Crouch had left a hickey on him.
Percy stared in horror at the bruise forming on his neck. So far, Crouch had been good at not leaving bruises or other evidence not easily washed away. But it was clear that the mounting pressure of work was getting to the man. Bruises marred his arms and hips and there was a lot of blood mingling with the cum between his thighs.
Crouch was taking the investigation from the ICW personally. He and several other ministry officials, like Bagman and his assistants, were using the British Ministry's stereotype of inefficiency to their advantage. Percy could have had a third of the things the ICW wanted on their desk within 24 hours . . . 48 at most! But Crouch insisted on being the person to deliver items directly to ICW, so once Percy finished the required paperwork, it was whisked away to not be handed over for 72 hours or more!
ICW had sent a Norwegian and Greek delegate to conduct the investigation. Today the Greek delegate, a wizard by the name of Demetrius Aetos, had stalked into Crouch's office and yelled at him for not getting the requested documents and meeting minutes to the ICW in a timely manner. Crouch had done an excellent job of nodding his head, smiling, and speaking professionally with Aetos, but once the day was nearly over, Crouch had ordered Percy to follow him out of the Ministry and had all but manhandled him into a Side-Along Apparition which Percy had not done since he had gotten his license.
Slipping out of the master bath into the bedroom, Percy ignored Crouch who continued to lounge on the bed, still undressed, smoking a cigar.
"Took you long enough," Crouch said. "I thought you said you had a date tonight."
Percy glanced at the clock, realizing with a sinking heart that he was more than half an hour late to meeting Oliver at his apartment. Their schedules were notoriously difficult to align, what with Oliver going abroad with the team for training or games, and with Percy all but running the Department of International Cooperation half the time. Not to mention the times Crouch requires Percy to "drop off reports" at his home.
He hastily pulled on his clothes, ignoring Crouch who watched with a languid smile, puffing away at his cigar. It was a nasty one, smelling like something had burnt old socks. Percy had smelled a lot of cigars while in Geneva as many wixen had smoked when consuming dessert or coffee in an outdoor setting. Many cigars smelled like fruit or flowers and created colored smoke. It was not a habit Percy wanted to pick up, but he had certainly learned what a good cigar smelled like. Crouch, however, had seemed to miss that memo.
"Could I have my wand back, Mr. Crouch?" Percy asked. Crouch took another lazy drag from the cigar before heaving a sigh and sliding out of the bed. Percy averted his eyes as the man walked by him to pull on a bed robe.
"Still so prudish," Crouch murmured, amused, the cigar hanging from the corner of his mouth. "I'll break you of that."
Percy shuddered. Not for the first time he thought of quitting his job, but the thought of Crouch blacklisting him from any ministry job or even getting his father fired kept him from doing so. Being fired was one thing, but being blacklisted would only end up getting him blacklisted by default in other areas. Being blacklisted meant there was something nearly criminally or morally wrong with you. Percy could not risk getting blacklisted, or he would have to leave the country to find any kind of good work, and he could certainly kiss any work with the ICW goodbye.
He quietly followed Crouch out of the bedroom towards the staircase. The rattle of the house's poltergeist startled him out of his thoughts. Crouch had been grumbling recently about the poltergeist which had recently taken up residence on the top floor of the house. Crouch had managed to trap it in an unused bedroom but was having a difficult time exorcising it. Percy had the feeling Crouch was feeling a bit prideful about the fact that he could not exorcise it himself and was therefore refusing to ask for help.
In Mr. Crouch's office, the locked drawer slid open with a wave of Crouch's wand, and he lifted up Percy's wand, studying it closely. Percy resisted the urge to just snatch it out of the man's hands, knowing that would only make the man angry and him even later to meet Oliver.
"What is your wand?" Mr. Crouch asked suddenly. Percy's mind took several seconds to comprehend what was asked, long enough for Crouch to turn an impatient eye towards Percy.
"Cedar, sir," Percy managed to answer. "Eleven inches, dragon heartstring. Ollivander described it as steady." Crouch snorted, handing the wand over to Percy before dismissing him with the wave of his hand. Percy hurried out the door, running down the lane leading up to the house until he felt himself cross over the wards. A quick look around showed that there was no one in the road so he twisted and disappeared, appearing with a crack in the alleyway beside the row of flats where Oliver lived. Within a minute he was up the stairs to the second floor and letting himself into Oliver's flat.
"I'm so sorry!" he immediately said, spotting Oliver sitting in the armchair closes to the fireplace. "Mr. Crouch wanted to go over the reports . . ." he trailed off at Oliver's glare. His heart pounded as he watched Oliver's eyes roam up and down his person. Had he hidden the bite on his neck? He should've taken time in the alley to fix it! Percy cursed himself, even though he was certain his robe collar properly covered any bruises and bites.
"I thought I'd surprise you at work," Oliver said, carefully rotating a tumbler of firewhiskey in his hands. Percy hurried to locate the bottle and found it already nearly empty. Oliver was not usually a heavy drinker, no matter how much mischief he might've gotten up to at Hogwarts. "But you had apparently left early."
"To take reports to Mr. Crouch," Percy lied.
"For three and a half hours?" Oliver demanded. "I'm not some dumb Quidditch player, Percy. It doesn't take that long to drop off reports and give them to the Head of the Department. Your excuse is getting old."
"My excuse?"
"I can smell the fucking cigar smoke!" Oliver shouted, rising to his feet, and slamming the tumbler down. Firewhiskey sloshed over the side of the glass. Amber liquid glistened in the firelight.
"You smell like my Uncle Fergus," Oliver continued, voice sharp and angry in a way Percy had never heard him speak before. "With his Merlin awful cigars that he likes. I can tell you tried to tidy yourself up, but there's no mistaken the crumpled appearance of robes after a shag—,"
"Oliver—,"
"I've seen it enough time with my teammates after a night out on the town. Robes rumpled, hair hurriedly combed, bet you've got some love bites up under that collar am I right?"
He wanted to defend himself, but Percy's mouth remained closed. There was nothing he could say to that.
"I am right, aren't I?" Oliver demanded, stepping forward. His face with cheeks pink from drink and sun suddenly morphed into the dry stress-lined face of Crouch. Terror surged through Percy, and he stumbled back, hip clipping a side table and knocking a picture of Oliver and he to the floor with a loud clatter.
The whole thing was a split second. Oliver's face returned to where it always had been, Percy's mind clearing to remind him that Crouch was nowhere near where he was, that he was in Oliver's flat which was warm and always so safe. He hurried to pick up the picture, glad to see that the frame was undamaged by the drop. It was one of Percy's favorite photos of he and Oliver at the Leaving Ceremony Hogwarts hosted for seventh years. There was recognition of the top students, of which he had been valedictorian of the whole year, and the students received their NEWTs results. He watched as the Oliver in the picture pressed an excited kiss to picture-Percy's cheek.
"Did you really think I was going to hurt you?"
Oliver's voice brought Percy back to reality. Oliver's shoulders slumped as he gazed sadly at Percy. Percy put the photo back on the side table. What was he supposed to say? What could he say?
Oliver heaved a weary sigh, running his hands through his hair.
"I'm not sober enough for this," he muttered. "Just go, Perce. Don't come back 'til you're ready to be honest with me."
"Oliv—,"
"I said get out!"
Percy immediately fled the flat, not stopping until he was back in the alleyway. He stopped by a set of bins to catch his breath. He was trembling. He could not Apparate at the moment or else he would splinch himself. Where would he go anyway? He had already told his parents that he would be home late, with the possibility of him not coming home at all because of the date he was supposed to have with Oliver, and he didn't want to just pop in on Penelope who was probably more stressed than he was as a first-year apprentice at St. Mungo's about to sit for her first set of apprenticeship exams. According to her, apprentices had two exams a year for the first three years and then one exam comprehensive exam after the fourth year which, if they passed, they could be a general healer and take on adult patients. Though she wanted to specialize in pediatrics and spell damage which would require another four years of specialized apprenticeship.
So, no, he could not just pop in on Penny and unload all his relationship woes on her.
Once his trembling had subsided, he focused on the closes apparition point to the Leaky Cauldron, turned, and immediately disappeared from the alleyway, reappearing in another alleyway beside the Leaky Cauldron. He slipped into the dingy pub. The warmth immediately made his skin tingle, telling him in no uncertain terms that he had stood outside in the alleyway by Oliver's flat too long.
The pub was full of workers coming in for an after-work drink with friends and coworkers. There were a few families settled in booths with their young children. Laughter and chatter filled the room as Tom greeted people coming and going from Diagon Alley or looking to use the Floo. Barmaids carried heavily laden trays of food and drinks over to larger parties while a few drinks got floated over people's heads for individuals.
Percy managed to squeeze himself at the end of the bar and ordered a sweet cider which Tom had in front of him within a minute.
What was he going to do now, Percy wondered. Oliver had said not to come back until he was ready to be honest with him, but Percy knew he could not just tell Oliver the truth. So, did that mean that he could never return to Oliver's flat? Did that mean he had to wait for Oliver to reach out or should he take some initiative and send an owl in the morning? Or was this a roundabout way for Oliver to break up with him? Was he never to contact Oliver again then?
He had never thought he would find himself in this situation. Percy knew there was only room in his heart for one person, and that was Oliver. He had known that ever since he had admitted to himself that he was in love with Oliver Wood. They had even begun small talk about what their future might look like once they had a year or two of adulthood under their belts. Oliver was always more a city boy, having been from Glasgow, but Percy had been warming him up to the idea of living in a smaller town. Maybe not as rural at Ottery St. Catchpole, which is what Percy would prefer, but not a city either. Someplace nice where they could have neighbors and people over and maybe have space for a child or two, when they definitely had several more years of adulthood under their belts.
Now that dream was going up in smoke.
"Oi, Weasley!"
Percy jumped at the heavy backslap he received as Marcus Flint slid into the stool beside him. "Where's your other half?"
"What?"
"Sorry, not going to say better-half. We all know you're the better-half of the two of you." Marcus waved Tom over. "Hiya, Tom, I'm gonna need two Yorkshire puddings packaged. And a pint of whatever my mate's having while I wait."
The cider came floating over.
"I never thought you the sort to do . . . take out," Percy said. Penelope had introduced the group to the Muggle concept of take out. It wasn't that the wixen world didn't have take-out, it was just not as prevalent in the British wizarding world as it was in Muggle society.
"Pen's studying for her first set of exams and I thought I'd bring her dinner," Marcus answered. It took a minute for his words to register. When the words did, Percy turned his entire body towards Marcus and leveled him with a glare that he had been practicing for years that he thought he would not get to use until Ginny started dating.
"And who's the second Yorkshire pudding for?" Percy asked. Marcus snorted, eyeing him with amusement.
"Are you two serious?" Percy asked once it was clear Marcus was not going to say anything.
"Well . . . we haven't declared anything yet," Marcus admitted, "but we've been hanging out more and having conversations that are leading in that direction so . . . I'm hoping we can maybe make our relationship official once she's done with the exams."
"If you hurt one hair on her head—,"
"Yes, yes, I get it. You'll curse me into oblivion. Get in line though since Prudence is much faster than you are."
Percy pretended to scowl at Marcus before turning back to his own drink.
"So where is Wood?" Marcus asked, looking around the pub. "I didn't take his seat, did I?"
"No," Percy answered with a sigh. "He's not here."
"And so, you voluntarily came to a pub during happy hours?"
Percy shrugged.
Marcus sighed.
"Do I have to curse Oliver into oblivion?" he asked Percy.
"No," Percy answered. "We had an argument and he told me to get out and not come back." Marcus tilted his head, quizzical, as if Percy were a particularly difficult NEWTs question.
"I . . . can't imagine you two arguing," Marcus admitted. "What was it about?"
"Ollie thinks I'm cheating on him."
Marcus gasped, choking on his cider, and ended up squirting some from his nose. Percy grimaced as a barmaid came by, waving her wand to clean up Marcus' mess with a glare.
"Wood must've gotten dumber since we left school," Marcus muttered once he managed to stop coughing. "Why in the ever-loving fuck does he think that?"
"Because I've been late or missed several dates recently," Percy admitted. "Because I've been held back at work."
"Ah yes, I've been following the ICW investigation in The Daily Prophet," Marcus said. "Well, as much as I can since I doubt the Prophet is reporting half the stuff that's actually happening."
"Oliver thinks I'm using Crouch as an excuse to cheat on him," Percy told him.
"At least he had the sense not to accuse you of cheating on him with Crouch," Marcus said with a laugh. Tom appeared with the Yorkshire Puddings wrapped in a brown bag. "Listen, Weasley . . . Percy . . . go home. Oliver'll realize what an ass he's being and will apologize to you. If The Daily Prophet can be believed about anything, one of his teammates has recently gone through a very messy breakup with his fiancé who was caught cheating on him, so he's probably just a bit stressed by the whole thing."
Marcus patted Percy's shoulder and disappeared through the crowd. Percy knocked back his drink, feeling only slightly better after his talk with Marcus. Without another word he paid for his drink and some Floo powder and went home.
Oliver was really regretting drinking so much firewhiskey. There was an incessant banging in his head . . .
"Wood, if you don't open the door right now, I'm going to blast it open!"
Ah. Well. Perhaps all the pounding wasn't from just his head.
Shuffling to the door of his flat, Oliver had barely opened it before Marcus was shoving his way in.
"Hi, why don't you come in," Oliver suggested, closing the door harder than necessary, and instantly regretting it when his head ached.
"Here." Marcus tossed Oliver a potion's vial, it's bright yellow hue instantly recognizable as a Sober Up Shot. Oliver gratefully swallowed it in one gulp. Within ten seconds his headache was gone, the room wasn't as blurry or sideways as it had started to become, and his stomach no longer felt like it was rolling.
"What're you doing here, Flint?" Oliver asked. He looked at the clock.
"Missing out on dinner with Pen," Marcus snapped. "Because I'm apparently destined to clean up your messes."
"My what?"
"Do you know who I bumped into at the Leaky tonight? Do you?"
"I—,"
"Percy Weasley. Looking very upset. I doubt he realized how upset he looked or else he wouldn't have gone out in public like that. Of course, I can understand why he'd look tired. Keeping an entire ministry department from going under while its being investigated by ICW mustn't be an easy task, especially if the rumors are true and someone's boss is disappearing out of the ministry half the time."
Oliver sighed.
"And then he tells me the strangest tale," Marcus continued. It was clear Oliver was going to have to listen to the entire tirade. "He told me you think he's cheating on you! Imagine my surprise! I truly thought you could not be any stupider, but apparently, I was wrong."
"Excuse me—,"
"Because "Percy Weasley" and "cheating" in the same sentence don't go together. It's so outlandish! I'd be less surprised if little Aria were a lost pureblood heiress!"
"Okay!" Oliver shouted. He could feel the headache returning. "You made your point. Why're you here?"
"I'm here to knock some sense into, Wood! Do you really think Percy's cheating on you? Percy Weasley? The annoying prefect and Head Boy? The stickler for the rules? The one person who can tell the twins apart? The one who most of our year called a Prat or Prude for most of our time at Hogwarts until you taught them all a lesson? That Percy Weasley? You think he's cheating on you?"
Oliver sat heavily on the couch.
"You don't understand, Marcus," he said wearily. "He's always gone now. He's late for dates or cancelling at the last minute. With quite flimsy excuses if you ask me."
"Why? Because they're the same each time? That he's trying to keep the Department of International Cooperation from tanking while ICW investigates the Triwizard Tournament? And Merlin known Crouch isn't doing shit to help even though he's the head of the department. The things I hear every night from my family . . . they're quite gleeful at Crouch finally getting his comeuppance."
Oliver sighed.
"Is it really that bad?" he asked. "I haven't . . . I only know what Percy tells me, which isn't much."
"You haven't read the papers?"
"Do I look like someone who reads anything except the Quidditch section?"
"Well, perhaps you should start. If only to keep you from making an ass of yourself and sending your perfectly good boyfriend into a nervous breakdown."
Oliver winced. Percy could be sensitive and took rejection hard. He really should not have drunken firewhiskey before talking to Percy.
"You have a few options now," Marcus continued, "You can either go and grovel at Percy's feet and tell him how sorry you are for accusing him of cheating on you instead of having an adult conversation about how you miss spending time with him because he's always working, or you can move aside and let me take over."
Oliver frowned at Marcus; not sure he had heard correctly.
"Excuse me?" he asked. "Take over?"
"Well, if you're done with Percy I'll happily fill in where you can't."
Before he knew what he was doing, Oliver was on his feet, one hand grabbing Marcus by the robe and shoving him against the wall, the other drawing his wand and sticking it up under the other's chin.
"You stay the fuck away from him," Oliver snapped. "Or I'll curse you into the next century." He dragged Marcus to the door and tossed him out of the flat, slamming the door shut. Someone down the hallway opened their door and began shouting at Marcus which made Oliver feel a little better, even as he worked to calm himself down.
He needed to find Percy, and it would not do to show up angry.