Entry tags:

fic, percy/oliver, r, slash

A gift for trubbleclef!
Author: ???
Giftee: trubbleclef
Title: Strictly Business
Pairing/Characters: Percy/Oliver, Draco/Zacharias, Kingsley
Rating: R
Word Count: 5000~
Warnings: Post-war, AU.
Disclaimer: Not mine, just borrowing for a spot of fun.
Summary: Percy finds himself on the receiving end of some rather suggestive messages, and just when an old friend re-enters his life, too.
Notes: Hope you enjoy this, trubbleclef! Thanks to my wonderful beta, L. Any mistakes are my own.



Percy stared down at the scrap of parchment that nose-dived and unfolded on top of his hand. It had to be someone's idea of a joke.

I want to snog you rotten, it read in plain black ink and a nondescript hand.

A small fire burned in his cheeks. If it wasn't someone trying to poke fun, which it very likely was, it must have been delivered to the wrong person. Yes, a simple case of misdelivery. A charm could be miscast from time to time. He would simply crumple it up, toss it into the rubbish bin, and sensibly forget about it like any sensible person would do because to think it was serious would be nonsensical.

"Mr. Weasley?"

Percy's body moved before his mind did in a blind panic. He shuffled his correspondence, the note with it, before it could be spotted and questioned and his whole career was compromised. The Minister of Magic stepped in a beat after.

"Yes, Minister Shacklebolt?" Percy almost, but thankfully didn't, squeak.

If the Minister was about to tell him something pertaining to work, he seemed to have set it aside to look him over. Dark eyes studied him with something akin to concern. It unnerved Percy.

"Are you all right, Mr. Weasley? You look feverish. You're recommended to turn in early if you're unwell."

"I'm fine, really, I am," Percy said quickly, contriving to look sincere and healthy. "It's just.. ah, a little warm in here. That's all. I'll be fine in no time." He fanned himself with a memo for emphasis.

"I see."

If Percy didn't know better, and he had known the Minister for quite some time, he did not look nor sound convinced. His tone transitioned back to Minister from a vague, would-be friend. It was more comfortable that way. Ministry business was known ground to Percy.

"Excuse me, sir, but I doubt you came to inquire after my health."

Percy, too, went back to business. It was safe territory. Much safer than the fluttering in his stomach that started for reasons he did not care to look into yet. "Was there something else..?"

"Yes, I have come to let you know that we're going to dinner Saturday evening. Dress formally."

"I- I beg your pardon?" Percy stammered, gob-smacked.

Shacklebolt's eyebrows rose. "Dinner," he repeated slowly and precisely, dark eyes warming with something that looked like amusement. "Mr. Kasakova from Bulgaria will be joining us. He is coming to re-negotiate terms for international cauldron regulations. I've come to understand this is a topic you are exceptionally knowledgeable in."

"Oh." Percy felt seven kinds of stupid and his face was three different shades of red. "I'm sorry, I thought - well, it doesn't matter what I thought. What time and where, sir?"

A fine eyebrow arched expressively, but no questions were asked by Shacklebolt. "Our reservation for the El Greco is at seven."

"The El Greco?"

"Yes."

"Isn't it just El Greco?"

"No, it's The El Greco. Redundant, I know." Shacklebolt smiled as if to say he understood. "The owner has a.." There was a delicate pause, "peculiar sense of humour."

"So I take it."

"Don't work yourself sick, Weasley. I need you Saturday."

After the Minister left, Percy sunk in his chair as low as he possibly could without slipping off.

Percy found the slip of parchment, crumbled it up, and tossed it into the rubbish tin like a sensible person should have done five minutes ago. It burped happily. Percy took off his glasses and hid his face in his palms.

He felt sick, but not for the reasons Shacklebolt thought. He didn't know what he had been thinking. Or if he was even thinking at the time. Of course it would be dinner for Ministry matters only.

That's all it was, and that was all it would ever be. Strictly business.

Resolved, Percy pushed his glasses back into place, straightened his shoulders, and resumed his work. He refused to leave early, but that didn't change the fact he had promised to leave work at a decent hour that evening and not stay over-time.

He was becoming a popular dinner-guest these days.

*******

"Saturday, he said, at The El Greco."

"The El Greco?"

"Yes, The El Greco," Percy repeated blandly.

Zacharias Smith whistled at the same time Draco Malfoy's jaw dropped.

Percy looked from one reaction to the next and frowned. They knew something he didn't know, and that put him in a position he seldom enjoyed. "What?"

"What? he asks." Zacharias rolled his eyes. "Have you ever been to The El Greco?"

"You seem to be forgetting he's a Weasley." Composing himself again, Draco smirked. "Of course he hasn't. You need connections, good connections, to get a reservation. They fill up months in advance."

"Spill it already, you fopping queen. Why did the Minister pick you? Did you do some 'secretarial work'?" Zacharias leaned forward and gave him a saucy wink. "Give him a good suck, did you?"

"Maybe a good rim on his desk?" Draco chirped in.

"N-no!" Percy sputtered and flushed red to the neck. He couldn't - no, he could believe they would try to implicate such things. He straightened his glasses indignantly. "It's not a date. It's strictly business."

Percy missed the look Draco and Zacharias exchanged. He was preoccupied with checking the impulse to drain the rest of his wine. Pushing around his string beans was not helping him very much. Percy nearly choked on a bite when Draco picked up the conversation.

"Can you imagine a shag with Shacklebolt?" he asked as naturally as one might inquire about the weather.

"Helga help me. I can imagine not being able to walk straight for days." Zacharias winced a little. "You'd be as sore as fuckall."

"I'd whinge and make him carry me around," Draco remarked with a dismissive wave of his hand, as if the solution was a given.

"You do that anyway," Zacharias muttered before turning back to Percy. "What do you think?"

Percy pinched the bridge of his nose. "I think this is the most inappropriate dinner conversation we've ever had."

"You must have been absent when we discussed Wood."

Percy stiffened in his seat.

"Oliver Wood?" he asked tightly.

"No, a log of wood. Yes, him, you lucky bastard." Draco sighed dramatically. "You got to see him undress regularly for seven years."

"I would have had a wank every night with him in the room," Zacharias said. "I just had Ernie, Wayne, and Justin - not exactly good wank material."

"Macmillan is all right. He's in the International Department. He wears nice robes," Percy said reasonably, hoping a bit too desperately the subject would change.

"I've known the bloke since I was three, and he's as straight as a board," Zacharias pointed out. "Like I said, not good wank material. Not like Wood."

"Is it true he's engaged to Pansy Parkinson?" Percy asked evasively.

"Who, Wood?" Zacharias asked, incredulous.

"He means Ernie, you tosser," Draco corrected none too delicately. "Yes, it is true. It's all I ever hear from Pansy's gob. Her world revolves around it."

"Ironic, isn't it?" Zacharias snaked an arm around Draco's waist and smirked. "Your lot likes Hufflepuffs more than they ever cared to admit."

"Only because your lot obediently caters to our every want and desire, making the other traits tolerable." Draco sneered, but looked relaxed against Zacharias.

"Git," Zacharias said a little fondly.

Percy felt, not for the first time, that he was outside some little world only Zacharias and Draco were a part of. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Sorry, where were we?" Draco was the first to notice Percy shift in his seat and begin staring at the wall. "Oh yes. Wood and Shacklebolt."

"Yes, thank you for the reminder. Which one would you rather shag, Percy?"

"Neither of them are--"

"You don't know that," Draco cut Percy off quickly. "Neither of them are married, and have you ever seen either one with a bird?"

"Besides, we're asking hip- hypa.. Oh, bugger it. What's the word?" Zacharias frowned, searching for the word. Three glasses of wine were finally exacting their price.

"Hypothetically?" Percy supplied helpfully.

"Yes, hypothetically. We're asking hypothetically. Their tastes don't factor in. They could be randy for chairs and it still wouldn't matter. If you could, who would it be?"

"I don't know," Percy answered honestly, blushing despite himself. "They're both, well, attractive in their own different ways."

"How?" Draco asked deviously.

"Besides their looks?" Percy paused a moment to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Kingsley's voice is soft and deep, and.. well, yes. But Oliver's can do awful things with that Scottish brogue in it. Kingsley doesn't say anything unnecessary, and Oliver can talk endlessly. Oliver has this silly grin he wears all the time, like a little boy in a big man's body, and Kingsley stays calm and composed - he notices things most wouldn't, and the man knows how to dress. And.. and yes," Percy finished awkwardly, averting his undivided attention back to the string beans on his plate.

Too much was said. A moment of silence followed before Zacharias got fed up with it and barked a laugh.

"Blimey. It sounds like you're in love with both of them."

Percy glanced up to give him a baleful look. "Don't be ridiculous. It-- nothing could ever happen. Not with either one of them. They.. never."

"Never say never," Draco said with a very uncharacteristic smile. A sneer or a smirk were to be expected, but a smile? It looked strange.

Deadpan, Percy stared. "Sorry, but I feel like I missed something. When did you become an optimist?"

"'Round the same time I managed to use the oven without burning the house down. Zacharias said I'd never manage."

*******

The next morning it rained and continued to rain the whole day. Rain was not something Percy minded. At least the rain, unlike the sun, did not burn him until his skin resembled a lobster shell. Outside it was cool and refreshing, the air smelled like clean earth. If he didn't want to be outside, the rain made a perfect excuse to stay inside, but that was not the case with Percy. Inside it was stuffy and warm, the kind of environment that made naps very seductive and work slightly less pressing.

When noon finally meandered by, Percy decided to venture out for his lunch break before he made a pillow out of protocol. Zacharias had mentioned some cafe before, and he distantly remembered him saying it was two blocks west. He had no umbrella, and by the time he reached the street-corner cafe his hair was damp and his glasses needed a wipe. The lenses were wet and foggy. He dried them off on a napkin while he stood in queue.

"What can I get started, sir?"

"Just one medium lattè, please."

"Do you want that caffeine-free, fat-free, or with our organic soy milk?"

Percy blinked owlishly, but thought it better not to ask. "No thank you, that won't be necessary."

The barista looked surprised but relieved, making Percy wonder if he should have tried the organic soy milk to appear more Muggle.

"How no? It's quite popular with their lot," a voice said from behind. A familiar voice.

Percy felt something in his stomach flounder and flop and possibly expire. He turned to face a grinning Oliver Wood, free of soaked clothing and damp hair. He had an umbrella and a cup of some caffeinated beverage in a cup made from recycled cardboard.

"It seems to defeat the purpose of coffee to take all those things out."

"M'thoughts exactly! Isn't coffee suppose'ta have caffeine and sugary things added in?"

"That's the standard I typically go by." A hint of a smile quirked Percy's lips.

"What are we doin' having this elaborate conversation about coffee for? I haven't seen you in ages, Perce!"

The hug Oliver pulled him into nearly winded him, but Percy meekly squeezed back before the scent of coffee and spice was gone and Oliver moved back.

"You're all wet! Doncha' have an umbrella?" Oliver asked, barking a laugh.

"I floo'd into work before I realized it was raining today," Percy explained, feeling embarrassed as he pushed up glasses the hug knocked askew.

"Let me walk you back, yeah? There's 'nuff room under this for two."

Percy vaguely heard the barista call out his order. He was a bit distracted by the image of huddling close to Oliver underneath an umbrella that entered his mind.

"Are you certain? It's just a little rain. You needn't trouble yourself about me. I'm sure you have more important things to see to." Percy knew he was babbling, even if he didn't know why. He turned to get his coffee, but Oliver reached over and got to it before him.

He was sort of, but not quite, pinned against the counter with Oliver behind him. Very close behind him.

"Like wot?" Oliver pressed, grinning. Not that Percy could see him grin. He just knew.

"Things.. important things that high-profile Quidditch coaches regularly do," Percy retorted quickly, pinkening to the tips of his ears. There were Muggles watching, for Merlin's sake!

"We're off-season, meaning I'm on break." Oliver moved, but took Percy's drink with him. "I think I can spare ten minutes of my busy schedule t' walk down the block."

"All right, all right." Percy turned back around, chewing his lip in a valiant attempt not to look too pleased. "You can walk me back. Can I have my lattè, now?"

Oliver stole a sip and made to hand it back, but just before Percy could get it, he pulled it out of reach again. "Let me take you out t' lunch."

Was Oliver trying to negotiate by holding his drink hostage? Percy stared, a little dazed and confused. Spontaneity tended to have this effect on his senses. "When, now?"

"If now's a good time, yeah."

Percy checked his wristwatch. "I have a little over half an hour. Is that enough time?"

Oliver smiled and finally handed over his negotiation tool. "Plenty 'nuff if ye walk fast."

*******

"So, what ever happened with Penelope? Still seeing her?"

Percy's fork stopped mid-air and the spaghetti seized the moment to unwind, falling back into the bowl with their noodle brethren. Percy twirled his fork and concentrated on getting back his noodles. He wasn't stalling, he was trying to eat. "We parted ways after we began working."

That was putting it delicately.

"Cor," swore Oliver, foregoing the napkin for his fingers and tongue. Percy knew it would have been polite to look away and pretend not to notice a grown man sucking marinara sauce off his thumb, but he didn't. It wasn't like it was the first time. "I thought for sure you two were going t' marry and have several bright ickles and the like. Just wasn't meant t' be, eh?"

Percy inhaled deeply, because breathing deeply and slowly right before you let the proverbial cat out of the bag was immensely helpful and.. and he could do this. "I would like children, but it was never meant to be with Penelope." He could. He was going to. "Or any other woman, for that matter."

"Oh. Prefer blokes, then?" Oliver was nothing if not blunt and nonplussed about everything, and Percy was beginning to suspect he was doing it on purpose to grin at all the variations of red in his face.

"Could you say that a bit louder? I don't think the whole establishment heard you clearly enough," Percy said witheringly.

"Wot?" Oliver frowned, and Percy hated it when he lost his grin and started looking like a puppy kicked and left on the side of the motorway. No one should be allowed to be able to pull off that look within a tenth of a second. "It's not the blooming end of the world, Perce. I like a bit of both m'self."

"It is a--Wait, you what?" Percy stared, and if his eyes weren't as big as saucer plates, they were certainly some measure of wide and unbelieving.

"I like birds and blokes," Oliver said again. "It's not so different."

A beat passed as it all registered. Then, four legs of chair screeched against the floor and Percy grabbed his coat without feeling it in his hands. "I need to go back to work."

*******

"You fled."

This, Percy had to admit, was exactly what he expected to hear after he related the whole debacle to what should have been a sympathetic and understanding ear. He expected it because it wasn't wholly untrue, but the truth wasn't what Percy wanted. He stubbornly longed for someone to understand and soothe, perhaps even offer warm scones and tea.

"I did not flee! I had work, Ministry work, and I happen to like having my job," Percy retorted tartly, crossing his arms.

"He told you he was bisexual, and you fled!" Draco threw up his spatula for dramatic emphasis.

"He didn't let me flee. He walked me back, and what are you trying to do?" Percy's nose wrinkled. "You're making the kitchen smell like licorice lettuce-bites."

"I'm cooking dinner, and you're trying to change the subject, git."

"Dinner?" Percy wondered if Zacharias knew about this oxymoron: Draco cooking. He likely didn't. "I think I've lost my appetite."

"Your bollocks, and now your appetite. I'm starting to worry about you, dear."

"Which one of us is turning domestic?" Percy shot back, taking the spatula out of Draco's hand. He turned off the stove and vanished the brackish paste bubbling in the pot, ignoring the huffy protests that ensued about it being perfectly edible Malfoy recipe.

"I'm ordering takeaway."

Draco's protests were snuffed, but the glaring and baleful arm-crossing remained. "Don't think ordering Chinese is going to change the fact you fled!"

"Who said anything about Chinese?"

*******

It was Friday and the rain was pouring down hard on London.

Percy circled around his desk, shrugging off his coat and folding it over the chair neatly, approaching the red envelope waiting on top of his correspondence the way someone might approach a bowl of molding oatmeal: cautiously. It was unusual for anything to come in an envelope, nevermind a red one. Paper airplanes and origami cranes (and, for the more advanced, origami dragons) were all the craze. Curious, Percy deftly cut it open from the side and unfolded the parchment that slipped out.

That's not all. I want to undress you down to your tie, hold you, feel you, taste you. I want to see you lose control, just for me.

"Oh gods," Percy breathed, feeling short of breath. He was hard and thinking highly inappropriate thoughts. Thoughts that oughn't be thought inside an office while at work when anyone was liable to walk in.

His secretary, for example. The prim brunette of thirty something years at least had the decency to knock before she poked in. "Mr. Weasley?"

"Y-yes, Helen?" As if the parchment seared his palms, Percy dropped the letter.

"Ah.." Helen cleared her throat, uncharacteristically bashful. "A Mister Wood says he made an appointment with you although I don't have him penned down. Should I let him in?"

Something in Percy's lower intestine leaped up to his throat. "Nn-Yes, yes. I apologize, I forgot to tell you. Please, send him in."

A nod, and then Helen retreated. In less than two blinks, Oliver strode in with a grin and perched on the only clear corner of his desk.

"I didn't know I had t' make an appointment t' see Mr. Weasley."

"You don't." Percy, who wasn't normally prone to nervous habits, found his fingers with a mind of their own. Tangling in curls was their current preoccupation. "It's just an easy way to dismiss someone you'd rather avoid until tomorrow."

"Cor! I figured as much. Good of ye not to cart me off like another Nigel."

"Well, I have a few minutes to.." Percy trailed off, completely disconnected from his last thought by an interruption of OH HELL fireworking in his head. The lewd letter. Oh gods. Oliver was sitting on it.

"To spare..?" Oliver supplied, unperturbed by the fact he was sitting upon words that would make Roger "Sleeps Around" Davies blush.

"What..? Oh, oh yes. To spare. I have time." Merlin's two beards. Percy wished his mouth would stop spewing words and start making intelligent sentences. "It's just, ah. Would you like to take a seat?"

"Oh, sorry, didn't mean t' sit on your things.. eh, wot's this?"

"Nothing!" Percy blurted and made a spectacular lunge out of his chair to snatch the letter out of Oliver's hands, but he was too late. His desk was in the way and Oliver dodged out of reach.

"Nothing?" Oliver raised his eyebrows, a study in skepticism and mischief. "You almost jumped on top of me t' get this letter, Perce. Sounds like something t' me."

"Please, Oliver." It was a breathless plea. Percy pushed himself up, off a stack of files due for processing. His horn-rimmed glasses were crooked. He held out a hand.

"I rumpled it a bit. Sorry 'bout that," Oliver said. He smoothed out the parchment, to be polite, before putting it in Percy's hand.

It was only until his hand closed around it that Percy remembered. Breathing, and letting himself breath, was rather important.

"It's okay. I intend to throw it away." Or burn it, Percy thought to himself bitterly.

"I still feel right awful," Oliver said, frowning reflectively for a moment.

"It was an embarrassing letter, nothing more," Percy dismissed. He really just wanted to move on with, well, whatever it was they were doing. Why Oliver was there to begin with, he still didn't know.

Oliver seemed to have thought of something, because he was no longer worrying his lip. Percy didn't know why he noticed these little things.

"Are you doing anything tonight? Let me make it up t' you."

Percy mentally ran through his schedule. It was Friday, and he reserved Friday nights for a Muggle novel, a comfy seat, and a warm cup of tea to himself. There would need to be some persuading for him to change plans.

"How?" Percy asked.

"By taking you t' the finest pub in London!" Oliver answered enthusiastically.

"You know I don't drink." Percy frowned, crossing his arms over his green cardigan. There was the occasional glass of wine, but in Percy's mind that fit into an entirely different category separated from seedy pubs filled with stale stenches and old peanuts he wouldn't accept a promotion to touch. "It's unwholesome."

"When you're a sixty year-old aristocratic bag, you can tell me going t' pubs is unwholesome. Don't think I forgot the night we finished our NEWTS, mate," Oliver reminded Percy, and that settled that.

*******

It was, as Percy predicted, a seedy pub filled with stale stenches and buckets of old peanuts sitting on the tops of tables. A machine which was connected to a telly and a microphone for drunk Muggles to croon into was the one element he had not foreseen.

"It's called karaoke," Oliver explained when Percy asked what in Merlin's name was going on, because Oliver clearly had more experience with muggle pubs and pubs in general. "I forgot they have it tonight. You ought t' try it, it's a lot of fun!" he shouted over the current duet.

Percy glanced over at the merry couple sharing the mic. They looked like they were having fun, but they also looked like they would fall over without the other's shoulder for support.

"I'm a horrible singer." Percy looked back and shook his head, but Oliver only laughed.

"No one's expecting Celestina Warbeck, mate, 'specially not this crowd." Oliver wordlessly signaled for two drinks, and Percy decided to trust his companion's judgment with the drinks. He seemed to know what he was doing.

When they had a tankard each, Oliver led the way to a table in the back corner where they could watch the karaoke, but still hear themselves think.

"I'm still not going up there," Percy said decidedly.

"What if I went and sang with you?" Oliver looked hopeful, but Percy was adamant.

"Out of the question."

"Why? You're not scared of a crowd pissed beyond their own knowing, are you?"

"I'm not scared of them knowing. It's enough that I'll know I look and sound completely and utterly ridiculous."

Oliver barked a laugh behind his drink, sloshing some ale on the table. "Where's your sense of recklessness, Perce?"

"I don't think I have such a sense," Percy said tartly. "I prefer it that way."

"You're a Gryffindor," Oliver said as if that explained everything, and squinted at Percy as if he was trying to look into him. "It's in there somewhere."

When one tankard turned into three and Oliver ordered something that came in a small glass and burned all the way down his throat like liquid fire, Percy thought he understood what Oliver had meant earlier.

Something about sense. Or was it Gryffindors? Maybe it was his cardigan, which Oliver had prodded with his finger. He couldn't remember, and it was hard to focus when Oliver was blathering on about quidditch teams that Percy didn't have the time to stay caught up with, but Percy didn't mind just watching Oliver's mouth move.

"..and their defense is spectacular, the bloody stuff of, of dreams!" Oliver concluded with a contented sigh, leaning back. It took him a beat to notice Percy's blank stare. "Gobbed you t' boredom, did I?"

"No, no, I just- well. Work and things, they keep me from watching games or reading up," Percy explained with the inflections of someone pissed and contriving to sound like they weren't. "I do like Quidditch, you remember. I'd come to every game you played."

"When we were in school," Oliver broke in to reminisce, but Percy wasn't entirely finished with his own trip down memory lane.

"Before I knew I fancied you and blokes, which I should have known because everything with Penelope was going awful, completely awful," he continued babbling on until his mind caught up to his tongue.

Oliver got there a little sooner before he did. He was staring at Percy with his head canted off to one side. "You fancied me?"

"I.." For a moment that could have lasted seconds or hours, Percy found himself trapped in two soft, brown eyes and forgot what he was about to say. He wanted to run away and hide.

He also desperately wanted to kiss Oliver.

"I need the loo."

*******

The toilet-paper roll holder proved to be very useful. Inside the cramped stall, it was Percy's anchor. He wasn't entirely comfortable with putting his hand on something that would go to other unmentionable areas, but it was the only thing keeping him off the floor which was decidedly more unsanitary. It was the buoy in his sea of stupid.

He was stupid for drinking. Stupid for talking so inanely. Stupid for fleeing to the loo. Stupid for thinking Oliver could ever− Godric, he was so stupid.

Percy the Stupid hiccuped and then stood still when he heard the door open. The noise from the pub rushed in before it was shut out again. Before a shadow fell in front of the door, he knew it was Oliver. Oliver rapped his knuckles against the door.

"Percy? Percy, are you sick?" There was concern in the question. Friendly, brotherly concern, Percy reminded himself.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Percy mumbled back. "I'm sorry."

"What for? Don't apologize for being sick."

"No, not for that, I mean for earlier. The letter, I mean." Somehow, it was easier to let out with the door in between his face and Oliver's face. "The way I reacted, it was daft of me. I didn't want you to see it because--"

"It's okay, it wasn't daft," Oliver cut in.

"No, it was daft. I'm daft. It's someone trying to poke fun at me. They've been sending me these−" Percy hesitated for a beat, lowering his voice. "These lewd messages. About wanting to snog me, undress me, hold me. S'all someone's twisted idea of a joke."

"How do you know?"

"Know what?"

"That it's a joke."

There was another beat of silence. "I don't − I just know it is."

"Let me in, Perce, it's okay," Oliver said with an edge to his voice that Percy couldn't place.

Percy turned the lock and Oliver opened the door, and the rest happened quickly, almost too quickly for Percy to keep up with. Oliver's hands cupped his jaw, the calluses on his fingertips tickling his neck, and then their lips didn't meet so much as rush into each other without the barest semblance of coordination. It was clumsy and wet, reminiscent of all teenage fumblings, but when Percy pulled back his mouth was tingling and his glasses were fogged. He wanted more.

"Your place, let's go," Percy murmured, breathless with need.

"Hold on," Oliver said, wrapping his arms around Percy's waist. Percy squeezed his eyes closed and braced himself. Apparating inebriated violated codes 141AZ, 913QW, and −−

A sudden lurch and crack, and they were gone.

*******

"It's not fair," Draco said, sulking.

"Why, because you lost?" Zacharias queried, smirking.

"You did absolutely nothing!"

"That's not entirely truthful."

Draco huffily folded his arms. "What did you do? You didn't send letters or arrange dinner with the Minister of sodding Magic. They did all the work for you!"

"I may not have had some elaborate scheme planned out, but I did do something. Hufflepuffs can plot, too."

"Lies. You're just lucky we agreed against sabotage."

"Which was, if I may remind you, your suggestion."

"Bloody Hufflepuffs."

"The subtleties of our art are beyond you, and," Zacharias paused delicately to flick open Draco's collar and lean into the crook of his neck. "I'd like to start your week of servitude now. First order, stop whinging and start undressing, git."

"So romantic."