Title: Flying Free of the Nets

Author: Iphigenia

Email: SharLee224@aol.com

Pairing: Oliver/Percy

Spoilers: the first four books

Rating: R for explicit violence

Sequel Info: Part of an unfinished series, entitled, "A Portrait of the Wizard as a Young Man."

Summary: Spies Oliver and Percy begin to discover the truth on a flight to Rome.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Note: Follows directly after "Roman Holiday." To summarize, the "Portrait of the Wizard as a Young Man" series goes "Waking From the Dream," "La Sourire," "Roman Holiday," and "Flying Free of the Nets." I'm sorry about the long delay since my last chapter, but studies come first (well, and Star Wars!). Not in the same universe as "Blame It on the Dance." Thanks to my invaluable beta, Elske.

For those readers unfamiliar with my series or have forgotten what happened in "Roman Holiday," Percy has just left his life in Britain to be with his old flame Oliver, who has been working as a Death Eater spy for Harry Potter. Got that? If you're still scratching your head, try reading "Roman Holiday" first.

The swirl of bright gaudy colors pulsed around Percy's line of vision, the Portkey pulling him crazily through the pulsing blurriness and confusion of space. The dueling colors of red and gold flashed once more and then disappeared quickly, as he landed with a rough jerk. He stumbled forward into the hard plastic door of what appeared to be a bathroom stall, his bag dropping forgotten onto the tiled floor. Romantic notions forgotten, he straightened himself, bracing perhaps a bit unsteadily against the cold, unforgiving prefabricated partitions. This was it. He was really doing it. Trembling, his right hand touched the cool metal of the watch; the means through which he had arrived and could never go back. Despite the physical, tangible proof, he still could not believe he had actually had the guts to go through with it.

"Hey!" a brash American voice called, cutting crisply through the general din. "Are you all right in there?"

"Yes, thank you," Percy answered, a bit unnerved by having a conversation of this level of familiarity in an airport restroom stall- with an American, of all people. "I just slipped, that's all." Mentally, he berated his thoughts for wandering. He was not out yet. He had to focus now. Second-guessing his admittedly impulsive decision could come later.

"Sure," the voice said mockingly. "Are you sure you're alone in there?" The voice laughed heartily, rather pleased with his joke. Percy blushed at the slight innuendo and remained silent, praying madly for the irritating tourist to leave. Finally, the sound of the man's laughter died out as the man left the restroom and Percy was left in the anonymity of the empty bathroom.

Looking behind him, Percy found that his large black bag seemed to have had a smoother trip than he had- it had settled unobtrusively on the tiled floor behind him. Searching rapidly through the side pockets, the slim, red-haired young wizard soon found what he was looking for- his identity information. The muggle passport Harry had provided him with identified him, somewhat teasingly, as Paul Weatherby, whereas Oliver's passport cast him just as cleverly as Stephen Daedalus. Percy cringed slightly, not sharing Oliver's taste for literary aliases- he much preferred the more unobtrusive and unnoticeable identity Harry had provided him with. Surely a muggle would pick up on the unusual Joyce alias printed on his ticket. Still, he had no choice but to use the Daedalus papers, since his ticket was in Stephen's name. He quickly and efficiently secreted his Weatherby papers in a hidden pocket in his bag and turned to his Daedalus papers, carefully memorizing his identity. For the duration of his flight, which left in about two hours, he would be Stephen Daedalus, a young Irish muggle writer idealistically seeking truth, beauty, freedom, and love. Or some bullshit like that.

In this mindset, Stephen Daedalus walked calmly out of the stall, rolling a large black suitcase neatly behind him. After pausing briefly to splash his dry face with water, he proceeded to a nearby bench, thinking rapidly over his obstacles. First, there was the problem of his luggage, which was unfortunately too large to be carried on as he normally preferred to do. If he checked his bag, it would seem suspicious not to have a carry-on as well. Opening the lower side pocket of his bag, Stephen found that it zipped off to become a handsome leather laptop case. Indeed, further inspection revealed a sleek black laptop with accessories. Smiling slightly, he placed his identity documents and his wand in the case, then wheeled off to the check-in counter.

Standing in the long tourist-class line- business, of course, was more comfortable but more conspicuous as well- Stephen was seized with an irrational wave of anxiety. Had he forgotten anything that would make him stand out? He realized with a jolt that he had shed his Ministry robes almost unconsciously back at the Burrow, revealing his standard 'uniform' of khaki slacks and a rumpled white Oxford shirt. This was, luckily, almost appropriate attire for the late flight he was taking. He realized now the logic behind Harry's seemingly illogical insistence that he wear muggle business attire under his robes everyday. Most of his co-workers, he knew, rarely even bothered with such formality- instead, they opted for more informal attire, if they even bothered at all. Satisfied with his appearance, Stephen then turned his attention to his fellow travelers, his sharp blue eyes quickly evaluating each as potential threats.

A flash of red hair passed by, causing him to turn, but it was only a muggle. With a tinge a regret, the young wizard thought about the family he would not see again. Harry would have told the Weasleys by now, solemnly telling them of Percy's death after having carefully sanitized Percy's room. He would be declared dead- of that, Percy was certain. A missing person would require the Ministry to allocate resources, and Harry would not waste such resources on a man who was already far from the reach of the Ministry. So he was dead in the eyes of British wizarding law. His meager Gringott's savings would disappear into a numbered but untraceable Swiss account.

With a clarity he hadn't known he could imagine, he knew without a doubt his family's reactions. His father would be sad, of course, but Percy didn't for a second entertain the notion that he would be as missed as Bill was, the time that Bill disappeared for a year. Wizards still kept with the tradition of primogeniture; therefore Bill as the eldest son was prized above all else. While his father was pleased that Percy had chosen to follow him into the Ministry, there was a lingering resentment over the fact that Percy had managed to outdo his father. He had risen rapidly, against all odds - and considerable opposition from Lord Malfoy – to become the youngest Deputy Director of intelligence in sixty years. Yet his father's career languished, forgotten in the Department of Muggle Artifacts- itself an absurdly useless department that seemed to exist only to educate those isolationist wizards too stubborn to learn for themselves. Percy, too, knew that despite his youth, he had learned more in his few years under Harry's training about muggle society than his father had ever even understood. Although he had tried to conceal this knowledge, it slipped out occasionally, in simple everyday things. A muggle phrase there, a too easy repair of the car his father had brought home (a simple oil change), and he was effectively alienated from his father. Their conversations together had consisted of uneasy silences punctuated by forced pleasantries and mindless small talk. There would be no love lost between them.

For his mother, Percy's death would be overshadowed by the specter of Ginny's defection. Molly Weasley had been devastated by her only daughter's betrayal, and had never really been the same caring mother he once knew. While she continued to cook and clean and fuss as before, one got the feeling that she was just playing a role, going tiredly through the motions. She continued to obsess over Ginny's defection, blaming herself for failing to notice the warning signs. It was quite possible that she would, in her state of mind, blame his death on Ginny, but other than that, Percy was sure that she would be only temporarily saddened.

It would be a cold day in hell before Bill would even notice his absence at family gatherings, having himself cut off almost all contact with his family. The only reason he was even going to the traditional feast was because he worked with Hermione (she was his Ministry liaison and possibly his part-time lover as well), and thus was forced to keep in some sort of contact with the family. He and Bill had never had the closest of relationships, and Bill, at best, would mourn Percy as a loss of extra income for the family- Bill's job as a Gringott's archaeologist/ treasure hunter never earned very much, and Bill would most likely have to take some boring translation jobs to make up for Percy's lost contribution.

Of all his family, Charlie would miss him the most. He, like Percy, was disillusioned with the war, although Charlie coped by pretending that it didn't exist (after having dodged the draft), while Percy threw himself into the Order, which was not exactly under the jurisdiction of the Ministry. Charlie had also become Sirius' lover when Remus Lupin, the werewolf, died of lycanthropy. Sirius loved Charlie dearly, but there was no love lost between Percy and Sirius- Sirius was convinced that Percy was a Death Eater, his perspective perhaps a bit influenced by Peter Pettigrew's betrayal still over twenty years later. While Charlie might care enough to actually ask about a body- and, knowing Harry, one might actually be produced- Sirius' antagonism towards Percy ensured that Charlie would never really follow through in his investigation.

Fred and George still naively saw him as the pompous, arrogant git whom he had portrayed for so long- and Percy had been quite fine with continuing the illusion. They resented having to rely on the family- and Percy in particular- for money, and would, like Bill, see his death merely as an inconvenience, an annoyance at best. They would have to look somewhere else for cash, still brokenly trying, all these years to start up a joke shop when, quite frankly, there was no market for them during wartime. Percy had continually advised the twins to go into producing espionage gadgets for the war, but the twins had not, nor could not follow his advice, refusing to concede defeat.

It didn't matter to Percy what Ron thought- Ron had murdered Penelope, and Percy wasn't about to forget that. His baby brother, the master strategist who still had yet to lose at chess, had turned into a harsh, cruel enforcer of the Ministry's will. Although Percy's position had required him to work with the Aurors on many cases, Deputy Director Percy Weasley had maintained a professional if not a bit distant relationship with Major Ron Weasley. Luckily, since Percy outranked Ron, there was little Ron could do about it, and no one had ever questioned this quirk. It didn't matter to Percy that Ron didn't know that he knew. Ron had always loathed him anyway.

"Next, please." The calm, patient tone of the tired middle-aged airline employee put an abrupt end to his reverie. Blinking rapidly Percy…no, Stephen, quickly pulled his luggage to the counter. Mechanically, he answered the security questions, adopting a slight, lilting Dublin accent. He moved as if in a dream, stumbling from line to line, somehow unaware of the hustle and bustle around him. A part of him knew that it was foolish to intentionally remain ignorant of his surroundings, something that went against all his training and logic.

Nevertheless, he soon found himself seated in a cramped vomit-smelling airplane seat, feeling faintly nauseated by the stale pressurized air. Seeking to distract himself from what promised to be an extremely long trip to Rome, he unpacked his laptop as soon as the seat belt light went off and carefully maneuvered the device onto the tiny pull-down tray in front of him. He booted it up, quietly taking note of his fellow passengers. Without prompting, his computer then seemed to have connected with the Internet, and a chat box opened onscreen.

Knock, knock. The letters appeared in the chat box in a sparkling green, confirming, Percy knew, their magical origins- only the truth would appear in that captivating glowing shade of green, the exact same shade as Harry's vibrant emerald green eyes- and only to the intended reader of the words.

Awkwardly, Percy managed to peck a message into the keyboard, pressing each key slowly as he found it. Who are you?

The previous letters vanished and were replaced near-instantly with a new message. Turn around and see for yourself.

Incredulously, Percy typed out a response, this time faster. Now?

Yes. Six rows behind you, on the opposite side of the plane. Do it slowly. Nodding, Percy casually stood up and pretended to get something out of his back pocket. He froze. It was Oliver, his beautiful brown eyes watching Percy intently.

With a start, Percy sat down awkwardly, his joints stiff and unresponsive, returning his attention to the glowing notebook. Olly? Why was he so surprised to see him? He had known that he was going to see him. And yet, seeing him made Percy's heart race wildly, all cares forgotten. Smiling, he savored his brief glimpse of the delectable Oliver Wood. Yes, it had been worth it, if only for that sight.

Oliver's reply, however, rapidly returned Percy to reality. It's Cranly, Edward Cranly for the duration of this flight. We're being watched. Nodding to himself, Percy resisted the instinctual urge to look around.

He was typing faster now. By whom?

There was a pause, and then the words slowly appeared onscreen. Justin Finch-Fletchey.

Percy paused, his mind working fast to place the name. Justin had been a muggle-born Hufflepuff at Hogwarts in Harry's year. Is he a member of the inner Order?

The truth is, I really don't know. Inner Order membership isn't just written down on a piece of parchment for all to see, you know. You didn't even know I was Order until Harry told you a few minutes ago, probably. As far as I know, he's been attending the university since graduation from Hogwarts, with occasional courier work for an antique dealer in London. Percy suppressed a snort as he noted that Oliver knew a lot more about Justin than Justin's own classmates probably did.

That's a cover, Percy pronounced decisively, relying once more on his intuition. His Divinations professor had once said that he had the Sight. Was she correct? Percy would never know now, as Trelawney had been assassinated years ago. It's no coincidence that he's on this flight. How many wizards use muggle air transportation? He's a spook, I'm positive. The question is, for whom does he work?

Oliver's analysis matched Percy's. Most likely our mutual boss. Since his return to the wizarding world, Harry has managed to build up a more extensive spy network than the Ministry.

Harry's return. Percy abruptly stopped typing and closed his notebook as supper was rapidly served, his mind thinking back to Harry's sudden disappearance after his graduation. It had been as if he had vanished off of the face of the earth. Everyone had seen his muggle uncle drive off with him at the end of the year, but the trail had ended there. The muggle's memory had been wiped, and there was no way- muggle or magical- to find the Boy Who Lived. Even Dumbledore didn't seem to know where he had gone.

Voldemort had chosen that time to declare full-scale guerilla war, and a full third of the wizarding community had risen up in rebellion, prompting Minister Fudge to declare martial law and reinstate the draft. Despite this, life had gone on. Percy had been commissioned as a Colonel and been assigned to the Department of Magical Intelligence after completing Basic.

Then, on the anniversary of Harry's disappearance, the second big blow had struck. Percy had originally planned to marry Penelope in a small ceremony at Hogwarts, attended by only the Hogwarts staff and his closest friends and family. However, the Clearwaters, being muggle, would not even have been allowed to travel to Hogsmeade due to the wartime restriction. Because of this, Percy had unwittingly exposed Dumbledore to an assassin.

One minute he had been sitting at his reception on the roof of a fancy muggle hotel, listening to Dumbledore's toast, and the next thing he knew, Dumbledore's head abruptly ruptured, blowing brains and bone out the back of his head in a spray of crimson and gray gore. Slivers of the old wizard's skull and brains rained on Percy. Someone pushed him roughly into a scoop of mashed potatoes, then dragged him under the table as Dumbledore's body, its face now a mask with nothing behind it, fell heavily to the ground beside Percy.

Screams and oaths filled the rooftop. A dozen wands and one handgun abruptly appeared in the hands of the wedding guests as spectators ran for cover. Sputtering angrily in confusion and shock, Percy had looked at his attacker about to demand an explanation- only to notice a pale sandy-haired young man in a tux, staring defiantly back at him with Harry's deep green eyes. "There's a sniper in a nearby building," the enigmatic man had said neutrally, his eyes changing into sky blue. His face was as cold as a carving, his eyes shadowed and remote. His impassiveness, his refusal to register the slightest emotion, gave the stranger an aura of uncontrolled violence. "Stay here." And the man was gone.

The Aurors scanned the crowd, then the nearby buildings, looking for the sniper. They had heard nothing, no shot. And now they saw nothing. Both the sniper and the stranger had vanished without a trace.

That is, the stranger disappeared until the next new moon, when the members of the Order of the Phoenix had gathered at Hogwarts. The mysterious stranger had reappeared with a limp body in his arms, walking so quietly that the Order members only took note of this newcomer when the bound body landed with a soft thump onto the plush Persian rug. There had been a collective gasp as the members slowly recognized the stunning Asian girl as Cho Chang, a former Ravenclaw student. "Who are you, and what have you done to Miss Chang?" Professor McGonagall had asked, taking control of the situation.

"Miss Chang is the talented Death Eater sniper who assassinated Headmaster Dumbledore at Weasley's wedding from a distance of a thousand meters. I had quite a job tracking her, and even more of a job finding you blokes," the stranger said, his blond bangs sticking out haphazardly from his hooded black cloak. "As for Miss Chang, she is currently under heavy sedation and unlikely to wake soon. I thought you might like to question her." The fact that he had, in fact, succeeded in tracking down the Order was left unsaid.

"And who might you be?" asked Arthur, eyeing the stranger cautiously. The stranger couldn't be that much of a stranger, as only members of the Order could find and enter this most ancient and holy of rooms.

In a daze, Percy found himself speaking decisively from his position at the other side of the room, feeling a bit like Trelawney receiving a true vision. He recognized, somehow, that familiar sparkle in the stranger's shadowed blue eyes. "Don't you recognize him? He is Harry Potter." A collective gasp was heard once again, but Percy held his ground, staring unflinchingly at the Order.

The stranger's sparkling blue eyes flashed a brilliant green, clearly recognizable as Harry's eyes. "You surprise me, Percy. You are more perceptive than people often mistake you for."

Whatever else Harry had been about to say was interrupted when Ron abruptly threw himself at Harry. "You lousy git! You have a lot of nerve, don't you? How dare you go about, claiming my best friend's name?" Percy's little brother stopped suddenly, effectively silenced and frozen midair as Harry raised his hand and pointed his palm at Ron.

Hermione screamed. "What did you do to him?" Percy had to admit it was a bit unnerving. When Harry had graduated from Hogwarts, he had only been able to do simple wandless magic. Now, it seemed, his powers had greatly increased.

Harry looked at his other best friend, his pale features gradually darkening to his real appearance. "I just froze him, Mione. He's fine."

She let out a small gasp as she saw Harry's real features. "Harry? Is it really you?" She moved forward hesitantly towards him.

Suddenly, the clock struck midnight, and all heads had abruptly turned to the open window, waiting for the arrival of Fawkes, Dumbledore's Phoenix. This appearance was especially important because tonight, Fawkes would be choosing Dumbledore's successor as Key. Not surprisingly, the Phoenix flew straight to Harry's shoulder. Immediately, the Order members had dropped to their knees, bowing their heads respectfully to their new leader. If there had been any doubt left in anyone's minds, Fawkes' selection had proved without question that the stranger was Harry.

Harry soon proved that he was not unfamiliar with leadership, or the current operations of the Order. "Rise," he commanded, taking a place at the round stone table in the room as Ron dropped gracelessly behind him. "This meeting of the Order of the Phoenix is now convened. Last night, we made a mistake in operational security, and that mistake cost many people, wizards and muggles, their lives. This time, we shall not fail."

Percy gripped his fork tightly, then looked down and noticed that his food was gone. He had eaten the tasteless food entirely without conscious thought. No, he thought, putting the fork down, Harry had ensured that they would not fail. Upon Harry's return, Percy had gone through an intensive training at Hereford, headquarters of the British Army's 22nd Special Air Service Regiment. The SAS, of course, was the muggle world's foremost special operations agency. How, Percy wondered, was Harry able to get them trained there? It had been before Percy had been properly trained up as an agent, so uncovering his identity would have been easy. So, someone within the SAS knew exactly who they were training, and still provided it. What was in it for them? He was not so naïve as to believe that the British military was simply being generous. Like any government organization, they selfishly kept their secrets close – at times, not even cooperating with their fellow agencies. There had been some hidden string attached, then. Harry must have made an agreement. Percy's mind flashed back to his training. He had had to sign a bunch of waivers. Recalling them to his mind one by one, he carefully examined the bureaucratese for the catch.

He snapped his eyes open as the flight attendant cleared his empty tray. He had signed a contract. Harry had made an agreement with the SAS. Training for service, a clear-cut trade. The SAS had allowed Harry the agent training he needed to put his plan into play, then, Harry would return those same agents to work for the SAS. Thus, he deduced, Justin was their SAS contact. That made sense. Justin had been a Hufflepuff, which meant he was loyal. Ordinarily, that would mean Justin was loyal to the Ministry. However, being muggle-born, Justin's ultimate loyalty was to his country and his queen. "Fuck," muttered Percy, quite uncharacteristically. "Looks like I won't be getting that much of a holiday after all." Frowning slightly, he turned his laptop back on and explained to Oliver his deductions.

Nice deductions. His love replied as they fell back into the rapid give-and-take analysis that had often characterized their conversations at Hogwarts. But there's a rather gaping hole in your theory. How was Harry recruited into SAS? Is this whole operation SAS? Who is pulling the strings here? Harry? The SAS? And why on earth would Harry pull us out of our covers?

Percy chewed his lip thoughtfully. I think the problem is that everyone who's ever investigated Harry's disappearance has focused on the wrong day. We all think he vanished the day after graduation. Well, what if that wasn't the first time he vanished?

There was a pause, then Oliver replied uncertainly. What do you mean? I'm not tracking you.

Think about how Harry spent his summers away from Hogwarts. After the Triwizard Tournament, he went completely incommunicado from the wizarding world. Not even his Hogwarts owl could find him to give him his prefect badge. And yet he showed up at King's Cross as if nothing had happened. What if that was when he was recruited? I remember Ron telling me about the DADA professor- he was the only one to last more than a year. Professor Pierson lasted three years, to be exact. Just long enough to be there to train Harry. He could have continued Harry's training at Hogwarts, all under Dumbledore's nose. Percy frowned, his brow furrowing in concentration. Who was Adam Pierson, exactly? No one had ever managed to find out anything substantial about him, and he had left unnoticed after his three years were up. Curious, the redhead began to run a muggle search for the former professor on his laptop.

Meanwhile, Oliver had focused his speculation on a different person. You don't think Dumbledore was involved in all this, then?

No. He would have wanted Harry trained up within the Order. That's how I received my training. No, I'm very certain that Dumbledore did not know about this bit of Harry's extracurricular activities. Harry, if I remember correctly, also began his Order training at that time along with Ron and Hermione. Percy tapped his foot impatiently, silently willing the search to go faster.

That's impossible. I remember your Order training took place at night. He would have had no time.

Percy's interested was perked by this comment. Wait, time. That's the key word. He must have used a time turner. It isn't like he needs much sleep at night. But Ron or Hermione would have noticed- do you think they were involved in this SAS business?

Possibly. Hermione's definitely smart enough. We'll know soon enough, anyway. Harry must have pulled us out of the country to put his plan into effect. Merlin knows he's been setting it up long enough. Do you know what it is?

The search yielded results. No idea. However, you may be interested in what I found. Adam Pierson is currently working in the muggle world.

What? I thought he was a pureblood.

He still might be, but he seems to know more than enough about the muggle world. He's a professor of history at the University of Seacouver.

Where in the world is that? Sounds like some awful North American edge city.

Yes, that's exactly what it is. It's a medium-sized city in the state of Washington. The question is, what would an SAS instructor be doing teaching history of all things?

I don't know. There was an awkward pause as Oliver seemed to be thinking.

The captain's voice came over the PA system, announcing their arrival in Rome. More words appeared on Percy's screen. I think Justin's appearance throws my whole plan out of the window, so to speak. Shall we simply confront him after we get off of the plane?

Agreed. Percy sighed, turned his laptop off, and packed it away, lost in his thoughts. No matter how hard he tried, he could never leave it behind. While he felt a tinge of resentment towards Harry for tricking him, he realized that he shouldn't have been that naïve. What had he been thinking? Did he ever truly believe that he could simply get on a plane and walk away from it all? There were always strings attached, always another twist in the story. In this case, that meant he was still trapped in this never-ending tournament of shadows. He could never escape. He could never fly free of these nets. The truth of the matter was, he was still a slave.