(Thanks again, Nicole :) To everyone, sorry about the wait! See Chapter 1 for disclaimers.

Chapter Two: Memo

Tuesday, October 5th (early morning)
Flat 3-B, Puddlemere Estates

All Saturday night, as Dave and Henry discussed Candy Cane's interview and the pending media uproar, Oliver tried (without success) to drink himself into a stupor. No amount of alcohol – hell, no alcoholic combination, it seemed, erased the memory of the interview and the promises made to introduce his seemingly perfect (seemingly real) boyfriend. By early Sunday morning, his problems only grew with his hung overaches, and his best friends forced him from his booth, dragging him out of the bar and to the portkey home.

Though his teammates avoided him after their initial confrontation, indiscretion didn't last for long. For two days, Oliver lay on his couch, cocooned in his flat with the door locked and the blinds closed. He avoided knocks and shouts from the outside and the faces in his fireplace, as well as the wizard television and radio networks that camped on the building's doorstep. One lonely moment saw him flooing his mother only to undergo three hours of continuous scolding, having to hear about her son's 'serious' relationship on the radio. In a hair salon. With her hair in curlers. Under the dryer. Surrounded by people she'd known for ages. Hurt they weren't told before. Wondering why she was surprised.

Even by Tuesday morning, he remained sprawled over the living room couch on his stomach, his face buried in a stale-smelling cushion. Not that he smelled any better; since Oliver arrived home, he hadn't done much of anything except bemoan the situation to bare walls. He remained in his clothes from Saturday, his depression leading to a sudden aversion of water and soap. His suitcase still sat by the front door, unpacked. His bed wasn't slept in, preferring long nights of self-deprecation to the nightmares of his days to come. And he hadn't bothered to eat full meals, instead resorting to mugs of tea made with souring milk and lukewarm water from a broken kettle.

He wasn't an indoor person by nature and that was half the trouble, he knew. Oliver Wood never solved a problem staying indoors; no, he'd think best when high on a broom or playing a match, or even watching a local, amateur Quidditch game incognito. Just the fact that he couldn't open a window was making him stir crazy, and part of him wondered that if he were to see a mirror, would he see prison-pallor in place of his normally tanned complexion. And yet, despite his forced solitude, he'd be damned if he was going to turn on CQN – radio or television, for a distraction!

Just as he was reliving the interview for the eight-hundredth time, his face still buried in the cushion, the lock in his door turned and opened with a bang.

"What the…" Oliver muttered, turning his head slightly. A few moments passed before his eyes could adjust to the two shadowed figures in the doorway.

Guess who.

"Hey, Ol. You up for some visitors?" Dave said cheerfully.

Oliver groaned, turning his face back into the cushion. He heard the door shut, and Henry's heavy footsteps proceed into the kitchen. He felt Dave walk by him, leaning over the couch to look through the blinds at the crowds below. Now disturbed, the stale, musky air of his flat came at him.

"You've looked better," Dave remarked after a few moments. "As has your flat. Tell me, ole buddy. How do you expect to find a boyfriend with housekeeping skills such as these?"

Oliver turned his head once more, watching his friend sit down and cross his legs casually as he eyed the flat with distaste. "I'm not in the mood," he mumbled. "Why are you sitting? What's Henry doing? Why are you both here at all? Just get out."

Dave jerked a thumb towards the kitchen. "Henry is trying to find your flat under the mess. To answer your second question, we've come to see our good pal Oliver! Have you seen him?"

Oliver wasn't in the mood for cute. "Just leave me be. I'm fine. Thanks for stopping by. Get the door on the way out."

"Got the door on the way in, thanks. And you certainly look fine. Weren't you wearing that Saturday? And about this new cologne… You remember you live in a city, not a farm? Not in an actual barn? With an animal that requires his stall shoveled everyday?"

In the background, Oliver could make out the sound of dishes clanging, water running and – Was that whistling?

"Look," Dave continued, his tone serious. "Have you been watching CQN? No? Have you been speaking to anyone?"

"My mother."

"Yeah, me too," Dave paused, giving him a small smile. "Anyone else, by chance?"

Oliver deadpanned.

He continued, "You're quite the story."

"I'd imagine."

"Too bad that everything happened during PU's hiatus," the young, blond-haired man shrugged apologetically. "They've nothing else to talk about, it seems. It'll do wonders for your career, though."

"Uh-huh."

Henry came out of the kitchen swinging a dishtowel over his shoulder. He carried a teacup and saucer, and a plate of toast, placing them in front of Oliver. "Eat. One room down, an entire flat to go. Lord, Oliver. That smell!"

He left as quickly as he appeared, pausing only to pick up the unpacked suitcase before heading towards the bedroom.

"If Quidditch doesn't work out for Henry, I could find use of him," Dave mused. "Ol, you can't keep going on like this. It's not right. Not healthy. And besides, you can't avoid the press forever. Philbert's holding a meeting on Monday, and he wants you there. And you know just who he'll blame if you don't show up!" He ran a hand through his hair. "Henry and I've been talking things over, and we agree that there's only one person who--"

"I'm not calling Perce, David," Oliver said seriously, sitting up. This is going too far. He glared at his friend as he made his case. "Listen very carefully. This is how it'll go- I'll do another interview with Miss Cane. It's for the best - everyone will discover the truth eventually, and I'd rather it be from me. For the record,this is me handling it. I'm an adult, though I suppose you and Henry just don't get that, eh?"

Dave uncrossed his legs, leaning forward. He spoke quietly, with an uncommon resolve to his voice. "No, I suppose I don't understand. For every day that you 'handle it,' your friends are growing concerned and hurt. Your fans ask more questions. The tabloids are making up stories that are far beyond the imaginative capabilities of Henry and myself. And frankly, things have built to the point where I'm not sure you'll ever shake this interview, whether you tell the truth or put on an act. Sorry to bother you, Ol, in this very adult world you're shut up in. For some reason or other, I thought you might have shown some concern for you friends."

He wiped his palms on his pants, stood up and made his way towards the door.

Damn him. Oliver cleared his throat. "What do you mean, concern for my friends? You two are the reason I'm in this mess."

"And so are you," Dave turned around, raising an eyebrow. Oliver couldn't argue with him, he knew that he was responsible for his own actions. After all, didn't he just say he was an adult? "How do you think telling the truth will make Henry and I look? We're new to PU, we're still making a name for ourselves. And it won't be easy for him, not that he'd ever say anything to you. Do you think it's easy for a new American player to be accepted by the fans here? Tell me, Oliver. How many American wizards do you know well?"

"Well? Counting Lizzie, two. But Henry's a fantastic--"

"That doesn't matter!" Dave shook his head. He resumed his seat, his face taking on a concerned expression Oliver had rarely seen since Hogwarts. "You're not the only one who will be hurt by the truth coming forward. I'm sorry that we even tried to prank the reporter, I am. But we've got to move forward."

"There's no other way," Oliver answered quietly, shaking his head. He felt horrible, defeated; he spent the last few days sharing the blame with his friends without considering how they would also be affected by the truth.

"No, there's always another way," Dave pressed. "We were close friends with Percy at Hogwarts. Remember getting into trouble? Remember Percy covering for us?"

"Remember the lectures?" Oliver shot back, unable to hide a smile. He had only good memories of his schooldays, but they always reminded him of the responsibilities he'd forgotten in lieu of professional Quidditch. He took a breath, confessing, "I haven't spoken to him since graduation. I got a few cards but never answered them. I didn't know what to say, it always seemed to be put off until the next day until-- Besides, I think he's had a bit of trouble since…" He trailed off, uncertain what more to say.

Dave gave him a short, understanding nod. Through mutual friends, they'd heard about his fight with the family and his subsequent departure from the Ministry, being made 'an example' of the previous government's rule.

"I wouldn't even know where to find him. And after everything he's been through" Oliver said quietly. Not for the first time, he silently berated himself for not continuing his correspondence after Hogwarts. He closed his eyes and mumbled, "There was a time when the three of us were so close. What happened?"

"Talking about Percy?"

Both men looked up to see Henry walking into the living room, a basket of laundry under his arm. After a moment, Dave nodded.

The bulky American eyed Oliver carefully before saying, "Life gets in the way. People grow up, grow apart. It happens. Get over it. Ol, you feel guilty when the sun doesn't shine. Is this a British thing? Why aren't you eating yet?"

Shaking his head, he took out his wand and lit a few candles, illuminating the dark room before apparating away. With the laundry basket.

Dave began to laugh, as did Oliver who only just remembered the tea and toast in front of him. He reached forward for a piece and took a bite, feeling better than he had in days. But still the problem remained--

"I can't do this to the guy. He's been through too much, Dave." Oliver paused, sipped his (properly brewed) tea with relish. "And besides, what about Penelope? Are they still together? What kind of work is he doing? He's no doubt trying to get back on his feet now. And I won't put him in a position where he can lose everything again."

Dave shrugged, reaching over for a piece of toast. "Doesn't hurt to ask. Even just to see him again for lunch or something. Actually," he chewed thoughtfully, crossing his legs once more, "Perce might just see something we're missing. It wouldn't hurt to run this problem by him. As a friend," he added quickly.

Run 'the problem' by him? Oliver looked at Dave questionably. It wasn't a bad idea. But-- "For all I know, he's moved to America. I doubt he'd have gone back to the burrow."

Dave cleared his throat. "Er- I ran into Charlie Wesley a few months ago. Just before I signed. I think I might know where to reach him."

"You do?" Oliver asked doubtfully.

"Maybe," Dave said slowly, staring at the remaining piece of toast. "I could write to him. Perhaps we could invite him out to eat. Catch up on old times. And really, who's smarter than Percy? I'm sure he'd have a solution to this problem."

Well, he just might, Oliver mused. But--

A spark of fear inexplicably raced through him and, on instinct, he shook his head, setting down the teacup hard. "I can't, Dave."

"But we just--"

The loud crack announced Henry's presence, and they turned to see him standing with a basket of folded laundry. He took out his wand and flicked the clothes towards the bedroom, and then sat next to Dave with a sigh.

"What are we talking about now?"

Before Oliver could answer, Dave's temperament took a silly turn (as it often did around Henry) and he whined, "Oliver won't let me write to Percy. Even just to ask him to lunch. We could use another perspective on this situation anyways, right? Right?"

Real subtle, Oliver mused.

Dave sighed dramatically. "He's embarrassed that we haven't spoken since Hogwarts." Tsk.

Henry folded his arms, addressing him as though Oliver weren't present. "It's not because he doesn't want to. And it's not because they haven't spoken since high school. He's embarrassed over the interview, and he doesn't want Percy to know he messed up."

"Oh?" Dave inquired, his eyebrows raised dramatically.

Oliver stifled a groan.

"And he's probably especially embarrassed the mystery boyfriend he described looks exactly like this Percy," Henry chanced a glance at Oliver. "That's what it is, isn't it?"

"Wha-- No! Just a coincidence! Lots of men look like that." Despite his strong objection, Oliver felt his face grow hot, and he quickly turned his attention back to his tea.

"When really, it was the only logical course," Henry continued, pacing his words. "You described a man that's almost the exact opposite of Dave and myself."

"No. Oh. Really? I did?" Oliver asked wearily.

The American nodded casually. "Yep. Of course it's just a bit of luck that you happened to share a bedroom together for seven years."

"Well, I can see that…"

Henry blinked at him. "Then why won't you even write him? Eh?" When Oliver didn't answer, he continued, "How about these beans – Percy's your friend, there's no reason he wouldn't be following your career. Would you rather he found out you lied on CQN? Or do you care enough about mending your past friendship to tell him the truth, face to face?"

Oliver stared at Henry in disbelief, trying to comprehend the information. He couldn't argue with such a reasonable case.

Dave piped up, "You know, Hogwarts is a big school. We were always with Percy. And it's likely someone from school will put two-and-two together, like we did, and believe this mystery boyfriend to be him. And then how are you going to explain things? Do you really want to drag him down with you, without any forewarning?"

Henry added, "We've let too much time pass already. If you have any other ideas..."

Oliver closed his eyes. What Henry said was full of truth, he knew, but he also knew his friends were on the opposing side, wanting him to participate in a farcical public drama that had little chance of succeeding.

It was wrong, foolish, and-- And the only thing I can think of, he knew. Looking back and forth at his friends, he shrugged. The battle was lost.

"I'll use your owl! Going to be great, seeing Perce again!" Dave jumped up cheerfully, his mood immediately lifted, and he raced into Oliver's study, shutting (and locking) the door behind him.

Oliver turned to Henry in disbelief. "Did I just--?"

"Yes, you just," Henry answered, gesturing for Oliver to finish the remaining piece of toast. He stood, walking around, straightening up the one room he'd missed.

Slowly, Oliver picked up the last square and chewed without paying much attention to the cold, crispy toast. The same bolt of apprehension raced through him again, and he couldn't help the questions, so uncommon from his usual friendships, from coming to mind: What if Percy writes back? What would he say? What if he's angry with us, at me, for not keeping in touch? And how am I going to explain what I've done? Is he different now? Would he even want to see me –er, us, again?

"Dave's good at getting to people," Henry commented. He took out his wand, opening the curtains and quickly casting a deflecting spell on them to provide privacy. Oliver shut his eyes as the natural light filled the flat, the last touch to his friend's housekeeping. It wasn't that he himself hadn't thought of the spell – as a professional sports player, he'd often used similar charms in hotel rooms. But after the interview, he felt the heavy, sudden onset of misery, the flat transforming into a darkened, grimy place he felt deserved.

And now, sitting up and appraising the meticulous flat, he wondered how he ever let things get that fair. An unusual feeling of embarrassment washed over him, soon followed by gratitude for his friendships. As difficult as they sometimes proved to be, he added silently

"Thanks, Hen." He motioned for his friend to join him on the couch. "Sorry for the way things have gotten. I know it's not your fault, or Dave's. Mind if I ask you something personal?"

Henry took a seat next to Oliver, nodding to encourage the question.

"Is it hard being an American here? I mean, being accepted? Dave alluded to something earlier, and I never suspected that--" Oliver stopped at the sound of laughter. "What?"

Henry tried to control his deep laugh, saying "I think a lack of fresh air and good food has led you astray by Mr. Sharp's whims. Why, I've never been treated better than in Puddlemere!"

I'm an idiot. Oliver let his head fall back into the couch, staring at the ceiling. He muttered, "I'm going to kill him. No, first I'm going to tell Percy how all this is Dave's fault. And then I'm going to kill him."

Still smiling, Henry patted his knee assuredly. "No worries, Ol. It's for the best and anyways, I'm looking forward to meeting this Percy. What's he like?"

Oliver turned his head to face Henry, trying hard not to glare at the closed study door. "Percy? He's great. We were roommates together in Gryffindor –you remember, I told you Dave was in Ravenclaw? My best friends, those two. It's funny, I suppose. He really was the exact opposite of me, always--"

"Like the Odd Couple, eh?"

"Who?"

"Never mind. Go on."

"He was quiet and thoughtful, but very driven. He was-- Well, he was exactly as I described in the interview." As he spoke, Oliver felt warmth come to his cheeks. "He was-- is, a good friend. A little uptight, I suppose, but we always had a great time together. You wouldn't believe the stuff we'd get him into." He chuckled, lost in schooldays memories.

"Knowing you and Dave, you two probably needed a friend like him to ground you." Henry paused thoughtfully before continuing quietly, "I don't know why you were so hesitant to write to the guy."

Oliver shifted uncomfortably on the couch. He ran a hand through his unwashed hair, itching his scalp. "He is great. It's just-- He's been through some tough times. He moved up fast in the ministry, at a time when You-Know-Who was believed dead. He alienated his family, believing he was acting for his best interests…"

Henry waited patiently for him to continue.

"And I think he just sort of drifted away when it became apparent that You-Know-Who was back. He was dismissed from the ministry and, though he apologized to his family, he wasn't exactly accepted back with open arms."

"And?" Henry pushed.

Oliver let out a heavy breath. "And I didn't exactly contact him when I learned all he'd been through."

"Is that it? You're a professional now, Ol. You can't be expected to maintain a schooldays friendship. It isn't plausible."

"It would be for Perce," he answered grimly.

The study door flew open, jolting both friends back to the situation at hand. Dave appeared in the doorway, flushed, clasping his hands together. "Take a shower, Ol! You've a lunch date at Chez Puddlemere."

"Hey, that worked out!" Henry said jovially, squeezing Oliver's shoulder.

Lunch? Today? With Percy? Oliver felt his stomach turn. "Today? Chez Puddlemere? That café on Main Street? It-it's a little rude, isn't it? Making him come into Puddlemere and--"

Dave shrugged nonchalantly, though his smile betrayed his amusement. He walked towards him, pulling him off the couch with ease despite his height. "He didn't mention any problem with it, Ol."

Henry stood with him. "Come on, Cinderella. You've only a few hours to look half-decent for the ball."

"Listen to your fairy godmother here, Ol," Dave jerked a thumb at the American.

Suddenly Oliver was wondering where the feeling in his legs had gone. He felt Henry's hands guide him towards the bathroom. Trying to gain the upper hand, he said, "Do you think today's all right? I mean, maybe we should wait--"

"He's expecting you," Dave warned from behind him -though even in warning he sounded much too happy for Oliver's peace of mind.

Oliver tried to hide his panic."All right. All right! Just give me a few minutes to get some other things settled."

"Like--"

"I've forgotten to floo my mother back! She's probably worried, and--" He stopped talking. Lord, that's a pathetic excuse.

"Don't you worry about that, Ol," Henry said, finally pushing him into the bathroom and shutting the door. "Your mother is a lovely woman, I'd be glad to call her and let her know you're in the capable hands of Dave and myself. Besides, I've a new recipe for banana loaf she'll love."

Through the closed door, Oliver heard Dave clip to him, "You really are the gay stereotype, and it's getting embarrassing." A yelp soon followed, Henry having sought quick retribution for the comment.

His heart beating hard, Oliver was only distantly aware of the shower taps that were already running by magic. The bathroom quickly filled with steam, and he leaned his forehead on the foggy mirror, closing his eyes and muttering over and over again:

"What am I doing?"

--tbc--