Percy Weasley (sentimentalist) wrote in disorderic, @ 2018-02-07 23:08:00 |
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Percy arrived home with shirt rumpled and tie loose, sagging briefly against the door as Magdalena scrabbled at his knees. He smiled vaguely at her and called into the flat for Oliver. “Babe?” Safe behind wards, he could fall into a chair and press his thumb and forefinger into the bridge of his nose, as if by pressure he could erase the previous hour. The dogs heard Percy before Oliver did, so he knew not to worry just by their eager footsteps and yips alone. “In here,” he called back. He dawdled in the kitchen, finishing up the dishes, and then frowned when Percy didn’t come to find him like he usually did. “Perce? Did you fall asleep -” Oliver paused, taking in Percy’s rumpled appearance. “Percy? What happened?” The little dog lifted her head, pushing a wet nose against Percy’s leg and he shook himself, looking up at Oliver with red-rimmed eyes. Oliver being safe and whole bolstered him - but at the same time, stoppered the words in his throat. He might have preferred to save him this latest injustice. But he further found that he couldn’t. “Death Eaters killed —“ he paused, drawing in a shallow breath. “Death Eaters killed Gawain Robards in the Wizengamot.” Oliver’s breath left his body in a quiet huff, and he crossed the room quickly to Percy’s chair, reaching out to run a hand gently over his fiancé’s tousled hair. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured. He’d known how much Gawain meant to Percy - as an ally and as a political figure to look up to, as a friend. Gawain meant a lot to a great many people, himself included. He rose from his crouch and stood, fitting his chin in the hollow of Oliver’s shoulder to quietly breathe him in - quickened with life, all solid and good and warm. It was a stark reminder and an unspoken maxim. “I came to change my clothes. I’m going back in to file an injunction against Hugo Nott taking Gawain’s seat.” One of Oliver’s hands cupped the back of Percy’s head while the other settled at the small of his back, holding him close. He couldn’t bring Gawain back or fix Percy’s Ministry, but he could hold on tightly and make sure Percy knew he wasn’t alone. “Do you have to?” he asked, though he knew the answer. Of course Percy had to. He couldn’t stop trying. Robards would want him to keep fighting. “Do you think it’ll work?” Four hours ago, he would have illustrated or evinced some modicum of hope in the process or the system. But with Gawain dead and those sacred principles of republic flouted, Percy was low on hope. “It hasn’t the slightest chance,” he said, and worries his lower lip against his teeth as he pulled back. He’d filed Gawain’s original electoral paperwork for candidacy with his own name. To keep from drawing Death Eater attention, he might have to choose a different name. “But it can’t go uncontested.” The frown between Oliver’s eyebrows deepened. Percy, who’d so strongly believed in the power of what remained of their government, saying there was no hope made Oliver’s stomach churn. “Like another election?” Oliver asked, trying to sort it all out aloud. He couldn’t think of another way to stop it when the Death Eaters in charge would want someone with Nott’s ideals there. “Who’s going to challenge him? I didn’t think we had anyone else with the experience… anyone outspoken enough who was also willing, I mean.” “Hugo Nott ought to be named to the seat since he came in second. If I file an injunction against him, I may be able to keep him from ascending.” A pause. “Or at least give Tinworth enough time to call for another referendum to elect a new representative.” The words that wanted to come stuck in Percy’s throat; the memory of his long talks with Robards, their plans and the introduction of politics to him. Percy didn’t push him off the balcony but he certainly put him there. “But if they’re smart they’ve got someone in the office who will take my injunction and lose it or better, not give it any actual thought. Hugo’s their man.” Oliver took a deep breath. He wanted to be able to offer Percy some sort of encouragement, some sort of hope, but it was still hard to see through the fog. He held on tighter and pressed a kiss to the side of Percy’s head. “Be careful. They won’t be happy if they find out you’re trying to buy Gawain’s supporters more time to stand in the way.” Percy smiled vaguely. “I’ll be careful.” He’d made it through the highs and the lows of this shambles and managed to survive when far greater men had fallen all around him. His invisibility seemed to be working for him thusfar. “You too?” “I’ll be here,” Oliver answered with lopsided smile. “‘Course I’m safe.” He pressed his lips to Percy’s cheek before nudging him away. “Go change. You’ve got work to do, yeah?” What Oliver really wanted was for Percy to stay, but that wasn’t really an option. “I’ll wait up.” “Yeah …” Percy stepped backward, rote memorisation stepping him through the kitchen. “I love you,” was perfunctory, but meaningful, a breath as he moved into the bedroom and changed into a crisp suit, pointing his wand at his hair so that it would comb flawlessly, a shining dark blonde in the flickering light. “Keep your wand close and text me if anything gets weird.” Oliver followed close behind, just watching. Before the Ministry had suspended Quidditch, he was up and out the door to run or practice before the sun came up, so he had few chances to watch Percy like this. Now that he didn’t have a set schedule, he could watch from the bed or from across the room. It hadn’t lost its novelty yet. His laugh was dry. “When isn’t it weird?” But he’d do as he was asked, of course. He fought the urge to ruffle Percy’s hair. “Make sure you come home,” he insisted, voice quiet and betraying all his fears. “Don’t take too many chances — just make sure you come home.” Percy smiled. “We’ll eat pizza.” A rebellious suggestion for the one whose sugar addiction had sent him spiralling into a health food addiction. Stepping up close to Oliver, he moved his chin aside so that he could straighten his tie. “Then tomorrow, we’ll talk about how we can get the world back.” Oliver reached up and nudged Percy’s hands so he could fix the tie for him. “I like it when you talk like that.” ----- Between the prospect of late-night (early morning?) pizza that he never would have allowed himself to eat if he’d been in the middle of training and the anxiety that clenched his chest nearly all the time, Oliver wasn’t able to relax until Percy was back. He’d tried to keep busy instead -- going to get a pizza from their favourite late-night haunt, reading Percy’s old Defense Against the Dark Arts books, doing sit-ups. It didn’t really help wear him out, but it did distract him enough for a while. The relief he felt when Percy finally made it back was achingly familiar. He let Percy dig in before broaching the subject hanging in the air. “So --” he began. This was the part Oliver always stumbled over. “What’s next?” Through a mouthful of pizza Percy smiled and nearly suggested running off to get married as the next obvious step. But these ideas never seemed to gain a lot of traction. Instead, he swallowed and uncapped a beer. If they were falling off the wagon, it would be thorough. He loosened his tie. “We wait to see if the injunction holds. I suspect Nott himself would be one of the first to start talking it. In the meantime, I think it’s time to seriously consider aligning ourselves with rebellion. We both want to make a difference.” “Don’t see why someone can’t just kill him too,” Oliver muttered, frowning down at the slice of pizza in his hand. Even if Nott didn’t have a literal hand in killing Auror Robards, it was obviously in Nott’s benefit that he was gone. Aligning ourselves with rebellion was a big step for someone who’d been so adamantly opposed not that long ago. “You mean, like --” Oliver was almost afraid to say the words himself, though it wasn’t like the house was bugged. “With your family? Do what they do?” It hadn’t been difficult to put all of the puzzle pieces together, between Percy yelling at them and Angelina’s confession. “We’re both sort of … allies to that sort of thing. You in the Ministry and me agreeing to help Professor Lupin. Me helping Will.” “Yeah. We are.” Percy knew that the Death Eaters gleefully broke the social contract. He knew that getting back any semblance of their government meant it was necessary to flout the newly established laws. “What do you think?” “I think…” Oliver drew the sentence out, trying to be more mysterious than he really was. He leaned forward a little, catching Percy’s gaze, “it’s really hot when you say things like that.” He smirked. “I have to keep up with my hot fiancé.” “Hey, speaking of.” They had some important things to discuss when it came to rebellion, but something else was on Oliver’s mind now, and he wanted to get it out in the open before the moment passed. He wanted so many things before the moments passed. “When are we going to get married? I want — I think we should. Now. I mean, not right this minute, but… if things go bad…” He wanted to know what it was like, before that happened. Percy’s reply was slow, as if weighed by ideas he wished to impart but did not possess the words to utter, so he reached out and took hold of Oliver’s hand. Oliver wanted their family there - all of them. But the truth was, and the more he ruminated, the truer it became, Craig would wait out the end of the war in Azkaban. And Percy didn’t want to wait to bind himself to Oliver. “I would marry you now, though.” Oliver exhaled in a soft laugh. “Well that’s a relief.” The image that had been in his head when he’d proposed was different than the one that had been drifting in his mind ever since. The Death Eaters could take a lot from them, but Oliver wanted this to be theirs. He gave Percy’s hand a squeeze. “So what are we waiting for? Aside from bureaucracy.” Percy laughed softly, his weariness apparent even as the lines in his young face bespoke the propensity to smile with this one about. He sat heavily in Oliver’s lap. “The weekend?” a dry, if earnest, suggestion. “Thank you for not saying Valentine’s Day.” It’d be close, but - it didn’t really matter in the end. His arms slid around Percy’s waist. “Who do you want to tell?” It was complicated, given their history with Percy’s family. Someone would be hurt, wouldn’t they? Or maybe they’d be caught up in grieving a pillar of their community and they wouldn’t give the two of them a second thought. “You’ve got the portkey and the tickets for Rio. We can spend the weekend and get married there,” he said, thinking location a reasonable excuse for lacking a big shindig. “We can get the whole crew - Woods and Weasleys - together after it’s all over. But they can know our intent.” He leaned into Oliver’s strong shoulder and took a deep breath. “Only if you’re okay with it, love.” Oliver’s breath hitched for a moment. “Can we?” he wondered, his heart beginning to race. Did they have time? Would it even be legally binding? Did that matter? “‘Course I’m okay with it,” he added quickly, worrying that his previous question would sound like doubt in them rather than something more practical. They were both planners, and this felt wild and reckless. Maybe it didn’t matter if it was just them on a beach saying some vows and nothing more, he thought. That would be enough, wouldn’t it? Percy could handle all the less romantic aspects of paperwork later. He laughed lightly. “I really didn’t mean to distract us from taking back our country. That’s important too.” “Technically Muggles have to wait 28 days, as is evidenced by Britney Spears’ ill-fated wedding to someone (whatever his name is) in Vegas. It’s lucky we’re wizards and it’s much less paperwork to push through,” he began, knowing that he could handle the legal side of things in about an hour. “Muggles are so terribly pedantic - and that’s coming from me!” He pressed his lips against Oliver’s temple. “Britain forgives you, darling.” “Oh, good, I’m glad it won’t kick me out for forgetting about it for a moment.” Not that Oliver had really forgotten; it was more like he’d gotten distracted. Mostly by Percy, especially now that he was on his lap. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter much how long we’d have to wait. No one’s stopping us from having a… a ceremony on a beach at sunset.” Oliver could see it clearly now. “Let’s just do that, and sort out the legal stuff when we’re back. That way we don’t have to bother the Brazilian Ministry for anything else.” Percy grinned this time, leaning in to press that smile against Oliver’s lips. “And the kids are coming too.” Oliver laughed, pulling back just enough to look at the expression on his face, to see how serious he was. “Seriously? On a portkey to Rio. You want to bring them?” “We could ask Roger to watch them again if you don’t think it’d do … ”. As if to belabour his point, Ghost and Magdalena from either side popped their little faces by Oliver’s chair. Magdalena stood on her hind legs and jumped, giving several little yips. “Mmm, someone’s feeling needy,” Oliver said as he reached down to scratch her head. Not just Magdalena, either. “We’ll ask Roger. I don’t want to upset them with such a long trip. Now,” he kissed Percy again, solidly, “about that joining arms with the rebellion thing. What am I even going to do to help?” “So let it be written, so let it be done.” A little Yul Brynner home for levity. Percy wrapped his arms round Oliver’s shoulders and let himself be directed, fingertips tangling at his nape. “You’re working with the Professor. If you want more, you should tell them. Fred knows that my mindset’s been altered.” “He said he’d like to have me there too, actually,” Oliver admitted. He still didn’t know why, or what Fred even saw in him, but it felt good to be wanted for something like that. For anything, when it came to Percy’s brother. He still couldn’t imagine what good he’d do that someone like Angelina or Alicia couldn’t do instead, but maybe working with Professor Lupin would give him that clarity. He exhaled deeply. This all felt so big. “I’m glad you changed your mind, by the way.” “Did he? That’s fantastic.” Percy couldn’t imagine doing anything in the world without providing full disclosure to Oliver. And further, Oliver’s talents far exceeded his own. He could be a real asset: strength, speed, connection. And he knew that people like Oliver, good decent people who had a voice in the community, would help them achieve aims and then rebuild. “Yeah? You are?” “Yeah, Perce.” He moved his hands up Percy’s back to smooth them over his still-too-perfect hair. “You’d be more useful to them than I would be,” he admitted, fully expecting to hear an argument from Percy about that. “They can help you. You don’t have to be a one-man army. And maybe I don’t see how they’d want me, but I still want to fight back anyway, and I don’t want that to be a problem here. We don’t - we don’t have another choice. We have to do more. We have to do everything we can. Otherwise, who are we?” With a lip twisted up, just about ready to tell Oliver what he felt about making value judgments based on people’s usefulness in a war that was just as much ideology as it was attrition, Percy decided to stop himself. Because Oliver was right. Brave, solid Oliver had been right all along and Percy was too stupid to see it. “We do it together.” A small voice at the back of Oliver’s mind still wanted to question whether the rebellion would have room for them both, but then he thought about the things they’d both done in the months since the Ministry was taken over. Percy’s anonymous hooter, the team’s’ statement against the MRC, protecting Will and his son’s family. They could still do that, either way. Oliver grinned and closed the gap for another kiss. “Always.” |