Author's Note: I only ever seem to be able to write when I should be doing something else instead. I am now rapidly approaching the (already extended) deadline for my final history essay of the semester, and still I mess around in the vague hope that the essay will somehow write itself when I'm not looking. Somehow I think my wishes will not be granted…
As always, feedback is appreciated, flames are tolerated if justified and with a valid email address.
Disclaimer: These characters are the property of someone else- J.K. Rowling and her publishers, the film company. No copyright infringement is intended by this story.
Part Four
They agreed to meet in the pub after they'd both finished work. Percy was late for once, hurrying in the door fifteen minutes after he should have done, still in his dark ministry robes. Oliver, who had rushed through his shower at the end of training to get there on time, looked red and scrubbed. The weather on the pitch had been harsh, the wind whipping past him as he'd had to repeat the same move over and over until the coach had finally expressed some modicum of satisfaction. He felt bruised, battered, and somewhat bewildered by Percy's unaccustomed tardiness.
Percy, meanwhile, looked exhausted and for once didn't say anything as he sank onto the cushion next to Oliver.
"Bad day, sweetheart?" Oliver smiled, pushing a pint of butter beer across the table.
"Bloody awful." He took a gulp of the beer, shooting a sidelong glance at Oliver, "I missed you."
Unable to help himself, Oliver did a quick sweeping glance over the bar. "I missed you too," he muttered, reaching for his pint.
"There isn't anyone around, Ol." Percy shook his head, "No-one will hear you expressing any emotion, heaven forbid."
"I was just checking…" A blush snaked its way up Oliver's face, and he suddenly became very interested in the head on his beer.
"Checking for what?" Percy narrowed his eyes, and took a slow glance around the pub, "Shady Daily Prophet reporters desperate to raise their profile by outing us? It's hardly front page news, Oliver."
"You'd be surprised."
Percy raised his eyebrows. "Front Page news? Us? Ministry Worker and Reserve Keeper for 2nd Division Puddlemere United?"
Oliver shrugged, "Thanks Perce. Anytime you want to insult me further, I'll be right here." He stood up, feeling in his pockets for his money. "I'm going to the bar."
Percy closed his eyes, and let out a deep breath. Bugger. He could feel a headache coming on; his temple ached. It had been a very long day; two Croatian wizards had spent much of the day complaining to him –in Croatian- about the degree – or lack of- attention they had received at the recent International Education Convention in Whitby. The department's language specialist had scarpered at the prospect of spending four hours trying to calm down two irate elderly wizards, leaving Percy to muddle along with his tourist Croatian, most of which consisted of 'Where is the nearest toilet please' and 'What time is the next train to Slovakia'. Neither of which had been much use in preventing international discomfort between two nations with a difficult history. The situation had finally been resolved when an understanding had been reached regarding a mutual dislike of the deputation of Wizards from France. Percy and the now-calm wizards were meeting up the following week for a Ploughman's in Derby, before convening with the other European delegations for a meeting to discuss Christmas. It was bloody May… Furthermore, Percy was now faced with the difficult prospect of disciplining his language specialist. Lucy may well be the laziest Ministry worker ever to grace the department, but she was also the Minister for Magic's niece.
"I got you some pork scratchings." Oliver dropped the packet on the table, and slid in next to his boyfriend. He pulled a second packet of snacks out of his pocket and ripped them open.
"Sorry, I shouldn't have said anything." Percy mumbled, helping himself to a pork scratching.
Oliver shrugged, "It doesn't matter. It's true."
"I still shouldn't have said it…" Percy's eyes narrowed, "What are you eating?"
Oliver blushed, "Erm… Scampi fries."
"I annoyed you so much that you had to buy the most disgusting – and might I add the smelliest - foodstuff on this planet?"
"Pretty much," Oliver grinned slyly, "I thought you deserved it. Plus, Percy, that's pretty unfair to the scampi fries – you haven't tried every type of food. There could be something much, much worse."
Percy shuffled a little further away, his forehead contorted in disgust, "There couldn't be. It's not possible."
Oliver licked his lips and began to nibble on a scampi fry, enjoying Percy's obvious discomfort. "I've had to sit through your cooking, Weasley. Some of your concoctions have been fairly foul – remember the mature cheddar and scrambled egg debacle?"
"I would gladly eat that if faced with a choice between that and a scampi fry."
Oliver laughed, remembering Percy's face as he'd served up what had been the most disgusting meal that had ever been created. Renouncing all his manners, Percy had promptly regurgitated the whole mouthful into his handkerchief and declared he had the perfect recipe to try out on Fred and George if they ever sent him dragon dung through the post again. Oliver had had enough of this, "Let's go home, sweetheart. I'm starving."
Percy's face brightened and he raised an eyebrow, "Hungry for me?"
Oliver shrugged, resisting the temptation to check the locality for listening ears, "Maybe… but I was thinking more in terms of a curry…"
"Bastard…" he shrugged, "But there's no way I'm kissing you until you've cleaned your teeth anyhow!"
*
They always ordered too much food, drawn in by the beauty of the menu. Percy was lying back on the sofa, groaning slowly as he took in the sea of food that surrounded them both. Peshwari naans, saag aloo, lamb balti, prawn biriyani, and a lamb bhuna. Spicy potato pakoras, onion bhajis, and an aloo methi. Garlic naan, flavoured rice. Poppadoms, mango chutney, a yoghurt, mint and cucumber dip. Lime pickle.
Oliver was staring in some concern at the food. "Do you think the table will take the weight?" he asked, only half-joking.
"Do you think we'll even come close to finishing this?"
"We'll have to have it for breakfast."
"I suppose that means you'll be staying with me tonight then." Percy resolutely refused to look up from his plate, a smile spilling across his face.
"I suppose it does." Oliver's eye caught Percy's, and they both grinned. There was a long pause, before Oliver bit his lip, "I did miss you today, Perce. I miss you whenever you're not there with me."
Percy grabbed Oliver's hand, stopping it from reaching a bhaji. His thumb grazed the other boy's palm, "I know, Ol. Regardless of how much of an idiot I am, whatever stupid things I say, I do know how you feel. I know you love me."
"Good." Oliver sighed, and moved onto the sofa next to Percy, "I love you, Percy. I just don't want anything to jeopardise that."
"I don't either." Percy dropped his hand onto Oliver's thigh, rubbing gently. "Now let's start eating before it gets cold, and before we turn into two of the soppiest creatures ever to walk the planet."
*
Percy couldn't sleep. The light from the streetlight below his window streamed in, irritating him. He opened his curtains at night because he wanted to see the stars, and then closed them in the morning so he could get dressed in private. He couldn't stop staring at the boy asleep next to him; the blonde, rosy cheeked, handsome Quidditch player who for some reason loved him. He was curled up under the duvet, a few bruises visible from seriously over-active bludgers. A perk of the job, Oliver always joked. There were a few bruises and scratches that weren't altogether down to the boy's job… unless loving Percy had suddenly become a career option.
Percy sighed. There was some paperwork he could be getting on with, there was no point wasting time moping. Plus, there was something he wanted to read. Slipping out of bed and into some pyjama bottoms, he reached for his dressing gown.
In the kitchen, he put some water on the stove and instructed it to boil. He opened the curtains, sitting on the window seat whilst he peeled an apple. It was bloody freezing, but Percy liked to watch the stars. He made hot chocolate, and settled himself in front of the fire in the living room. The room still smelt vaguely of curry, but that was resolved with a quick wave of his wand. Opening a drawer, he pulled out a letter, and sat down to re-read it.
It was from Hermione, and it had arrived that morning.
Dear Percy,
How are you? I hope you haven't been too busy and have had time to enjoy the warm weather. It has certainly cheered up recently; it looks as if summer is well and truly on its way.
Percy raised his eyebrows, glancing out of the window into the dark. It had rained almost consistently for the last week, and the weather showed no signs of letting up.
I will be visiting London next week and was wondering if you were free for dinner on Wednesday. I will be staying at The Owl and Cauldron on Grosvenor Lane, which I have been told has a wonderful chef.
Percy sighed again. It certainly did, the pub had been his own personal favourite when he has started the long business of ministry interviews and training. The similarities between him and Hermione were there, they were staring up at him from the page. From the methodical, clear writing to the way in which she intended to deal with him and Oliver; it was brisk and to the point.
I have something I would like to discuss with you, something of a sensitive nature. It has recently come to my attention the nature of your relationship with Oliver, and I am sure you are aware of the possible repercussions of this slur on both yourselves and your family. I have always been honest with you, and I don't intend to stop now. Your continuing of this relationship will be disastrous for your family's reputation. However, I know that you don't enter into anything lightly, and without due consideration of the facts. I have been looking into the subject, and have come up with some information which may be beneficial to you.
I hope to discuss this with you over dinner. Would eight o' clock suit you?
Hermione
"What are you doing out of bed?" Oliver was rubbing his eyes sleepily, wearing nothing but loose black boxers.
"I couldn't sleep," Percy shrugged ruefully. "You'll catch your death if you wander round in just your pants, you know."
Oliver shrugged, "I've got you to warm me up." He held out his hand, beckoning Percy to him. "Come here, love."
Percy smiled, and shook himself. Hermione could wait. She was almost family, certainly no threat. He grinned softly, standing up. He folded the letter in two and slipped it back into the drawer. No point in worrying Oliver until he'd met with Hermione and knew what it was she was suggesting. Taking hold of Oliver's outstretched hand, he winked, "I'm going to make you very warm indeed…"