Author's Note – This fic is based on a challenge issued on the POWSN list () by Eternity. It was, quite simply, called the Homophobic Wizarding World Challenge. What would happen if the Wizarding World wasn't as accepting of gay wizards as us slash writers like to think? (yes, that's right. This story is Slash. If you don't like that, then tough. Press the back key and find something else.) Flames will not be tolerated unless you leave a valid email address. I might want to ask you some questions as to why you hate my writing. Anyway, enjoy.

OUTSIDERS, PART ONE

To all watchful eyes, Percy Weasley was engrossed in the Ottery St Catchpole Amateur Wizarding Theatre Group's production of "Some Wizard's Do Have Them".  He was laughing in all the right places, blushing whenever his father appeared on stage in a paisley waistcoat and long drooping moustache (which twirled independently whenever Arthur wasn't speaking). But in reality, Percy wasn't watching the play at all.

His fingers were slowly lacing in and out of Oliver's, his thumb grazing the other boy's palm, his leg touching Oliver's. He couldn't help but smile as the pressure was gently returned, the other boy's breath warm on his neck.

"Later…" Oliver murmured, enjoying Percy's increasingly laboured breathing as his hand crawled up the other boy's thigh, "when we're back at the Burrow…"

"What…?"

"I'll make you the happiest man on earth."

"Is that a promise?"

"Oh yes."

*

"Well boys, did you enjoy it?" Arthur appeared from backstage, his face red and glowing from the pressure he'd applied when scrubbing off his greasepaint.

"And girls…" Ginny piped up, pouting.

Arthur grinned, ruffling his daughter's hair. "And girls. Sorry love."

"I thought you were very good," Mrs Weasley licked her finger and attempted to rub off the splashes of greasepaint that Arthur had dribbled all over his shirt, "Very funny."

"We didn't see much of it," George explained proudly, grabbing hold of Angelina's hand.

"Us neither…" Fred waggled his eyebrows across at his girlfriend, who smacked him lightly across the chest.

"You're not supposed to say that," she muttered, "You're supposed to pretend we paid full attention all the way through…"

"And expect people to believe that we didn't take advantage of an hour and a half under the cover of darkness? Like anyone would believe that!"

"I'd try to believe it," Molly shook her head. "You boys. Always up to something..."

"I saw it all the way through," Hermione nodded, "It was very good, especially the way you interspersed the first and third person in the second act…"

Ron folded his arms. Fred and George shook their heads, clicking sadly. "No action for ickle Ronnikins then? All together then… awwww."

Ron ground his teeth, "I think… I'm going… to have… to kill you."

"Not in public dear."

"It'll keep." Ron narrowed his eyes and slipped his hand into Hermione's. She patted it absentmindedly as she scanned the room, taking in the photographs of past productions that littered the walls.

"How about you, Harry?" Arthur rested his eyes on the quietest member of their group. "Did you enjoy yourself?"

"It was good… no, it was great. Absolutely brilliant." Blushing furiously, he nodded his head towards the door, "I'm just going to nip to the toilet."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, and glanced towards Ginny, who suddenly became very interested in the Roll of witches and wizards who had donated money to the village hall over the years. Spotting her blushes, she smiled. "Where's Percy?" she asked, changing the subject. "Considering he'll have been the only other person who managed to get through the whole play without becoming distracted."

"I'm here." Percy was leaning against a pillar, watching Oliver with a lazy eye. The boy was engrossed in the photographic history of the local Quidditch team, who played from the field behind the hall.

"Unless he's suddenly decided that Oliver is the MAN for him," Fred muttered, stifling a grin.

"God, can you imagine it?" George shook his head. "Percy and Oliver?"

"Oliver with a limp wrist?" Ron grinned, "That'd be good on a broomstick."

"Hang on," Percy attempted to recollect himself, "Not all gay people are as camp as a row of tents, you know."

"No;" Angelina smirked, "Some manage to be as camp as a whole bloody campsite."

"What's all this about me and a limp wrist?" Oliver had finished staring at Quidditch players through the ages and thought it about time he rejoined the Weasley clan. He slipped his arm through Percy's, squeezing slightly as he did so. "Are you saying you don't think me and Percy would make a good gay couple?" He popped his hand on his hip, "Percy could do all the housework, and I could be the butch one."

"Yeah, right." Ron was leaning against the wall to control his laughter. "I can just imagine Percy…"

"…in a pink frilly apron…" George joined in, snorting.

"…calling Oliver in for his tea!" Ginny smiled. "I can see it now."

"That's enough ridicule of the boys," Molly shook her head, laughing at the idea of Percy in a pink frilly apron, "Come on, we're going to miss last orders at the Pig and Kettle." Amongst much pushing, shoving, catcalling and general disharmony, the Weasley family attempted to remove themselves in the direction of the after show party.

"It would be 'Percy and I'" Percy corrected quietly, disentangling himself from Oliver, letting the others move on ahead.

"What?" Oliver looked back at his best friend, and shook his head. "What are you going on about?"

Percy sighed, "It would be 'you don't think Percy and I would make a good gay couple.' Not 'me and Percy'."

"I'm sorry Perce… but what was I supposed to do? You were looking like someone had just shot your bunny rabbit…"

"Don't joke."

"Ok, I'm sorry. You were looking like they were upsetting you. Do you really want them to come sniffing around us? For them to think there really was something going on between us?"

"There is something going on between us." Percy muttered obstinately.

"Yeah, and do you want them to find out? It would only be worse than that. I don't think I could cope with the constant hassle. And you? You were upset when they popped you in a pink frilly apron. And that was only in their imaginations. Imagine the reality."

Percy wrinkled his nose. Maybe Oliver was right. He shrugged, conceding the point for now. "Why can't I be the butch one, then?" Percy pouted.

"Because, sweetheart, you couldn't be butch if you tried."

"I could!" he stamped his foot.

Oliver raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah?"

"OK." Percy smiled, "You can be the butch one. But what does that make me? Because I'm not wearing the pink apron. I'm adamant about that!"

"You can be whatever you want to be, poppet, as long as we can continue this later. I am in desperate need of a pint."

"In the bedroom?" Percy asked hopefully.

Oliver sighed. This boy was insatiable. "In the bedroom. As soon as I've had my pint."