Fic for mop_cat
Author: shadowings
Recipient: mop_cat
Title: Percy Weasley and the Clue by Four
Pairing: Percy/Oliver, Narcissa/Lupin
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1963
Summary: In which Percy is oblivious, Oliver is obvious, and Mrs. Malfoy is facetious.
Author's Notes: Pinch hit. Many thanks to peskywhistpaw for the super quick beta job! I tried to cram a bit too much plot into this, but I hope you enjoy it nevertheless. It was great fun to write.
Midway through filing Narcissa Malfoy's assets, Percy felt a pair of eyes watching him, and froze immediately. Though the war was over, his senses were still as sharp as ever, and besides, the aftermath of wars tended to be uglier than the actual war itself, if what Professor Binns had said in History of Magic was true. (And why shouldn't it be?) Percy still had quite a few enemies out there, his disowned family among them, and it would do well to be prudent.
He stole a glance around. It did him no good, mostly because he was in a cubicle and had walls surrounding him on three sides. Nevertheless, someone was watching him, and if it wasn't from his left or right, it must be from behind.
Percy turned around and gave a startled, undignified squawk.
“Oliver!”
Oliver Wood towered before him, six foot three, two-hundred ten pounds of Quidditch masculinity. (Hey, Percy knew his fantasy Quidditch stats)
“Hi Percy,” Oliver said, grinning.
Percy nearly fell out of his chair. “Oliver,” he gasped out, “Don't do that.”
“Do what?” Oliver asked innocently. He shifted from side to side, toying with the hem of his cotton shirt, then scratching behind his oversized ears. Percy found it extremely distracting. He found fidgeting irritating in general, but Oliver took it to a whole new level.
“Sneak up on me like that,” Percy said archly. He raised an eyebrow to make himself look more disdainful.
“But I do this to you every day,” Oliver said, shrugging.
“Exactly!” Percy yelled, exasperated. “Shouldn't you have learned to stop by now?”
“Shouldn't you have learned to expect it by now?” Oliver shot back. He shuffled forward and leaned over Percy, glancing through his work.
“Hey, hey,” Percy protested. He attempted to push Oliver away, but his malnourished arms were no match for Oliver's stocky frame - it was like a pixie trying to push a giant. “Those are private files. And you're invading my personal space.”
Oliver completely ignored him. Percy eventually gave up, and sulked in a corner while Oliver scanned the files. Shouldn't he be at Quidditch practice? If he kept showing up at Percy's cubical at random hours, he couldn't possibly be going to practice consistently anymore. Which meant his Quidditch skills would not be up to par. Which meant Percy should trade him fairly soon.
Out of the blue Oliver suddenly asked, “So how are you and Penelope going?”
Percy jumped again. What an inane topic.
“We broke up a year ago,” he snapped. “I thought you knew this already. She refused my marriage proposal. Said there were some things I needed to discover about myself first.”
“Ohhhh, yeah I remember now,” Oliver said, entirely unconvincing. He made an apologetic face at Percy, then turned back to the files and flipped a page. “I just... needed a refresher, you know?”
“Right.” Percy scowled.
“So did you discover the things about yourself?” Oliver asked brightly.
Percy gritted his teeth. “No.” Merlin, if Oliver didn't leave soon he was going to... “I've been busy.”
“Right, right,” Oliver muttered. He stood up and grinned, then clapped Percy on the back. “Well, Percy.” He leaned in to give Percy a bear hug, which Percy returned stiffly. Oliver smelled like Abbott-Longbottom Victory cologne. “I hope you find those things out soon. I best be going now, Quidditch practice and all.”
He stood up and winked conspiratorially.
“Oh, and by the way, I think Narcissa Malfoy had a lavish, expensive extramarital affair with Remus Lupin several years ago. That's why the expenses don't add up.”
Percy fell out of his chair.
-----
Percy had meant to confront Mrs. Malfoy about the affair in a righteous, judgmental manner as befitted the situation, but she inexplicably did not seem perturbed by the information he relayed.
“I see,” was all she said, “Please come inside, Mr. Weasley. Would you like some tea?”
“Er,” he said, quite surprised. “I usually drink coffee, Mrs. Malfoy, but I suppose some tea would be nice.”
“Oh, of course, I have coffee too,” Mrs. Malfoy said sweetly. “Imported straight from the forests of Colombia, soaked with the blood of faerie slaves for longevity. I'll have our house elves make some for you straight away.”
Percy felt his stomach go queasy as he settled on the couch. He'd heard of coffee distributors that infused their coffee beans with Dark Magic, but he'd hoped to never come across such a thing...
Mrs. Malfoy interrupted his thoughts.
“Of course, I was only joking about the blood in the coffee, Mr. Weasley,” she said off-handedly. He had no doubt she caught his quick exhale of relief though, for she smirked briefly. “I have to insist you not work yourself so hard though, dear. The coffee can very quickly become an addiction.”
Without giving him a chance to respond, she continued.
“Now, to the relevant matters at hand. If you agree not to disclose this information to my husband, then I will ensure that no one in the Ministry will know about your... proclivities.”
Percy frowned in confusion and tried to work out what she meant. A house-elf appeared with a soft crack and served Percy his coffee, which was excellent timing. His head was starting to hurt from having to navigate all these veiled words. Blast all these obscure purebloods!
“Forgive me, Mrs. Malfoy, but I'm not sure what you mean by proclivities,” he said politely. He gripped his cup handle tighter to quell the throbbing in his head.
Mrs. Malfoy raised an eyebrow delicately. She sipped on her tea just as delicately, then abruptly changed the topic.
“Tell me, my dear Mr. Weasley, how are you and Ms. Clearwater getting along? It's so refreshing to see two young ambitious purebloods like you two working to restore the pureblood reputation in the Ministry.”
Percy just barely managed to save the Persian rug from a coffee stain. He said stiffly, “Penelope and I split a year ago.” He frowned again. “You know, Oliver Wood asked me the same thing a few days ago. I don't know why this has suddenly become interesting.”
Mrs. Malfoy burst out with a sound that would have been described as a chortle with anyone less dignified.
“Oh? I couldn't possibly imagine why,” she said loftily.
She stood up.
“I'm so glad we were able to reach such amicable conclusions, Mr. Weasley. If you'll excuse me, I have some business to attend to, but I look forward to hearing from you about our... updated statements soon.”
Percy was in such a state of confusion that he didn't protest, allowing himself to be ushered out. It wasn't until the door had shut and the dragon-shaped knocker was insulting him that he had the state of mind to realize he'd been looped along. Mrs. Malfoy had essentially told him the expenses were going to be slashed off, although she hadn't really given him a reason that it would benefit him, besides his apparent proclivities.
He sighed and shook his head. No use worrying about that now; he'd effectively been kicked out, and the dragon knocker was getting increasingly belligerent, so Percy walked away from the manor until he'd left the wards and was able to Apparate to the Leaky Cauldron. Oliver was bound to be there, buying rounds and being bought rounds - Puddlemere United had won their game. Admittedly it was by a narrow margin, 290-280, but that just made the victory all the sweeter, and it was just enough to edge Percy to first place in the fantasy Quidditch league. So yes, Percy was going to buy himself and Oliver a drink. Why not?
-----
Oliver was happy to see Percy. A bit too happy, but then again he'd started hitting the booze way before Percy even arrived.
“Pershey, my man, I am sooooo glad that you came,” Oliver slurred, reaching over and basically falling into Percy's arms. Percy almost collapsed under the weight.
“Yes, well,” he coughed briefly. “I thought I could buy you a congratulatory drink, but it looks like I've been beaten to the punch.”
He glanced around nervously at the several adoring female fans poised to jump Oliver's bones. “Several times.”
Oliver struggled up back onto the barstool and pounded his fist on the counter.
“Nonsenshe!” he roared. “I should be buying you a drink, Pershey.”
“Er,” Percy said, confused.
“For being, for being... a good friend,” Oliver announced, a little unsteadily. “A good friend,” he said again, more confidently. He nodded his head vigorously. “Frozen vodka,” he yelled.
Immediately shot glasses appeared in front of them. Oliver enveloped one in his giant paw, and clinked it with Percy's own raised glass.
“To you,” he said happily. “To the amazing, wonderful you.”
“Er,” Percy said again, but Oliver had already knocked his shot back, so Percy had no choice but to follow suit.
By the end of the night the entire world was spinning pleasantly around Percy, and Oliver seemed to take up more space in his vision than ever. Maybe that was because Percy kept looking at him, but Oliver was the only thing that was fairly steady.
They stumbled out of the Leaky Cauldron well past three, after the gaggle of admirers had finally given up and gone home, muttering dejectedly to themselves. A few hardcore stalkers remained, so Percy gave himself the task of acting as a bodyguard and walking Oliver home, Apparition being too risky at these levels of inebriation.
Oliver began declaring his love for everything and anything about three quarters of the way through, and by the time they finally fumbled their way into his apartment he was spewing teary sonnets about the midnight sky.
“And you,” he hiccuped. “I also love you.”
“Thasssss great,” Percy giggled, collapsing onto the couch and wiggling his toes. He'd lost a shoe somewhere along the way. “I love you tooooo!”
Oliver groaned and let out a belch.
“No, Pershey, you don't geeet it,” he said loudly. “You're the bloody most oblivo- oblivi- oblio- fuck sstupid person in the universe. I. Love. You. Do I need to hit you with it?”
Percy blinked, which made his surroundings flutter. What?
Like a slug inching across a highway road, he realized what was going on.
“Oh,” he said. “Ohhhhhh.”
Oliver cried, “Hallelujah!” and collapsed, snoring, on top of Percy before he could say or think anything, and after a few more minutes of unsuccessfully trying to put things together, Percy decided to pass out too.
He woke up the next morning, head pounding, stomach rolling, ribs crushed by Oliver Wood's tight embrace. His memory of the night before was incredibly fuzzy - mostly he remembered the shape of Oliver's biceps and ass, and a maybe-declaration of love. What?
He sprinted to the bathroom, not quite making the toilet bowl. Oliver staggered in an eternity later, showering the toilet with more stomach contents.
“Shit, I smell like shit,” he groaned. He sniffed Percy - Percy jumped back, only to double over in nausea. “You smell like shit too,” Oliver announced. “Want to take a shower together?”
Percy paused again. He didn't have any objections and a shower sounded quite pleasant, but wasn't that kind of... gay?
In slow motion, everything began to click together. Oliver's continual visits and touches. The bar.
“Oh!” Percy cried. Oliver widened his eyes, alarmed, as Percy grabbed his shoulders gleefully. “I love you too!”
“Hallelujah!” Oliver cried, and kissed him.
He'd never felt this happy before, not even with Penelope. It was like his... proclivities... Another gear clicked into place.
Exuberance overcame him at finally figuring everything out. With a whoop he cried, almost unintelligibly, “And Mrs. Malfoy!”
“What?”
Recipient: mop_cat
Title: Percy Weasley and the Clue by Four
Pairing: Percy/Oliver, Narcissa/Lupin
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1963
Summary: In which Percy is oblivious, Oliver is obvious, and Mrs. Malfoy is facetious.
Author's Notes: Pinch hit. Many thanks to peskywhistpaw for the super quick beta job! I tried to cram a bit too much plot into this, but I hope you enjoy it nevertheless. It was great fun to write.
Midway through filing Narcissa Malfoy's assets, Percy felt a pair of eyes watching him, and froze immediately. Though the war was over, his senses were still as sharp as ever, and besides, the aftermath of wars tended to be uglier than the actual war itself, if what Professor Binns had said in History of Magic was true. (And why shouldn't it be?) Percy still had quite a few enemies out there, his disowned family among them, and it would do well to be prudent.
He stole a glance around. It did him no good, mostly because he was in a cubicle and had walls surrounding him on three sides. Nevertheless, someone was watching him, and if it wasn't from his left or right, it must be from behind.
Percy turned around and gave a startled, undignified squawk.
“Oliver!”
Oliver Wood towered before him, six foot three, two-hundred ten pounds of Quidditch masculinity. (Hey, Percy knew his fantasy Quidditch stats)
“Hi Percy,” Oliver said, grinning.
Percy nearly fell out of his chair. “Oliver,” he gasped out, “Don't do that.”
“Do what?” Oliver asked innocently. He shifted from side to side, toying with the hem of his cotton shirt, then scratching behind his oversized ears. Percy found it extremely distracting. He found fidgeting irritating in general, but Oliver took it to a whole new level.
“Sneak up on me like that,” Percy said archly. He raised an eyebrow to make himself look more disdainful.
“But I do this to you every day,” Oliver said, shrugging.
“Exactly!” Percy yelled, exasperated. “Shouldn't you have learned to stop by now?”
“Shouldn't you have learned to expect it by now?” Oliver shot back. He shuffled forward and leaned over Percy, glancing through his work.
“Hey, hey,” Percy protested. He attempted to push Oliver away, but his malnourished arms were no match for Oliver's stocky frame - it was like a pixie trying to push a giant. “Those are private files. And you're invading my personal space.”
Oliver completely ignored him. Percy eventually gave up, and sulked in a corner while Oliver scanned the files. Shouldn't he be at Quidditch practice? If he kept showing up at Percy's cubical at random hours, he couldn't possibly be going to practice consistently anymore. Which meant his Quidditch skills would not be up to par. Which meant Percy should trade him fairly soon.
Out of the blue Oliver suddenly asked, “So how are you and Penelope going?”
Percy jumped again. What an inane topic.
“We broke up a year ago,” he snapped. “I thought you knew this already. She refused my marriage proposal. Said there were some things I needed to discover about myself first.”
“Ohhhh, yeah I remember now,” Oliver said, entirely unconvincing. He made an apologetic face at Percy, then turned back to the files and flipped a page. “I just... needed a refresher, you know?”
“Right.” Percy scowled.
“So did you discover the things about yourself?” Oliver asked brightly.
Percy gritted his teeth. “No.” Merlin, if Oliver didn't leave soon he was going to... “I've been busy.”
“Right, right,” Oliver muttered. He stood up and grinned, then clapped Percy on the back. “Well, Percy.” He leaned in to give Percy a bear hug, which Percy returned stiffly. Oliver smelled like Abbott-Longbottom Victory cologne. “I hope you find those things out soon. I best be going now, Quidditch practice and all.”
He stood up and winked conspiratorially.
“Oh, and by the way, I think Narcissa Malfoy had a lavish, expensive extramarital affair with Remus Lupin several years ago. That's why the expenses don't add up.”
Percy fell out of his chair.
-----
Percy had meant to confront Mrs. Malfoy about the affair in a righteous, judgmental manner as befitted the situation, but she inexplicably did not seem perturbed by the information he relayed.
“I see,” was all she said, “Please come inside, Mr. Weasley. Would you like some tea?”
“Er,” he said, quite surprised. “I usually drink coffee, Mrs. Malfoy, but I suppose some tea would be nice.”
“Oh, of course, I have coffee too,” Mrs. Malfoy said sweetly. “Imported straight from the forests of Colombia, soaked with the blood of faerie slaves for longevity. I'll have our house elves make some for you straight away.”
Percy felt his stomach go queasy as he settled on the couch. He'd heard of coffee distributors that infused their coffee beans with Dark Magic, but he'd hoped to never come across such a thing...
Mrs. Malfoy interrupted his thoughts.
“Of course, I was only joking about the blood in the coffee, Mr. Weasley,” she said off-handedly. He had no doubt she caught his quick exhale of relief though, for she smirked briefly. “I have to insist you not work yourself so hard though, dear. The coffee can very quickly become an addiction.”
Without giving him a chance to respond, she continued.
“Now, to the relevant matters at hand. If you agree not to disclose this information to my husband, then I will ensure that no one in the Ministry will know about your... proclivities.”
Percy frowned in confusion and tried to work out what she meant. A house-elf appeared with a soft crack and served Percy his coffee, which was excellent timing. His head was starting to hurt from having to navigate all these veiled words. Blast all these obscure purebloods!
“Forgive me, Mrs. Malfoy, but I'm not sure what you mean by proclivities,” he said politely. He gripped his cup handle tighter to quell the throbbing in his head.
Mrs. Malfoy raised an eyebrow delicately. She sipped on her tea just as delicately, then abruptly changed the topic.
“Tell me, my dear Mr. Weasley, how are you and Ms. Clearwater getting along? It's so refreshing to see two young ambitious purebloods like you two working to restore the pureblood reputation in the Ministry.”
Percy just barely managed to save the Persian rug from a coffee stain. He said stiffly, “Penelope and I split a year ago.” He frowned again. “You know, Oliver Wood asked me the same thing a few days ago. I don't know why this has suddenly become interesting.”
Mrs. Malfoy burst out with a sound that would have been described as a chortle with anyone less dignified.
“Oh? I couldn't possibly imagine why,” she said loftily.
She stood up.
“I'm so glad we were able to reach such amicable conclusions, Mr. Weasley. If you'll excuse me, I have some business to attend to, but I look forward to hearing from you about our... updated statements soon.”
Percy was in such a state of confusion that he didn't protest, allowing himself to be ushered out. It wasn't until the door had shut and the dragon-shaped knocker was insulting him that he had the state of mind to realize he'd been looped along. Mrs. Malfoy had essentially told him the expenses were going to be slashed off, although she hadn't really given him a reason that it would benefit him, besides his apparent proclivities.
He sighed and shook his head. No use worrying about that now; he'd effectively been kicked out, and the dragon knocker was getting increasingly belligerent, so Percy walked away from the manor until he'd left the wards and was able to Apparate to the Leaky Cauldron. Oliver was bound to be there, buying rounds and being bought rounds - Puddlemere United had won their game. Admittedly it was by a narrow margin, 290-280, but that just made the victory all the sweeter, and it was just enough to edge Percy to first place in the fantasy Quidditch league. So yes, Percy was going to buy himself and Oliver a drink. Why not?
-----
Oliver was happy to see Percy. A bit too happy, but then again he'd started hitting the booze way before Percy even arrived.
“Pershey, my man, I am sooooo glad that you came,” Oliver slurred, reaching over and basically falling into Percy's arms. Percy almost collapsed under the weight.
“Yes, well,” he coughed briefly. “I thought I could buy you a congratulatory drink, but it looks like I've been beaten to the punch.”
He glanced around nervously at the several adoring female fans poised to jump Oliver's bones. “Several times.”
Oliver struggled up back onto the barstool and pounded his fist on the counter.
“Nonsenshe!” he roared. “I should be buying you a drink, Pershey.”
“Er,” Percy said, confused.
“For being, for being... a good friend,” Oliver announced, a little unsteadily. “A good friend,” he said again, more confidently. He nodded his head vigorously. “Frozen vodka,” he yelled.
Immediately shot glasses appeared in front of them. Oliver enveloped one in his giant paw, and clinked it with Percy's own raised glass.
“To you,” he said happily. “To the amazing, wonderful you.”
“Er,” Percy said again, but Oliver had already knocked his shot back, so Percy had no choice but to follow suit.
By the end of the night the entire world was spinning pleasantly around Percy, and Oliver seemed to take up more space in his vision than ever. Maybe that was because Percy kept looking at him, but Oliver was the only thing that was fairly steady.
They stumbled out of the Leaky Cauldron well past three, after the gaggle of admirers had finally given up and gone home, muttering dejectedly to themselves. A few hardcore stalkers remained, so Percy gave himself the task of acting as a bodyguard and walking Oliver home, Apparition being too risky at these levels of inebriation.
Oliver began declaring his love for everything and anything about three quarters of the way through, and by the time they finally fumbled their way into his apartment he was spewing teary sonnets about the midnight sky.
“And you,” he hiccuped. “I also love you.”
“Thasssss great,” Percy giggled, collapsing onto the couch and wiggling his toes. He'd lost a shoe somewhere along the way. “I love you tooooo!”
Oliver groaned and let out a belch.
“No, Pershey, you don't geeet it,” he said loudly. “You're the bloody most oblivo- oblivi- oblio- fuck sstupid person in the universe. I. Love. You. Do I need to hit you with it?”
Percy blinked, which made his surroundings flutter. What?
Like a slug inching across a highway road, he realized what was going on.
“Oh,” he said. “Ohhhhhh.”
Oliver cried, “Hallelujah!” and collapsed, snoring, on top of Percy before he could say or think anything, and after a few more minutes of unsuccessfully trying to put things together, Percy decided to pass out too.
He woke up the next morning, head pounding, stomach rolling, ribs crushed by Oliver Wood's tight embrace. His memory of the night before was incredibly fuzzy - mostly he remembered the shape of Oliver's biceps and ass, and a maybe-declaration of love. What?
He sprinted to the bathroom, not quite making the toilet bowl. Oliver staggered in an eternity later, showering the toilet with more stomach contents.
“Shit, I smell like shit,” he groaned. He sniffed Percy - Percy jumped back, only to double over in nausea. “You smell like shit too,” Oliver announced. “Want to take a shower together?”
Percy paused again. He didn't have any objections and a shower sounded quite pleasant, but wasn't that kind of... gay?
In slow motion, everything began to click together. Oliver's continual visits and touches. The bar.
“Oh!” Percy cried. Oliver widened his eyes, alarmed, as Percy grabbed his shoulders gleefully. “I love you too!”
“Hallelujah!” Oliver cried, and kissed him.
He'd never felt this happy before, not even with Penelope. It was like his... proclivities... Another gear clicked into place.
Exuberance overcame him at finally figuring everything out. With a whoop he cried, almost unintelligibly, “And Mrs. Malfoy!”
“What?”