out of the Ministry, and you have a moral compass that agrees to abide by set rules. I want you to use it to help me create a Wizengamot that has a moral compass as well.”
Percy blinks, uncertain how to respond to the praise. “I’ll do my very best, Sir.”
“I’ve no doubt,” Shacklebolt replies with a nod.
*
“The Wizengamot thing is all over the Mug-non-magical news,” Oliver tells Percy when they meet for lunch at a sandwich cart. The man running the cart gives them a suspicious look.
“We’ve had the telly on in the office all morning,” Percy says with a grimace. “Seamus has been threatening to start taking a drink for every half-truth.”
“I’m off today; I could join that game.”
“Please don’t,” Percy says with a smile as he pays the cart man. The cart man eyes the money for a moment before pocketing it. Percy manages not to roll his eyes. “If you showed up, I think Seamus would actually do it.”
Oliver smiles and leads Percy to a bench to eat. “You could play sick for the rest of the day,” he suggests. “We could go to my flat and play…checkers.”
Percy raises his eyebrows. “Checkers?”
“Or something,” Oliver says innocently, but there’s a look in his eyes.
Percy looks at Oliver for a moment. Oliver’s leaning back on the bench, drink balanced on his knee with one hand, sandwich in the other. He’s in denims and a button-down red shirt. Percy can see the curve of his collarbone at the open collar of his shirt, and he wants to reach out and touch. “If I could,” he says, and makes sure there’s weight on his words.
Oliver’s smile drops to a smirk. “The fact that I can tempt you is pretty good,” he says. “I can work up from there.”
Percy takes a bite of his sandwich. He chews slowly and watches Oliver watch him. “Stop it,” he mumbles as he take a sip of his drink.
Oliver laughs. “I’ll be good,” he promises. He brushes sandwich crumbs off his hands and drops a hand to Percy’s leg. “Mostly.”
“You are impossible,” Percy says, but he doesn’t make Oliver move his hand.
*
As the Hogwarts letters increase, more and more people show up in front of the Ministry to protest. They want to keep their children “normal”, they yell, and they think the Hogwarts staff are going to turn their children over to the Wizengamot for torture. Shacklebolt holds two press conferences to try and explain. Percy and Seamus draft half a dozen press releases to clear up confusion. No one is listening, it seems, and the crowd grows regularly.
One day they start throwing rocks. Percy gets hit in the head and reels back a few paces. He’d been deep in conversation with some reporter, explaining for the ninth or tenth time that the Hogwarts letter wasn’t an order that would lead to torture but an invitation for children to be properly trained in magic. The reporter looks mildly shocked when Percy touches his forehead and stares at the blood on his fingertips.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Percy says evenly, and the reporter waves him away hurriedly.
Jill’s face drops from a professional smile into wide, scared eyes at the sight of Percy’s bloody forehead. “What do I need to do?” she asks, her voice surprisingly even against the sudden loss of color on her face.
Percy pulls a tissue from the box on her desk and presses it against the cut. “Floo St. Mungo’s. Tell them we’ll probably need a Medi-wizard for the day, and get me someone in the Health and Safety office so we can log the injury. Please.”
“Yes, sir,” Jill says, and reaches for the Floo powder.
Percy nods at her, wincing when it makes his head throb. He walks into the office and holds up his hand before Seamus can ask. “Rock,” he says.
“Have you called Security?”
Percy blinks. “I didn’t even think about it.”
“I’ll do it,” Seamus offers. “You just sit there and try not to bleed on your desk.”
“Thank you.” Percy transfigures a blank sheet of parchment into a cold compress and presses it to his forehead. “I wonder-” he starts as the phone rings. “Yes?” he says when he picks up.
“Health and Safety, sir,” Jill says, “and the doctor should be here shortly.”
“Thank you. Please put the call through.”
Percy spends fifteen agonizing minutes explaining to the witch in Health and Safety that, no, no Ministry employee threw the rock at him and, yes, he was sure it was a rock, and, yes, he was also certain he’d been hit in the head. He’s interrupted on his third run-through of his story when Draco walks into the office, hangs up the phone, and tilts back Percy’s head to get a look at his wound.
“Brilliant work, Weasley,” Draco mutters as he presses his wand to Percy’s head. “You’ve a mild concussion.”
“Oh,” Percy replies. “Did you volunteer to check on me?”
Draco snorts. “I’m the newest Medi-wizard on staff and something of a pariah thanks to the cranks you work with. Hold still.” He closes the cut on Percy’s head with a slow slide of his wand. “I can only give you a pain relieving potion for the concussion. A rock doesn’t count as a war-time offense, so the quick-fix potion is unadvisable.”
“The pain reliever will be fine,” Percy says, and drinks down the potion Draco hands him. “Thank you.”
“I’ll be down in Health and Safety filling out the forms if you jump in front of any other rocks,” Draco replies and leaves.
Seamus shakes his head when the door closes. “That is still so weird.”
“Hmmm?” Percy murmurs as he presses his fingers against his head again.
“He’s not a complete twat. He’s still a semi-twat, mind, but not a complete twat.”
Percy chuckles at that. “Did you think he’d stay static?”
Seamus thinks about it for a moment. “I think I tried not to think about it,” he finally says. “It was easier to work with him during the war when I wasn’t trying to expect a certain reaction.”
“I suppose,” Percy replies after a moment.
“It’s kind of nice he’s still a twat,” Seamus adds. “Brings a bit of consistency to the world.”
*
Arthur stops in for a few minutes, looks at Percy’s healed cut, and pats him on the shoulder. “The London Times has you on their front homepage,” he tells him.
“Grand,” Percy mutters and doesn’t bother explaining that the front page is the homepage. “I’m very glad Mum’s disallowed a computer in the house,” he says instead.
“You’re also on the front of the Prophet.” Arthur smiles in sympathy when Percy buries his head in his hands.
*
Seamus bursts out laughing when a medium-sized orange-brown owl flies in the window and settles on the perch on Percy’s desk. The owl is wearing a tiny party hat and an equally tiny, silvery cape embroidered with “Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes”. The hat blinks between, “Hope you feel better”, and “We let Mum yell at us instead, so you owe us ten quid or new ears”.
“Tell them hullo,” Seamus says as he gathers his papers and leaves for a meeting.
Percy mutters in acknowledgement and eyes the vanishing crème the twins have sent. He tests it on a corner of his desk and isn’t surprised when the corner disappears. The attached card tells him to try it on his head, and Percy wonders exactly how terrified Jill would be if she walked in to find him missing a piece of his face. It makes him smile, and he walks to the outer office to show her how it works.
“I could use that,” Jill says with a grin reminiscent of the twins. “Where do I get some?”
“Consider it a bonus,” Percy tells her and leaves it on the edge of her desk.
*
Oliver storms in during the late afternoon and throws the Prophet onto Percy’s desk. “You could have Flooed,” he snaps in greeting.
Percy reaches for the paper and waves Jill away from the door in the same motion. He watches Picture-Percy wince as he’s hit in the head. “Seems you heard about it,” he replies, slightly confused at Oliver’s tone.
“Yes, I heard about it, but usually when one’s boyfriend is injured, he Floos you before the afternoon edition prints.”
Percy blinks. “Boyfriend?”
Oliver looks completely lost for a moment. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “Why do you sound-” He presses his lips together, but the tail end of a laugh gets loose anyway.
“What?” Percy asks, feeling more confused by the second. “First you’re angry, and now you’re laughing-”
“Perce,” Oliver interrupts, “you know we’ve been dating, right?”
“Of course!” Percy says hurriedly, feeling a sudden rush up his spine. “I just hadn’t…” he pulls at the neck of his robes while Oliver laughs. “I don’t have a sense of when things change from dating to…serious dating,” he tells Oliver, feeling less embarrassed than he thinks he should. Oliver’s laughter should bother him, but there’s such warmth on his face as he smiles at Percy that it makes Percy relax. “I’ll Floo next time.”
“Thank you,” Oliver says. He leans over and kisses Percy quickly. “Still on for dinner at my place tonight?”
“Yes,” Percy agrees. “I have to stop by the Burrow to change, but I should be there by seven.”
“Seven,” Oliver repeats, and gives Percy a quick smile before he leaves.
*
Molly declares that the last Saturday of August will be a family day. It will start with everyone coming to stay at the Burrow Friday night. “Make sure Oliver gets here in time for dinner,” she says to Percy so casually that he agrees automatically. It’s only when he tells Oliver about the invitation as they wait in line for a film that he realizes the implication.
“Mum apparently thinks we’re very serious,” Percy tells Oliver, feeling a flush warm the tips of his ears.
Oliver smiles. “Good; then we won’t need to have that discussion.”
“I suppose not,” Percy smiles in return.
*
“Seamus?” Shacklebolt asks Percy. “He’s a bit quick-tempered.”
“And likes to call people out when they’re wrong and trying to pretend otherwise,” Percy says. “He also has an excellent memory and enjoys a good debate.”
Shacklebolt nods slowly. “He could do well on the Wizengamot.” He skims the rest of Percy’s list. “No nepotism?” he asks with a smile.
Percy thinks about Ron’s short fuse, Ginny’s easy annoyance, Bill’s trouble sitting still, Charlie’s need to be near death constantly, and the twins’s…everything. “How could I choose?” he asks drily.
Shacklebolt laughs. “However indeed?”
*
Percy presses Oliver against the door of his flat and brushes his hand against the side of Oliver’s head. He gives a grunt of frustration when he can’t tangle his fingers in Oliver’s hair. “You weren’t required to cut it,” he grumbles against Oliver’s mouth as Oliver tugs him towards the bedroom.
“I always cut my hair before the first practice,” Oliver tells him. “It brings good luck.”
“Superstition,” Percy replies, then yelps as Oliver bodily lifts him and carries him into the bedroom. “Cheating!” he insists laughingly as Oliver throws him onto the bed.
Oliver crawls onto the bed after him, straddling Percy’s hips and undoing the buttons on his shirt. He kisses Percy’s neck, then his collarbone, and he presses his palm to Percy’s right shoulder when it starts to shake. “All right?”
“It’s the endorphins,” Percy reminds him. “No pain at all.” He arches when Oliver grazes his teeth against his ear.
“Good,” Oliver whispers into Percy’s ear. He finishes unbuttoning Percy’s shirt and pulls Percy up to get it off of him. He falls over inelegantly when Percy suddenly shifts his weight and sends him toppling onto his back. “Well!”
Percy pulls at Oliver’s T-shirt and scratches his nails along Oliver’s abdomen experimentally. Oliver groans, and Percy does it again before pulling off Oliver’s shirt. He presses his fingers to the scar on Oliver’s collarbone. “What happened?” he asks.
“Puddlemere’s last game before the war went off officially; I got a Bludger straight in the chest and crashed on the stairs in the stands. Landed just right to break my collar bone and get a pretty nasty gash.”
Percy smiles to himself and licks the scar. “I assumed it was from the war.”
“Everybody does,” Oliver says. He presses his face against Percy’s hand when Percy traces the line of dark hair on the side of his head. “No one asks on that one, obviously.”
“Obviously,” Percy agrees and kisses Oliver slowly, tongue licking the edge of Oliver’s mouth.
*
Afterwards, Oliver presses in tight against Percy and presses his fingers to a scatter of small, round scars on the inside of Percy’s left elbow. “What are those?”
“Fred and George rigged a game of Exploding Snap,” Percy says, inspecting the scars. “They felt the explosions weren’t interesting enough.”
Oliver shows him a slight indention in the webbing between his thumb and forefinger. “The third time I apparated I splinched myself. Mum and Dad wouldn’t fix it because they thought it would remind me to concentrate.”
Percy finds a nearly forgotten stripe on his elbow. “Fell off my broom when I was nine.”
“Slipped in Hogsmeade,” Oliver says about the small scar over his left eyebrow. He traces Percy’s nose with a fingertip and smiles when Percy presses against his hand. “I have something to tell you,” he murmurs against Percy’s neck.
“Hmm?” Percy hums.
“I’m through with the Ministry. Gave them my notice when I got the owl from the Puddlemere coach. Cleared everything this afternoon.”
Percy looks at Oliver for a long moment. “Really?”
“No more rounding up Death Eaters for me,” Oliver says, smiling as Percy beams at him. “I’m officially retired.”
“Wonderful,” Percy breathes out as Oliver nuzzles his chest. “That’s wonderful.”
*
“Lost a bet,” George says, eyes expectant.
“Lost a lot of bets,” Fred antes.
“No and no,” Oliver replies. “I do actually like him.”
“Oh, come on,” Fred scoffs, “no one likes Percy.”
“Charming,” Percy says from his spot next to Oliver. “It’s a wonder you two remain single.”
“Charlie’s single,” George responds, “and he doesn’t point out your flaws.”
“I am not single, and you well know it,” Charlie hollers from where he’s floating in the pond.
“Draco doesn’t count! He’s weird!” Fred calls in return.
“At least he’s not an incessant juvenile with a silly joke shop!”
Percy flashes Charlie a grateful smile when the twins turn and rush at him. Charlie grins in return as he dunks them both easily. “And to think, I was afraid you wouldn’t have a good time,” he says to Oliver.
“You’re lucky I knew the twins beforehand,” Oliver says. “It’s a wonder any of you have any chance with those two around.” He stretches out on the blanket and tucks his arms behind his head. “You should get your own place,” he says conversationally.
“Oh?” Percy asks, looking around the pond. Charlie’s still fighting off Fred and George. His parents are under a large umbrella a few dozen yards away. Bill and Fleur are on the opposite side of the pond, dangling their feet in the water and sitting very close. Ron, Ginny, and Harry are sitting in a semi-circle farther up the bank, all three of them sketching some sort of ridiculous Quidditch strategy and arguing about the promise of the upcoming season. Hermione and Draco are sitting in rickety lawn chairs, five feet apart, each reading their separate books and occasionally chatting. The thought of moving out of the Burrow again fills him with equal parts interest and concern. “I might.”
“The lease is up on my flat in another few months,” Oliver replies. “I’d like someplace closer to the Puddlemere practice pitch. There are some places about equal distance from the pitch to the Ministry.”
Percy shades his eyes to look at Oliver. Oliver’s smiling at him. “If you’d be interested,” Oliver says. “In a few months.”
“Yes,” Percy says before he can stop himself. “Yes,” he says again just to hear it.
Oliver beams.
*
Shacklebolt walks into Percy and Seamus’s office the day the Hogwarts Express leaves and beams as he places a bottle of champagne on each of their desks. “Congratulations, gentlemen. The Hogwarts Express is full thanks to your hard work.”
“There’s still plenty more to do,” Percy says as Jill walks in with champagne flutes and a small plate of biscuits. “A dozen families chose not to pursue a magical education at all.”
“We can worry about it in five minutes,” Seamus says before Shacklebolt can do more than look amused. He pops the cork on the champagne and pours for everyone.
Shacklebolt hands Percy his flute and holds up his own. “To victory in battle,” he says with a smile. “Whatever the battle may be.”
*
“I can not believe I agreed to this,” Seamus says a few weeks later as he puts on his Wizengamot robes. “If I have to read one more decree this week, I’m going to burn down the chamber and flee to Canada.”
“Canada still recognizes British power,” Percy replies.
“Someplace else, then. Maybe someplace warm, even.” Seamus says as he puts on his hat.
“You could decree that there will be no more decrees,” Percy offers. He ducks when Seamus throws a quill at his head.
*
Two months into the school year, three students leave Hogwarts. One is a pureblood, the other two are non-magical born. Percy doesn’t sleep well for three days.
“You did everything you could,” Oliver tells him, an arm and leg thrown over Percy to keep him in bed. “Hell, you probably did twice as much as was required by your position. You have to lose sometime.”
“I know,” Percy says. “Rationally, I know. But irrationally-”
“You can’t save the whole world, you know.”
“You’re one to talk,” Percy snaps tiredly. “You wouldn’t stop throwing yourself in front of other people’s hexes.”
“Gives me good practice in dealing with you in a mood like this.” Oliver curls in closer to Percy and tucks his nose under Percy’s ear. “Sometimes you lose,” he says quietly. “But look how many children are still there.”
“Waiting to leave, probably,” Percy grouses.
“I’m going to sleep. Wake me when you’ve shaken off the worst of this.” Oliver curls his hand tight around Percy’s side and breathes out warm on Percy’s neck. “Unless you actually want to talk about this.”
“No,” Percy says and wraps his fingers around Oliver’s forearm. “Not like it’ll change anything.”
*
Minerva invites Percy and Seamus to the Holiday Break dinner. Percy asks Oliver to come with him as they skim the classifieds for a suitable flat for rent.
“There’s a team meeting that day,” Oliver tells him, “but I should be able to make it a few minutes before dinner.”
*
The invitation for Christmas is addressed to “Percy and Oliver”, even though Percy is still living at the Burrow. He shows the invitation to Oliver during dinner at Oliver’s flat. Oliver smiles. “Of course I’ll go,” he says.
Percy marks the box next to ‘yes’ and sends it away with Hermes. “You’ll probably get a sweater,” he tells Oliver. “If you have a preferred color, I can tell Mum.”
“My very own Weasley sweater?” Oliver asks. “I want it in gray.”
*
January second is incredibly cold. The heater in their new flat takes time to warm up, and Percy conjures a small blue fire to keep them warm as they unpack. He’s transfiguring the living room walls into bookshelves when Oliver comes up behind him and presses his cold nose into Percy’s neck.
“Just realized something,” Oliver says into Percy’s hair.
“Oh?” Percy asks, reaching up a hand to check the air coming out of the vent. “I think it’s slightly warmer.”
“Mmm,” Oliver replies. “I love you,” he says after a moment.
Percy freezes, hand still suspended in the air. “Was this the something you’ve just realized?” he asks shakily.
“I realized I haven’t said it,” Oliver explains. “And I can’t say I’ll remember to say it very often, so I figured I’d say it now.”
“Oh.” Percy turns and looks Oliver in the eyes. He brushes his thumb against the dark streak in Oliver’s hair. “I love you, too.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes.”
Oliver beams. “Oh, good. Hate to think we’d have to break the lease.”
Percy laughs. “Terrible,” he mutters with a shake of his head.
“I’m going to start dinner,” Oliver replies. “If I can find the pans.”
Percy watches him walk into the kitchen and listens as he shifts boxes. He’s home, he thinks, and smiles as he finishes unpacking his books.
And now, the sequel to the sequel: It's a Strange Way to Tell You