Outsiders
A Percy and Oliver Love Story
Author's note: This was written before the order of the phoenix came out, and as such has no bearing to J.K Rowling's presentation of the character of Percy in that book. This story is set in an alternative universe where the pressure exerted by Voldemort is minimal or non-existent, and certainly has no overbearing influence on the characters. The interpretation of Percy is my opinion of how he may act in private – behind closed doors – and the struggles he faces in accepting the two opposing parts of his character. His relationship with Oliver is, to me, a facet of that inner struggle. This piece does not reflect the thoughts and beliefs of J.K Rowling or any other person or company with links to the copyright of Harry Potter. No infringement is intended.
Angel Interceptor, July 3rd 2003
[website: www dot geocities dot com / sunsetmog ]
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Part Five
By the time that the alarm went off on Wednesday morning, Percy had been awake for almost two hours. Weary beyond the point of exhaustion, he hadn't had the energy to climb out of bed and make an early start on the backlog of paperwork that had just been building up and up over the preceding week. He just hadn't been able to concentrate on work ever since Hermione's letter had arrived; everyone had been commenting on his inattention. They seemed to think that merely because Percy had been staring at the same page of the Ministry Directive on National Christmas Celebrations for almost an hour, he would be completely unaware of his colleagues pointing and sniggering. They seemed unaware that Percy had endured something similar for much of his life, and had got 'paying no attention' down to a fine art.
Beside him, a low groan indicated that the alarm had penetrated the coma that Oliver liked to call sleep. The duvet shifted slightly, and one half closed eye peered up at him in the murky gloom of the early morning. "Do we have to get up, Perce?" the eye murmured, blinking periodically.
Percy tried to smile. Nothing would give him more pleasure. Under the duvet, a warm hand, followed by an even warmer arm, slipped across his chest, pulling him closer. "No sweetheart," Percy whispered, pulling Oliver closer, "Let's stay in bed today."
There was a long silence, and then a quizzical Oliver pulled himself up from under the bedclothes.
"What?" he rubbed his eyes, "Did I just hear you right?"
"Don't you want to spend the day in bed with me?" Percy shrugged, blushing slightly.
Oliver narrowed his eyes. "Are you alright?" He lay a hand on Percy's forehead, but it felt cool; cold even. "I thought you might be sickening for something," he explained, "I can't believe this is really Percy Weasley, my Percy, suggesting we play truant!"
"I don't think it sounds like a bad idea, personally…" Percy muttered, pulling the blankets tighter.
"Shut up and get up, you great wazzock, before you get me worried." Oliver shook his head and dragged himself out of bed. "Bloody hell, its sodding freezing," he moaned, pulling on Percy's spare dressing gown, a flannelette affair with a flowery collar. "And where the bloody hell did you find this monstrosity? Do you do it on purpose just to make me look ridiculous?"
"I happen to like it, thank you very much," Percy folded his arms petulantly, "I've never heard you mention you didn't like it before…"
"I thought you might guess," Oliver pulled it tighter, "anyway, there comes a time when things just have to come out in the open." He grinned across at Percy, and winked, "Anyone else agree that the perfect time has arisen for a cup of tea?"
Percy had suddenly gotten very cold. "I suppose, love, you're suggesting that I should do the honours?" he managed.
"Got it in one," Oliver raised an eyebrow, "Are you sure you're alright? You're acting a bit weird."
"I'm fine," Percy maintained, staring at a point about two inches above Oliver's right eyebrow.
"If you're sure… come on, chop chop! Get that lazy arse of yours out of bed and into the kitchen" he clapped his hands, dodging expertly out of the way as a pillow whizzed by his ear.
"That would have hit you if you weren't a bloody Quidditch player…" Percy grumbled, reaching for his own dressing gown, a red and green tartan woolly affair. He'd spent the last Sunday afternoon hand washing it in cold water after Oliver had knocked hot chocolate all over the bedroom in a spirited attempt at an early morning call. He'd had no idea how much chocolate and milk stained if you were lax about soaking it – Oliver hadn't let him out of the bedroom until lunchtime, enjoying Percy's overactive housewife concern.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever…" Oliver called from the safety of the bathroom, "it's just because you're a crap aim!"
"Bugger off!" Taking a deep breath, Percy closed his eyes, and wondered whether this day would ever end.
*
"You're quiet this morning, sweetheart," Oliver was watching him from across the table, a half eaten piece of toast in one hand and a large coffee in the other. Never mind chocolate, Oliver couldn't even manage to tie his own shoelaces in a morning until he'd had his fair share of caffeine intake. For a while, he'd tried to digest chocolate-coffee, but he'd begun to realise that there were much more enjoyable ways of satisfying the cravings; coffee first and then mountains of chocolate spread on toast.
Percy attempted a smile, "I didn't sleep very well," he admitted, half-heartedly stirring his rice krispies. He wasn't hungry.
"Are you sure you're alright?" Oliver reached over and took hold of Percy's hand, "You'd tell me if something was wrong, wouldn't you? Is it something to do with work?"
Percy cleared his throat, "Of course I'd tell you if something was wrong at work," he avoided Oliver's concerned eyes, "come on, we'll be late."
"And we can't have that now, can we?"
"Sod off, cheeky bugger."
*
He was deliberately late to the Owl and Cauldron after spending the previous twenty minutes pacing up and down the shopping streets, peering into windows and refusing a nice lady's friendly offer of a warm bed and a cup of tea afterwards. He hadn't known what to wear to meet Hermione, so had finally decided just to keep working until he had to leave. He moved awkwardly, his suit and robes uncomfortable.
She was waiting for him in the entrance, nursing a cup of tea and a copy of the Daily Prophet.
"Percy," standing up, she held her hand out.
Oddly formal, Percy noted, awkwardly shaking her outstretched hand. "Hermione."
"Shall we go through? I booked a table for eight o' clock with the landlord."
"Of course," he indicated the arch through from the bar to the eating area, "After you."
*
Faced with the menu, Percy saw nothing but a blur of words and pictures. His mouth was dry and his hands were damp, he couldn't concentrate on anything.
Hermione, seeing his distraction, lay her hand on his, smiling. "How long have we known each other, Percy?" she asked quietly.
Percy was shaken out of his reverie, staring down at her hand on his. Recollecting himself, he pulled away from her touch. "I don't know… since you came to Hogwarts?"
"Seven years." She smiled, and closed her menu. Biting her lip, there was a silence. "Have you loved Oliver all that time?"
"Hermione, please…" he shook his head, sitting back in his chair.
She motioned to the waiter for a jug of water; her throat felt parched. "I don't mean to be rude, Percy. Please."
"Alright, yes." He sighed, nodding. "All that time."
"You've been lying a long time."
Percy said nothing, staring straight across at her. He was fully aware that it would be relatively easy for her to break him and Oliver… if she wanted to. He wasn't going to make it even easier.
"It must have been hard," she ploughed on.
Percy quelled a bizarre desire to smirk; yes, sometimes it had been. Very hard. In his mind's eye he could see Oliver, dancing round his bedroom in a pair of ironed floral drawstring pyjama bottoms, singing I am the Walrus at the top of his voice, before collapsing onto the bed, kissing him. He sighed; it hadn't always been entertaining dance routines and hot chocolate, there was no disputing the pressure that sometimes overwhelmed them. Where was she taking this? He poured a glass of water for them both, "Yes," he admitted, "it has been hard."
"Has it been worth it?"
"That's a strange question. Would I still be with him if it wasn't?"
Hermione took a sip of water. "Not really. Is being with Oliver worth all the lying and the hiding?"
Percy narrowed his eyes, "What do you want me to say? I wouldn't still be with him if it wasn't." He leaned back in his chair, suddenly exhausted. "If you want to break us up, Hermione, I'll fight you all the way." He stared her straight in the eye, an eyebrow cocked. "I love him, and I don't want to lose him. I won't lose him because of you."
"You've got the wrong idea," Hermione said quietly. "I just wanted to help." Leaning down, she opened her briefcase, pulling out a package of papers, tied neatly with a blue ribbon. She pushed it across the table towards Percy. "I even did research."
There was a long pause, Percy fiddling with the ribbon. "I'm sorry…" he managed, his voice gruff, "I thought you were here to break us up."
Her hand covered his again. "I'm sorry too. I should have been clearer in my letter." Clearing her throat, she motioned to the waiter and ordered two of the chicken dishes. "I didn't think you'd consider the possibility I wanted to break you up."
Percy bit his lip, "Are you alright… with me loving Oliver. With Oliver and I … in a relationship?"
She shrugged her shoulders, "I wasn't. I used to think it was a bit strange. Two men… loving each other." She sighed, "But I'm a Muggle. Prejudices there are different to here."
"Really?" Percy was surprised.
"Sort of. They have prominent gay men. Films, books. There are movements, a pride movement. It is easier to get involved. Here, there's no influential sub culture. Whatever you do, you'll be one of the first. It will be hard, whatever you choose to do."
"What do you mean?"
Hermione smiled, "I know you, Percy. You're too honest to go on hiding. If you want to tell the truth, then you'll tell it to everybody."
He sighed, "I wish Oliver understood that."
"He's always been popular," she acknowledged, "he'll find it really hard if people treat him like a social pariah."
"Whereas, I'm used to it." Percy said grimly, "that's what you're trying to say."
"Yes, I am. It's one of your strengths, and you need to play to them. Take advantage of them."
"Great, my strength lies in the fact I'm already a social pariah."
Hermione narrowed her eyes, "Don't be so defeatist. Your strength lies in the fact you already know you don't need to be the most popular person in order to be happy. You're already strong; you know it doesn't matter if some people don't like you." She smiled, "You've got a chance to do something great here, to open people's minds. Surely that's something worth fighting for."
"I'm not sure that's how everyone else will see it." Percy was fiddling with one of the complementary bread sticks. "I'm not sure I can get Oliver to agree."
"Take it slowly, he'll come around." She poured them both some more water, "You can't keep lying to everyone, it's not fair. It isn't fair on your family."
Percy undid the ribbon on Hermione's research, noting the strange mixture of Muggle and Wizarding work. There were some scrolls, neatly covered in her immaculate writing, along with some Muggle photocopies and newspaper articles.
"They might not be very helpful," Hermione was suddenly embarrassed. "There's some information on the gay pride movement and on some support groups. Obviously they won't be much help here, but it might give you something to aim for."
"What exactly do you see me doing in the future, Hermione?" Percy laughed, "Once I'm completely ostracised from society, I mean."
"Don't joke about that, it isn't funny. Think about your family." She raised an eyebrow, taking a bite of a breadstick, "I want you to speak up for your rights, to lead the way towards equality." Hermione stopped talking as the food arrived, licking her lips as the chicken steamed in front of her, "Lovely, thank you." she nodded at the waiter.
"Can I ask you a question? Which department are you going into in the Ministry?"
"Equal opportunities and Wizard rights, why?"
"No reason." Percy stifled a grin, and tucked into his chicken casserole, quietly hopeful.
*
"You're late." Oliver was sat on the sofa, reading Quidditch Monthly for the seventeenth time.
"I didn't think you'd be here tonight," Percy said, a little surprised, dropping Hermione's papers onto the sideboard.
Oliver shrugged, "I missed you." He smiled up at the other man, "Although I can go if you want me to…"
"Do I buggery," Percy winked, "I'm never letting you out of my sight again."
"You've perked up," Oliver said in surprise, letting Percy pull him to his feet, the Quidditch magazine falling to the floor.
Percy waggled an eyebrow, "I know," he slid his hands under Oliver's clothes, feeling his sharp intake of breath, the warmth of his skin.
"I'm a little bit bruised today…" Oliver admitted, hissing slightly as Percy's fingers touched a particularly sensitive spot.
"Can I bruise you some more?" Percy asked excitedly, his fingers exploring with a practiced air.
Oliver laughed, "You're sodding insatiable, you are."
"I know… can we go to bed now? I really fancy a shag."
Oliver rolled his eyes. "Come on then, anything for a quiet life." He grinned, taking Percy's hand.
"You're anything but quiet, I always have to avert my eyes from the neighbours in the mornings… it's embarrassing…"
"Bugger off, you're the one who can't keep your mouth shut…"
"And wouldn't you complain if I did." Percy winked, and shut the bedroom door behind them.
* * *
To be continued…