Many thanks to Nicole for giving this a read through. And also to Lea Woods for the offer to beta and the encouragement :)
Chapter Three: Meeting
12:15pm, Chez Puddlemere
For an intensely personal man such as Oliver, he knew his choice of profession didn't exactly lend itself to privacy. He didn't have to review Candy Cane's interview (for the one-thousandth time) to remember that the public's interest in All Things Quidditch wasn't limited to his actions on the pitch. Yet, fighting for privacy was becoming increasingly difficult amongst his most trustworthy friends.
And after this past weekend, he had a (growing, nauseous) feeling that Dave and Henry would never leave him alone again - even if he decided to become a bookkeeper living in the Azures, without magic or muggle electric.
With this belief forefront in his mind, he had humored his friends – allowing them to pick out his clothes, to fix his hair, to coach him on what to say, to make sure he was fifteen minutes early. He even allowed them to place a floppy hat over his head and overly large sunglasses onto his face, hiding his appearance from potential fans passing by the café.
It will always be this way, Oliver knew now. From the moment Dave and Henry entered the interview with Candy Cane, he never had a chance of escaping Trouble. His feelings were unchanged; he was grateful for his friendships and he'd do everything in his power to keep them forever – but being a good friend often meant going along with questionable advice and escapades without doubt, especially when such actions were undertaken for one's own good.
Not that Oliver considered lunch in broad daylight at an outdoor café 'for his own good.'
He Apparated outside the restaurant's entrance, lifting his sunglasses to give a passing waiter a pleading look, whispering harshly, "Er—I don't suppose you have a table indoors?"
The waiter's glasses jingled on his tray. "Dude! You're, like, totally in-cog-ni-to! Who are you, anyways?"
Just what I need, a foreign-exchange waiter. "Table. Indoors. Now. Dude."
"Can't do!" The waiter started to leave.
Desperate, Oliver grabbed the edge of the tray, pleading through his teeth, "Dude."
"Hey! Chill!" The waiter swung the try out of his grip. "We're, like, totally outdoors! Take a seat, man, and I'll get right with you. Try the one in the back corner, next to the shrub. Number 8." The waiter walked away, shaking his head. "Dude."
Obviously, we're meeting at one of Puddlemere's finer establishments, Oliver thought wryly as he settled at a corner table, crouching down in his seat. He didn't remove his hat or glasses, and he kept his robe buttoned in case a quick getaway was required.
Not that I'd leave here first without seeing Perce.
A spark of inexplicable anxiety raced through him. There was no logical reason to be nervous – he was only seeing his old roommate again. After all, now he was a Quidditch star - rich, famous and allegedly good-looking (at least, according to the readers of Quidditch Fan Weekly). And even knowing the horrors of what Percy must have gone through these past few years at the ministry, Oliver still felt the need to show-off, to be presented the public persona as he was perceived.
And yet, seeing Percy now, there was nothing he could hide. Now he'd know his foolish actions, the trouble he was still getting into, and (worst of all) how he was really just the same Oliver Wood he'd roomed with for seven years, still a troublesome boy, unchanged.
That's not exactly being fair to Percy, thinking that way, he knew. He pushed such thoughts out of his head, settling down further into his seat. Whatever's to be is to be. Calm down, Wood. And yet his heart still pounded loudly, nervously, and he was helpless to stop his knees from shaking underneath the table.
All in the course of distracting himself, Oliver appraised his surroundings, directing his attention at the pedestrians along the sidewalk rather than his fellow patrons at Chez Puddlemere. Unlike London's Diagon Alley, Puddlemere's Main Street was wide and lined with cement, the newly built shops occupying similar-shaped (and spaced) buildings that mostly catered to tourists and enthusiastic Quidditch fans. Truth be known, the small town only reached 'city' status due to the popularity of its Quidditch team, and the profits from local games continued to bring in more than enough revenue to ensure future expansion. Even from his outdoor table, Oliver could see the towering Quidditch Stadium in the distance, standing at such an imposing height that a newcomer wouldn't doubt for long the city's primary attraction.
For that reason, most of the people that now crowded Main Street were tourists and shop owners, only concerned with purchasing or selling Quidditch-related wares that wouldn't sell at such a high price any place else.
And despite the tourists' allegiance to the sport, they continued to pass by the café without taking note of Quidditch's latest news story. Dave had told Oliver it was the 'perfect cover,' to be right under the very noses of the people that wanted to talk to him.
Dave doesn't know what he's talking about. All I'm feeling is damn uncomfortable! Oliver shifted down in his seat, allowing his floppy hat to hide his face even more as he continued to watch the passers-by, burdened with too-many shopping bags that swayed in their hands and heavy, expensive cameras that dangled from their necks.
And out of this sea of confusion, he spotted a flash of brown and red walking at a steady pace with no interest in the surrounding businesses. A tall young man wearing dark sunglasses was making his way easily through the crowd, not minding the swirl of activity around him. His hair was longish, curly and wild, though the style wasn't uncommon to many young wizards of this time. His black formal robes were opened and flapped as he walked, revealing a faded brown sweater (muggle-style) and trousers that appeared too long even for his tall frame. Under one arm, he carried a stack of books. And in his free hand, the young man held onto a leash leading to a Golden Retriever that looked as the perfect model dog, with a shiny coat and a passive demeanor that allowed him to navigate his owner through the crowd at a steady pace.
This couldn't be-"Percy," Oliver muttered. Staring through his oversized sunglasses, he couldn't summon the strength to wave him over.
Why did I expect a crumpled wreck of a man? He looks… familiar, he realized with a start. Percy's troubled history didn't seem to factor into his appearance, he looked exactly like he should at twenty-three, as though he just left him frozen at Platform 9 ¾ (albeit with a little more hair but that's still my Percy—er, my roommate Percy, Oliver thought as he watched the tall man cross the street).
As he continued to watch the redhead's maneuvers through the crowd, he untied the top of his robe, loosening the collar of his shirt, and tilted the floppy hat back as though that sole gesture would make it look less ridiculous.
Percy arrived at the café entrance, about to enter when a quick glance at the outdoor patrons caught the strange man in disguise. When he raised a questioning eyebrow, Oliver lifted his hand to acknowledge him without using his voice, and Percy eagerly walked around the fence.
At this gesture, Percy's face had relaxed into a soft smile, a hint of a blush at his cheeks that Oliver could spot even from his table. He touched the corner of his sunglasses as he approached, the tinted glass instantly turning into clear lenses and revealing ice-blue eyes that looked into Oliver with such interest and warmth that he found himself staring back, mute. At the sight of such familiarity, he broke into a cold sweat, sure that everyone could hear his heart pounding through his chest. How did I forget about those eyes?
"Oliver!" Percy exclaimed quietly, looking around the café to make sure he wasn't spotted. With quick hands, he tied the leash to the shrub and, after a quick pat on the dog's head head, stepped over the fence.
"Perce!" Oliver said, matching his quiet tone, smiling. He stood and held out one hand, tilting his sunglasses down briefly with the other as though to prove he truly was himself.
But Percy ignored his outstretched hand, instead setting his books down beside a chair and flinging himself at Oliver, enfolding him in a tight hug.
Oliver wasn't a 'hugger' by nature, preferring a jovial slap-on-the-back to an embrace. He began to draw away but quickly caught himself, instead wrapping his arms around Percy's thin shoulders and squeezing back tightly. He turned his head to the side, avoiding a face full of curls, breathing in a fresh scent that he could only describe as so unlike parchment-smelling Percy.
Conscious of hugging too long or hard, he pulled away first and adjusted his hat while he pointed to the table. He resumed the seat behind the shrub, opening his mouth to say something – anything – that would cover the anticipated awkward silence-
But instead:
Percy sat down fast, immediately placing his elbows on the table and leaning forward comfortably. "It's great to see you again, Ol! I can't tell you what a surprise it was, receiving your owl this morning."
"Sorry about that, Perce," Oliver felt his face grow red, and he held up his hands, palms facing upwards as he explained, "I've been meaning to write for awhile now, but things have been so busy and-"
"Oh, don't apologize! I understand how busy you are. Congratulations, by the way." He paused, a sheepish expression growing over his face.
Oliver stifled a groan. Obviously, he's heard about the mystery boyfriend.
Percy raised a hand to his hair, placing it behind one ear in a nervous gesture, and continued, "You career is amazing! Why, you're in the papers almost every single day. And it's great that you're playing with Dave!"
Don't remind me. "Thanks, Perce. I only wish Dave and Henry could join us. You've heard of Henry Oak, right?" Oliver breathed out, sitting back in his seat. The pounding in his heart had ceased, a sense of relief coming over him like a cool breeze on a hot summer's day. Percy was obviously very comfortable seeing him again, and he wasn't holding Oliver accountable to his lack of correspondence.
Why, it could almost be like old times!
"Sure, I've heard of Henry," Percy was saying, speaking with gesturing hands. "I haven't read much about his history with the All-Stars but I'm sure he'll prove to be a- Oh!" He paused, suddenly straining his neck to look past Oliver's hat.
The redhead then gave a hearty chuckle, saying, "Might be meeting him sooner than you'd think. I've just noticed a very familiar man at the other side of the cafe, sitting with another very large man. Disguised." He ducked his head, now trying to hide his smile.
"What the-" Oliver twisted in his seat.
In matching floppy hats and sunglasses, Dave and Henry (for who else could it have been?) were twisted in their seats to face his table, a single menu hiding most of their faces.
They are trying my patience! Oliver resisted the urge to call them out, remembering their public surroundings (and also their growing hobby of interfering with his private life), but before he could warn Percy, he'd already raised a hand, waving them over. To make matters worse, it was obvious his teammates had wanted to be discovered as Percy's single wave shot them up in their seats and to their table faster than Oliver could object, pulling up two nearby chairs.
Oliver shuffled his own chair closer to Percy's to make room, all the while quelling the surge of annoyance that came to him, having to share this reunion. Pull it together, Oliver. Best foot forward. "Fancy meeting you two here," he managed dryly, gesturing to his guest. "Henry Oak, this is Percy Weasley."
Henry reached across the table and took Percy's hand in a firm handshake. "Nice to meet you, Percy. I've heard so much about you."
"About me?" Percy colored slightly, though he quickly recovered with, "I've read a lot about you. How are you enjoying Puddlemere so far?"
Henry's expression lightened. "It's fantastic! Actually, just living in England has been a real treat. I'll tell ya! When I first started here, I wasn't sure-"
Just then, the table jingled. And Dave muttered a dry, "A-hem."
His greetings interrupted, Percy gave Henry an apologetic smile and turned towards Dave, giving his fellow Hogwarts prefect a mock-glare. "I think I remember this one, Ol." His expression quickly melted into a welcoming smile, and he rose to give Dave the same tight hug that he'd greeted Oliver.
But is it the same hug? Was our hug as long? Wasn't he more excited to see me? Pondering these questions, Oliver stared at his reunited best friends.
Until he felt someone looking at him. He quickly glanced around the café, his nerves settling as no one seemed to be looking in his direction. The entire Main Street, even the café itself, seemed to be clearing out, the lunch hour almost over for most. Except-
Henry. It'd been Henry who was looking at him.
What does he want?
Oliver cleared his throat, quickly turning his attention back to the table, everyone having settled down after the introductions. "Er- You've a great dog, Perce. What's his name?" He reached over the shrub, stroking the dog's head. He felt Something Most-Definitely Wet nudge the palm of his hand.
"There's a dog?" Dave looked back and forth as though the animal were seated at the table.
"Just over the fence here," Percy answered, taking his seat. "His name is Monty.
"Is he good for meeting girls? Maybe I should get one," Dave muttered, thoughtfully, peering over the shrubbery. He cooed at the animal.
Henry looked at Percy. "I'm glad you knew him at school. It's hard when you have to keep apologizing for what he says. What he does. Just how he is in general, really."
Percy nodded, a knowing smile on his face.
"So when was the last time you three seen each other?" Henry continued, waving over the same waiter who'd spoken to Oliver earlier.
Oliver grimaced. Not the foreign exchange waiter… Not him…
"Bout the same time Percy had his last haircut," Dave muttered, staring at Percy's red curls. He suddenly jolted, yelped, staring at his teammates in shock as his hands wrapped around his (newly bruised) knee.
Oliver exchanged a grin with Percy. Evidently Henry had put Dave in his place.
The waiter finally noticed their table, walking over with a tray tucked under his armpit. "Wow. You three are, like, all wearing the same disguises. Trying to draw attention away from yourselves? Ha. Whatever. You guys all want specials? It's spaghetti today."
"Spaghetti?" Oliver whispered in horror. My training!
"No menu?" Dave inquired.
"No choice?" Henry wrinkled his nose.
No service. Exchanging a glance with his friends who all shrugged and nodded, Oliver sighed. He held up four fingers. "That'd be fine. A pot of tea to follow, if you wouldn't mind."
"Whatever." The waiter began to walk away without writing down the order.
"Thank you, Jerry," Percy interjected.
The waiter turned on his heels, his dull eyes squinting at the table with such focus that Oliver thought he might have just been snapped out of a drug haze. "Professor, dude! Didn't see you there! Can I get you a menu, sir?"
Percy smiled at the young man. "It really doesn't matter-"
"But perhaps you'd like something better than the special? Of course you would! It's not all that great - they made it in bulk a couple months ago, just thawed it this morning. I'll bring you guys the fresh fish. And is that Monty over the fence? I'll bring some chicken scraps for him." As quickly as the waiter had arrived, he left the table without waiting for a response.
"Professor Dude?" Henry inquired, a slow smile spreading over his face as he turned to Percy.
"Fish? For lunch?" Dave wrinkled his nose.
Percy spoke to Henry over Dave's head. "That's Jerry Kent. An exchange student I tutored this past summer. He's taken a year off before college."
"You're a teacher?" Oliver asked incredulously.
Dave nudged Henry, whispering (loudly), "Did I forget to mention that?"
Why didn't I know-
"Where do you teach, Perce?" Oliver looked pointedly at Percy, ignoring his teammates.
"Puddlemere School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. I'm a junior professor." Evidently Percy was unused to talking about himself, and his pale skin immediately colored.
Oliver nodded encouragingly, recognizing the local school that served mostly young wizards from all-muggle families. The students received equal muggle and wizard-centered studies, usually living amongst muggle society upon graduation. Though the school wasn't as prestigious as Hogwarts, its reputation for tolerance of all beings was unsurpassed by any other institution in wizarding Britain.
And the irony that Percy was teaching at such an inclusive school wasn't lost on Oliver.
"So you didn't have to Apparate very far to get here, Perce?" Henry said gently. "Why, you were right here in the same city all along!"
Percy nodded. "I don't live directly in the city. It's… well, more like on the outskirts. But I'm in the city quite a bit."
Oliver reached over the fence, petting the now-sleeping dog. "What courses do you teach?"
"Oh. Well. Er-one," Percy shrugged, a light red still tingeing his cheeks. "Muggle Literature for 6th and 7th years. The students like anything contemporary, something that they're interested in reading and of course, the compulsory Shakespeare. Sometimes we'll even put on plays."
"That sounds like fun," Dave interjected. "You always were most comfortable in a classroom anyways."
Percy paused before saying slowly, "That's right. I never thought about it that way."
Oliver cleared his throat, not wanting to be left out of the conversation. "So you're off today?"
Percy shook his head. "I just came from the school, actually. But I'm only part-time, and most days aren't full work ones for me." He gestured to the books he'd brought with him.
At that moment, Jerry Kent arrived carrying a tray with four large fish dinners and a small plate for Monty. He set each plate down with a gentleness Oliver would never attribute to the brash young man. But it was only when he received an appreciative nod and smile from Percy (without regard to the others) that he left the table and their conversation could resume again, uninterrupted.
Henry cleared his throat, "So, you must have family in Puddlemere, Perce?
"No," Percy said, his eyes on his food. "Not really. I mean, sometimes my brothers will come up for a visit but then, it's usually around the holidays or long weekends. I don't think I'll see them again until December."
"Nothing wrong with a little independence," Dave declared, his mouth full of chips.
Oliver poked his fork into the fish, absentmindedly playing with his food. His hunger strike these past few days hadn't increased his appetite and besides which, his thoughts were more concentrated on Percy. Dave's right – there isn't anything wrong with independence. But is it 'a little independence' of his choosing?
As though anticipating Oliver's silent question, Percy interjected into the silence, "I can't tell you how much it surprised me, hearing from you after all this time." He paused, and Oliver felt certain he was about to say more, when Dave said:
"It surprised Oliver a bit as well."
Henry coughed, asking quickly, "Tell me, Percy. Are you a fan of Quidditch? Or any other sport?"
"Quidditch? Of course! Why, Oliver's the only reason I even look at the sports pages in the morning!"
Dave coughed.
"Oh, you too, Dave," Percy waved his fork in his direction, though he turned to face Oliver. "My students are all big Quidditch fans. We talk about you all the time! But they still won't believe me when I tell stories from our schooldays."
Just as Oliver opened his mouth to reply, Henry said (in a tone Oliver found to be very suspect), "You look kind of familiar. Have you ever attended Puddlemere's games?"
"Of course! When I can, that is."
Oliver jolted, his fork clattering loudly onto his plate. Catching Percy's eye, he said shortly, "You've come to the games? Why didn't you ever come down to the locker rooms? Say hello?" He stared at his friend, surprised and hurt. And he couldn't help adding the clichéd: "You know, Perce, I could have gotten you some great seats."
Percy turned red, his eyes immediately casting downward on his meal. From the corner of his eye, Oliver saw his teammates exchange looks before they too turned towards their meals in silence.
Big Mouth. Oliver looked around the café and, catching Waiter Jerry's eye, waved him over. He'd been standing by, tea at-the-ready. And Oliver helped him make room for the set, trying to keep himself busy in this awkward silence instead of trying to sort out the sudden feelings of hurt and shame, realizing he'd been playing in front of his best friend without knowing he was there.
After Jerry left, Oliver poured the tea and began to throw bits of chicken to Monty over the fence.
Percy let out a heavy breath, breaking the silence. "I'm-I'm sorry. I just didn't want to put you out. I mean, things are so different now. You know, with everything that's happened…" He trailed off, looking around the table to confirm what they must have heard about him. When no one spoke, he continued, "It hasn't been easy since the ministry let me go."
He stopped to catch his breath. Oliver's heart sunk – he hadn't meant to make him feel guilty!
Percy took a sip of hot tea and began to explain in a low voice: "I've apologized, and I've done everything that I could to make amends. But there are some things that can't be overlooked, you know?" His words were slow, as though he were thinking to himself out loud. "Most times, it's only Monty and I, and then there's work and- and if you didn't want anything to do with me… Well, it wouldn't have been the first time since I was fired."
"You ought to have known better than that, Perce," Oliver said sternly. Taking a chance, he took off his sunglasses to look at his roommate with resolution, to leave him in no doubt of his sincerity.
"Damn right," Dave muttered.
Percy took his teacup into his hands as though warming them, and then looked directly at Oliver. "That's why it meant so much to me, to receive your owl this morning. To know that you were still speaking to me- That you all wanted to speak to me…" He took a deep breath, setting the teacup back down. He reached over, wrapping his fingers gently around Oliver's wrist. Squeezing lightly, he whispered: "Thank you. Erm - it's a tad overwhelming, mate - you'll have to excuse this."
Percy removed his hand from Oliver's wrist and taking off his glasses, wiped his eyes on his sleeve.
Oliver exchanged a look of horror with his teammates. He ran a cold hand over his warm forehead, his heart beating hard, his breathing seemingly restricted. I can't tell him the only reason I- rather, Dave wrote to him was because I needed his help.
He looked desperately at Henry but the brute American only shrugged and looked away, though his ears were colored red at the turn of events. Dave's was leaned into his plate, an unmoving stare concentrated on his fish.
Oliver sunk in his seat. I can't do this to a broken man. He's only just getting back on his feet again. There has to be some other way. Except… there's not. He chanced a glance at the redhead next to him; his blue eyes were blurred, directed on his steamy teacup, and a deep blush was still growing over his cheeks.
Nope. Can't do it.
"You didn't happen to hear about the interview last week with CQN?" Dave blurted out. Oliver sat up in his seat in terror. A little tact, Sharp! He tried in vain to kick Dave underneath the table but, judging by the sudden look of pain on Henry's face, he had missed.
"Who hasn't?" Percy said. He gave a low chuckle. "Actually, that's why I thought you asked me here, Oliver. To introduce me to this boyfriend."
"That's right!" Dave said quickly.
"Really? Wonderful! I can't wait to meet him," Percy said. Like a flash, his embarrassment was forgotten with this news, his mood now jovial.
As Oliver exchanged a warning glance with Dave, his imagination trying desperately to come up with another excuse for the outburst. But Percy saw his two school friends glare at each other, and he said in a sudden, serious tone:
"It's not you… Is it, Dave?"
Henry laughed heartily, taking his napkin from his lap and slapping it on the table.
Dave rolled his eyes. "No, it's not me! But thank you for that blow to my ego."
Henry leaned forward, still chuckling. "It's like this, Perce. When Oliver had the interview last week-"
In a panic, Oliver palm slapped the table's surface. These aren't my friends, they have never been my friends… He laughed loudly, nervously, and said in a high-pitched voice, "Is there anyplace you have to be this afternoon?"
Percy blinked. "Why, no. Not at all."
"Good. I do have something to tell you, Perce," he cleared his throat, eyeing (warning) his teammates into silence, "but I think it'd go better at my apartment. Would you come home with me?"
At Oliver's rare direct tone that concealed any signs of his Scottish heritage, Dave didn't even snicker at the request. Good.
"Sure! That's no problem." He cast an eye over the fence, his red hair jostling with the slightest of movement. He tapped his fingers on the table. "Except I doubt Monty will be allowed there. And I don't like to leave him alone for too long since-"
"That's no problem, Perce," Henry said quickly. "Oliver's free this afternoon. Why don't you two get reacquainted at your place? Since Dave and I have… That Thing… At Oliver's apartment."
"Thing?" Dave inquired, then yelped and grabbed his knee, muttering something that sounded very much like: 'damn American.' Writhing in pain, he said loudly, "Oh! How could I ever have forgotten that?"
Oliver stared at his teammates in horror. Did Henry just invite me to Percy's house? He felt what little fish he ate come up in his throat. How did I lose control of this situation?And then – serving to only further his nausea – Oliver remembered that he had already given up control during the Candy Cane interview. With cautious eyes, he looked at trusting, unknowing Percy that was falling into this abyss of chaos, subject to the idiotic whims of three professional Quidditch players (and Merlin help us all!).
"My place?" Percy had paled, (it appeared) searching for a plausible excuse to dissuade the situation and, with a quick glance at Monty, relented: "Sure. We can go to my house. You'll probably want to meet up later, so I'll leave my address-"
"No!" Dave lounged across the table, grabbing his wrist, holding him still. "Oliver's free right now."
"Er—That's right. All afternoon. Just like you," Henry chimed in. Oliver threw him a threatening glare but the American focused only on Percy: "And then you guys can come back to Oliver's later on. In fact, Dave and I will watch Monty for you. I grew up with animals, he'll be in fine hands."
"Don't you have that thing?" Percy asked, doubtfully.
"That thing can be done with Monty," Henry said reassuringly.
Oliver coughed loudly, though his effort was unnoticed by his friends. Is Henry… Is Henry using the dog as blackmail? As though reading his thoughts:
"So then you'll have to come back! Even if you don't-" Dave started, then yelped once more. And then Henry yelped in return.
Evidently there were going to be some heavily bruised Quidditch players at the next meeting.
"Even if I don't what?" Percy asked, his eyes widening.
"Even if you don't have the time," Henry chuckled nervously, trying to cover Dave's indiscretion. "So we can all see each other again! Perhaps at supper. Or something."
Confused, Percy turned to look at Oliver. "You want to tell me something? In private? Without my dog? And then… does this involve your boyfriend?"
"That's one way to put it, Perce. You wouldn't believe how much you two have in common!" Dave added, his hands still holding his knee tight. He quickly drew back on the remark, afraid for Henry's physical reprisal.
Oliver opened his mouth to speak, to provide some sort of excuse for his teammates' behavior, for the entire situation – but he stopped as Percy suddenly looked over his head, staring wide-eyed.
It wasn't necessary for the three Quidditch players to also turn. Immediately, they could hear an assortment of excited voices that explained exactly what captured Percy's attention:
"Look, Ma! Look! It's Oliver Wood and his boyfriend!"
"Why, you're right!"
"Just like he said on the radio! I've never see hair that red!"
"Oh, but isn't he thin!"
"I think he looks hot!"
"I think he needs a haircut!"
"Look at those freckles! They must go all the way down to his-"
"Isn't that Oak? He's Canadian, right?"
"American! Who cares? That's David Sharp with them!"
"Who cares about either of them? Imagine, Wood gay! What a perfect waste of a good man!"
"I think they're happy. Why wouldn't they be?"
"I'd shag the lot in a heartbeat."
"Funny, isn't it? How opposites attract?"
"Red looks so familiar! Yes… Why, I think that's our little Jeremy's teacher from the school!"
"Professor Wibbley!"
"Professor Teasley!"
"Oh, who cares? Who's got a camera?"
Cautious and curious, Oliver could see the group slowly approach the table from the reflection in his sunglasses. He turned to Percy, now wide-eyed with shock, and, pushing through his own anxiety, spoke quickly: "Trust me. You and I need to get out of here right now. Leave Monty with Henry, and let's Apparate to your place."
Percy's gaze drifted from the crowd to Oliver's, unblinking. He opened his mouth, a thousand questions about to unleash, when Oliver muttered once again:
"Trust me." He reached across the table, taking Percy's cold hand in his own, squeezing his fingers lightly.
And slowly, the red curls bobbed up-and-down in a gesture Oliver had no choice but to take as an affirmation.
He stood, pulling Percy up with him (his surprise leaving him at a deadweight). He didn't let go of his hand.
Dave nodded encouragingly at Percy, saying quietly, "We'll meet up later. I'll take good care of Monty."
"And I'll take good care of Dave," Henry joked lightly, though his face held a worried expression. "We'll be at the apartment, Ol."
Someone yelled out, "They're touching! They're touching!" as a multitude of flashbulbs suddenly went off.
Henry and Dave exchanged a warning glance and then, like actors on a stage, stood up and in front of the couple, facing the approaching crowd with pasted-on carefree grins under their disguise, as though nothing strange was occurring at Table 8, Chez Puddlemere.
Oliver and Percy vanished, hand-in-hand.
-
Percy's Home, Area UnknownImmediately Following Lunch
Percy dropped his hand, recovering from the short journey quickly. Oliver shook his head, clearing the familiar fog that envelops wizards during an Apparition, and fixed his gaze on the home before him.
Where am I? Is this- is this someone's home? Oliver stared before him.
Completely surrounded by trees, a small decrepit house sat in the center of what appeared to be a heavily dense forest. The house was obviously rotting, with every part of the structure appearing to tilt to the side. Boards half-hung off the side of the house. The roof held few scattered tiles, and the bricks from the top of the chimney had sliced the stack in two, a pile of bricks littering the tiny yard. The windows were almost blackened with age. Old muggle electrical appliances littered the yard. Oliver couldn't see any scenery, any evidence of where he may have Apparated, except endless trees and sky. It was completely silent.
This makes the Shrieking Shack look like Malfoy Mansion, Oliver grimaced.
Percy, he noticed, began walking up the steps of the home, appearing to walk in strategic places as though one foot out of place would cause him to fall through the stairs. Which it probably could, he realized with a start.
Unsure of what to say, Oliver remained silent, watching Percy ascend the stairs carefully. Even from behind, he could tell the redhead was flushed, the muscles in his neck visibly red, tight. Reaching the porch, he stopped and turned slowly, and Oliver drew in a quick breath, awaiting what his (formerly meticulous, formerly fussy, formerly nail-bitingly scrupulous) roommate was about to say.
"Why don't we go inside, then? Have a cuppa?" Percy pursed his lips as his eyes met Oliver's, the hot afternoon sun glaring orange through his hair. But his eyes were dark and he crossed his arms, his tone suddenly sharp as he added, "And you can clear up this cock-and-bull story you've been dealing me."
-> To Be Continued