percyficmod (percyficmod) wrote in percy_ficathon, @ 2007-09-07 15:21:00 |
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Entry tags: | fic, percy/oliver, pg-13, slash |
A gift for jadis31!
Title: Love Means Never Having to Say You're Sorry
Author: TBA
Giftee: jadis31
Pairing/Characters: Percy/Oliver, other Weasley family members
Rating:PG-13
Word Count:3130
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or this world...just the story.
Summary:Percy Weasley turns thirty and moments of clarity are coming thick
and fast.
Author's Notes: I wrote the majority of this pre-DH so no major
spoilers, but I did include a couple of tiny details from DH and
JKR's web chat. Thank you for the excellent request, Jadis, I did my
best to do a bit of Percy-and-family love! It did get a bit fluffier
than I expected :) And I apologise to everyone for the extremely
naff title.
-*-*-
Percy Weasley has never set any particular store by his birthday and
isn't about to begin now just because he's turning thirty. Oliver
has suggested a variety of alternatives to a large party, none of
which strike Percy as appropriate – dinner with friends (that would
still be an event which requires hosting), a weekend
away (Percy prefers to take work home with him on weekends), a night
out on the town (public drunkenness is not an option). So
Oliver settles for waking up early and making both of them breakfast,
and although the toast is quite burnt Percy is gracious and doesn't
complain.
Percy hasn't spoken to his family in ten years, but that doesn't mean
he is unaware of their existence. He knows through the Ministry
grapevine that his father is considering retirement, and it's hard to
walk down the street without seeing advertisements for his brothers'
joke shop. He'd gone to Bill and Fleur's wedding, and Charlie's
funeral less than a year later, both of which were among the most
awkward events he'd ever attended. Percy is fairly certain the
Weasleys know he lives with Oliver, who assistant-coaches for
Puddlemere, but nothing else about the nature of their relationship,
which they keep private. His mother stopped sending him a Christmas
jumper four years ago and instead he gets a card, with both of his
parents' names signed in his mother's handwriting, occasionally
tearstained. Other than this, he receives no communiques from the
Weasley family and sends none to them.
Which is why it comes as such a surprise that whilst eating burnt
toast with Oliver on his birthday morning, the owl Pigwidgeon comes
flying through the window, does several manic loop-de-loops around
the kitchen, deposits a small cream-coloured envelope in Percy's lap,
knocks three bottles of butterbeer to the ground and crashes into the
window on its way out.
Oliver looks up from the sport section of the Daily Prophet. “Wasn't
that Ron's owl?” he asks mildly.
Percy doesn't answer because he is occupied staring at the envelope,
horrified. “What is this?”
“Birthday card?” guesses Oliver. “Open it and see.” Percy does so,
cautiously, as though it might contain itching powder or an explosive
device (both of which are not implausible outcomes). It is not a
birthday card but instead a wedding invitation.
“Wedding invitation,” says Percy blankly. “Er- Ron and Hermione.
First of December.” He looks at the RSVP card. “Percy Weasley and
guest.”
“Winter wedding. Sounds lovely.” Oliver goes back to his paper as
though nothing particularly exciting is happening. After a few more
minutes he seems to notice that Percy hasn't moved and continues to
stare at the letter. “Er- are you all right, Perce?”
Percy snaps out of it with a start. “I'm not going to go, Oliver,”
he says.
Oliver nods. “Right. You don't have to go.”
“Well, I'm not going to go.”
“As I said, you don't have to.”
“Because aside from the fact that I haven't spoken to them in a
decade, aside from the fact that Ron hates me most of all, aside from
the fact that I've been invited almost certainly through my mother's
sentimentality or through some wasted sense of obligation, aside from
all that, me going would most certainly cause some kind of scene and
that would be extremely disrespectful to Hermione. With whom I have
no personal problems whatsoever.”
“Percy,” says Oliver, as though speaking to a small child, “you are
not obligated to attend.”
“I expect they've invited me so that they can make fun of me if I do
come,” Percy carries on. “I wasn't invited to Ginny's wedding so
there's no precedent. In fact,” he scowls, “I reckon they've
sent the invitation because they know I won't come, meaning they can
all be smug with each other about how I've rejected their advances.
Yes...that'll be exactly it.”
“I really don't think...”
“So of course I can't let them have that satisfaction, meaning I have
to go. On the other hand, if I do go, they've won because they
happened to make the first move and I happened to accept it. So I
can't go.” Percy frowns. “It's not really a win-win situation.”
“You could always apologise,” says Oliver. They have been together
for six years and Oliver has, to his credit, never gotten involved in
Percy's family issues. “You could always apologise” is the only
comment he ever makes on the subject, which is always brushed off by
Percy as ridiculous. This time, however, Percy drops the wedding
invitation abruptly and stares at him.
“Because...if I apologise, I'll have made the first move.”
Apologising has never been one of Percy's options in life, but he
turns this new take on the situation around in his head. “I can go
to the wedding without them making fun of me, but they won't have won
because I've made the first move.”
Oliver can't count the number of times he's made a gentle suggestion
towards the idea of Percy apologising, and this is the first time
it's ever been even considered. He brightens immediately. “That
would be really good of you, Percy, and then we can go to-”
“Damn- I'm late for work-” With a flick of his wand Percy clears up
the spilled Butterbeer and starts pieces of parchment zooming into
his briefcase. “I'll think about this apology thing. It's an
excellent strategy.” He grabs the briefcase and kisses Oliver on the
cheek.
“And we can go to-” Percy Disapparates in the middle of Oliver's
sentence. “- the wedding,” he finishes lamely.
-*-*-
That evening, Percy sits down with a fresh sheet of note parchment
(“From the Pen of Percy,” the header proclaims) and makes a list.
Bill
Ginny and Harry
twins
Mum
Dad
Ron
After staring at it for a while he writes “Deadline – 1 December” at
the bottom and underlines it three times. Bill is first on the list
because he's always been Percy's favourite brother, the other Head
Boy in the family; besides, he'd moved away long before the Weasleys
v. Percy rift (as he'd always privately thought of it) began. Percy
sticks the list to the noticeboard that hangs above his desk and
resolves to begin tomorrow with a trip to Shell Cottage.
-*-*-
Although he's decided Bill will be the easiest on the list to speak
to, it is a few weeks before Percy finds the courage and the time to
visit. When he eventually does Floo into the warm and inviting
kitchen at the cottage, Bill isn't there and Percy has to make
several agonising minutes of stilted small talk with Fleur, whose
Veela powers are emphatically ineffective on him. Finally the door
opens and Bill walks in, doing an admirable job of hiding his
surprise at finding an estranged Weasley in his kitchen.
Bill is still as good of a listener as he had been when Percy was a
child; three hours and countless cups of tea later Percy's throat had
nearly gone hoarse from talking- his parents, Ron and Hermione's
wedding invitation, Charlie's death, even problems at work. He finds
the only thing he can't mention is Oliver, but as Percy's had years
of experience in the activity of Not Talking About Oliver, it's
relatively easy.
At the end of it all Bill nods slowly, blows out a breath of air and
refills his tea cup. “It sounds like you've thought a lot about it.
And for what it's worth, I accept your apology. But I don't really
think it's me you should be apologising to.”
Percy nods, staring down into his teacup. Discussing the more
miserable parts of his life with Bill, who always seems happy and
content, has put a damper on his mood. As if he understands what
Percy's thinking, Bill reaches over and puts a hand on his arm. “Go
home, Perce. As a wise man once said, it takes a lot more courage to
apologise for being wrong than to apologise for being right.”
When Percy gets home, Oliver is curled up on the couch reading
Quidditch Monthly. “How did it go?” he asks sleepily.
“Fine,” says Percy, sitting on a couch end and running his fingers
through Oliver's hair thoughtfully.
“Did you talk about me?” Oliver asks. After a pause, he continues.
“Or about us?”
Percy is surprised by the question. “I never...no. It's private.
Right?”
“Your brother's hardly public.”
“Well, he was until- I don't know. I just want to wait. I'll tell
them all when I'm ready. Is this really- are you upset about this?”
“No. Well...no. I just think you should tell them.”
“When I'm ready.”
“When you're ready, I think you should tell them. It'd be nice if
they knew.” Oliver paused. “Okay?”
Percy's tired enough that it's hard to listen, but he says yes and
nods and soon falls asleep on the couch.
-*-*-
With Bill taken care of, the rest of Percy's family seem to fall into
place. Ginny and Harry are too occupied with their newborn son to
give him much time, but their warm happy-family haze is infectious
and Ginny even hugs him when he leaves. He has to follow the twins
around Weasley's Wizard Wheezes as they help customers and stock
shelves, as both had claimed to be too busy to see him at any point
other than during business hours. After making him recite “I'm a
pompous bighead who's been a total prat,” twelve times in a sing-song
tone they seem satisfied enough, although he expects further insults
later are par for the course, perhaps for the rest of his life.
Overall, it's remarkably easy and remarkably difficult at the same
time. The easy bit is the actual apologising and the acceptance that
comes after- in the end it seems that Weasleys can only hold grudges
against Malfoys, and ten years is a long time. The difficult bit for
Percy is bringing himself back into the habit of normal conversation
and interaction with a family he hasn't seen in a decade, and dealing
with the reminders of his reasons for leaving- the loudness, the
practical jokes, the teasing comments that get right under his skin.
When his mum bursts into tears and gives him his Weasley jumpers from
the past four Christmases, the ones she's made but never sent, Percy
realises the apology that started out as being a way to win in family
politics has become the most sincere and real act of his life. His
father claps him on the back a bit awkwardly and takes him outside to
see a Muggle toaster he's been tinkering with, and to Percy's
surprise he has to blink back tears as Mr. Weasley enthusiastically
explains about plugs and foozes.
-*-*-
Despite what he's promised Oliver, Percy doesn't even spare a thought
to telling his family about his relationship. Percy can count on his
fingers the number of people who know he's gay; a couple of Oliver's
players, their few mutual friends, and – although Percy's never
actually told him, he seems to know – Kingsley Shacklebolt, who as
Minister for Magic is now Percy's boss. Everyone else that Percy
knows is under the impression that Oliver and Percy are flatmates,
inasmuch as they're under any sort of impression about his life at all.
This is his excuse for answering Oliver's question about coming out
to his family with a blank stare and saying, “What?”
Oliver snaps a rulebook shut and gives Percy an exasperated look.
“You said you would, you promised.”
“I did? I mean, yeah, of course.” Percy's just gotten home from the
Ministry and his head is full of paperwork.
“You've forgotten, haven't you?” When Oliver is this short with him
it generally means a bad day at work, and Percy has forgotten
that they even ever discussed this, but he scowls anyway.
“What do you want me to- I'll do it when I'm ready. Is this
important?”
Oliver's jaw works as if he wants to say something. “No. It's not
important.” He goes back to his book and turns his back on Percy.
“I don't see how it can be,” says Percy, a bit haughtily. “It's not
as if-”
Oliver turns around, book abandoned. “It's not as if it'd be nice to
stop pretending we're just flatmates in our thirties.”
“What- we've always wanted privacy!” Percy's getting annoyed now;
he's been five minutes at home and hasn't even had the chance to take
off his cloak.
“From the papers, yeah, when I was playing. But it's hardly going to
create a spectacle- your family-”
“My family have only just started speaking to me again after ten
years, I'm not going to start in on this-”
“Well maybe it's time!” shouts Oliver finally, getting up from
the couch and striding into the bedroom to put his shoes on. “Maybe
I want to live like- like an adult!” He stomps to the door and slams
it behind him without further ado, leaving Percy standing completely
non-plussed in his kitchen, briefcase still in one hand.
-*-*-
Oliver doesn't come back the next day, or the day after that.
Percy's had Oliver in his life for nearly twenty years – as a
schoolmate, a friend, a flatmate, a lover – and yet has never
realised how big of a gap his absence creates. Percy tries to take
the opportunity to tidy the flat without Oliver around to drop
Quidditch stuff everywhere and track mud on the floor, but when it's
spotless it seems too empty, too clean. He can't stand the idea of
making awkward conversations with their mutual friends, so he avoids
seeing anyone.
In the haze of all this he manages to track Ron down and take him
away from wedding planning for a drink. Ron is ecstatically cheerful
throughout, even during Percy's awkward apologising, and quickly
orders another round of pints and a plate of chips. Any hopes that
Percy's had of not mentioning the letter from Ron's fifth year are
quickly dashed.
“You remember writing me that letter? We thought you were such a
knob after that,” chuckles Ron, stuffing his mouth with food.
“It was for your own good,” says Percy, strangely defensive about a
regretted act. “You were supposed to look up to me, take my advice.
Especially since Fred and George were never going to.”
“Yeah, well I mostly just thought you were a prat,” Ron says,
vigourously shaking vinegar onto his chips. “You know, I thought a
pub lunch would be a great idea for the wedding reception, really
unique, but Hermione threw an inkpot at my head. She's a bit
mental. You coming? Haven't RSVP'd.”
“I didn't know if you actually wanted me there. I didn't get invited
to Ginny's.”
“'Cause Ginny and Harry eloped, of course. I think Ginny didn't want
mum to go as mental as she had for Bill.” Ron pauses to lick
mayonnaise from his fingers. “You should come, Perce. Got someone
to bring?”
Percy hadn't known this about Ginny. “Not, er. Not right now. I
suppose,” he says stiffly.
Ron shrugs. “Too bad. You'll have fun anyway though.” It is at
this point that a realisation hits Percy like a tonne of bricks;
Oliver wants to go to the wedding. Oliver wants to go, he wants them
to go together, he wants to be “and guest.”
Percy drinks the rest of his pint and gathers his things. “Ron,” he
says, “I've got to go- got to send an owl- I'll come to the wedding,
I'll see you there.” Unfazed by the sudden departure, Ron cheerfully
waves him off and goes back to the food.
When he Apparates home, Percy grabs the nearest parchment he can find
and writes the messiest, most confusing note he's ever written, but
it apologises and it says come to the wedding and he hopes it
will do the trick. After writing Oliver Wood on the front
Percy explains to Hermes why he can't have an address and instructs
the owl on the places where he thinks Oliver might be.
It takes three hours, but Oliver comes home. Percy is lying on the
bed in his work clothes, and Oliver comes and lies down next to him.
After a few minutes of silence, Percy speaks. “I'm sorry, I didn't
know you wanted to come and it was important to you and I didn't
realise. There's no reason not to tell my family, it's not a big deal.”
After a few minutes' pause Oliver shrugs. “Sometimes you don't
really listen to me, and you're obsessed with work, and even when I
think you're doing something mature you manage to be just a little
bit immature about it, and I think you take me for granted, and I
don't really care that much about the wedding it was mostly just an
excuse to get angry because we'd lost against the Falcons. And you
always put my Quidditch boots in the wrong place when you tidy.”
“Oh.” Percy doesn't really know what to say. “Where do they go?”
“I like them in the hall cupboard,” says Oliver, but then he looks up
at Percy and starts smiling and Percy has to laugh at the oddity of
the situation, and then they're kissing and his glasses are getting
smushed up against his face and everything suddenly seems all right
again. This is when Percy, who's been telling Oliver he loves him
for the past three years, realises that it's really, beyond any
shadow of a doubt, true. Even though he's an absolute idiot, and
Oliver can't communicate about anything that isn't Quidditch for more
than five minutes at a time, and they're polar opposites in the way
they keep house, and they have so little in common that it's almost a
wonder they find anything to talk about at all, he loves Oliver.
Eventually they have to stop for the purposes of breathing, and so
Oliver can take Percy's glasses off and start unbuttoning his shirt.
“Oliver,” gasps Percy, “would you like to come to a wedding with me?
First of December.”
“I'll check my schedule,” Oliver murmurs as he trails kisses up
Percy's jawline. Suddenly he stops and sits bolt upright. “Wait.
Is that the Harpies game day?” Percy bursts out laughing and pulls
Oliver back down to kiss him again.
The next day they go shopping for dress robes.
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