Cowboys and Angels

moment forty-two: genre [the fine print V] (March 1996.)

It was hardly a relationship, Percy observed. They brushed up against one another every now and then, they smiled the occasional secret smile, and when they accidentally touched one another, it usually lasted longer than it should have.

Then there was the whole question of motive. Why was Oliver doing this? Friendship? Pity? Love? It couldn't be love; Percy knew that more than anything. He wasn't Marcus and that was that. Exactly what category then, could what they were be fitted into? He didn't know, and it irked him.

Pushing away the thought, he pulled a file from the pile on his desk, and sighing, got to work. He'd dared to question Fudge's policy in a managerial meeting two weeks ago, and pointed out the unspoken truth they all knew but didn't dare voice, in case they made it real. And something they had to deal with.

The Death Eaters knew our raid was coming.

We have a mole.

And this was the fruit of his labour: shunted sideways to another Department (Department of Archives) and demoted, as they already had a Deputy Head. If Percy was the swearing type, he would have let loose with a number of curses that Oliver was known to use frequently. Stuck now with a bundle of paperwork even more boring than standardised cauldron length, and effectively gagged from speaking out, Percy sat resigned, fatalistic. What did it matter if Voldemort came back? Good luck to him! At least he wouldn't be slaving away for no reason if he was dead.

Then he overheard the conversation. Percy's excuse for a desk was situated just off the refreshment charm, which offered coffee and small stacks to Ministry staff, and he was thoroughly sick by now of hearing all the office gossip.

This, however, was different.

"Have you heard? They've tracked down Pettigrew." Percy's ears picked up at the mention of that name. The voice was familiar too, Julian Knowles, the Deputy Head of Archives, and he was a rather unwholesome sort, prone to make lewd comments to the female staff. Percy would never have tolerated such behaviour in a student.

The female voice that responded was unfamiliar, but Percy put down his quill and listened. "No! What's Fudge going to do?"

"He's sending out five brigades of Aurors. Thanks if he hits them in strength, he'll have them."

"Five brigades? Those kinds of numbers haven't been used since the seventies."

"Quite." There was a pause. "Speaking of Aurors, did you hear about the one who was guarding the Minister's wife?"

A giggle. "Oh, no. Do tell me."

Percy shut out the conversation as it got more inane, and fought the impulse to just cover his head with his hands and give up. Fudge was sending more people out to die, and there was nothing he could do about it.

This was possibly why he remained quite unresponsive when Oliver asked him out sometime in the theoretical future after dinner that night. They'd been through this several times, and Percy wasn't in the best of moods when he put his book down and turned to his flatmate, who was seated on the couch next to him. "No."

"What do you mean, no?" Oliver had beseeched. "This isn't like before, Perce, I like you, I really do."

"I don't want to talk about it." Percy had told him flatly, and picked up his book, quite unimpressed when Oliver had kissed him clumsily on the cheek. He'd turned to speak, but Oliver had covered Percy's mouth with his own, and ran his fingers along Percy's shirt, pushing off his jacket. Must be nearly a year since Marcus died, Percy observed dispassionately. Oliver must be getting desperate to pretend to like this.

He allowed Oliver to pull him off the couch and steer him into bed, and didn't protest when Oliver took off his clothes, eyes dark, as if accusing Percy of something. After a few more minutes in bed of being completely unresponsive as possible - and that was admittedly difficult when Oliver Wood had his fingers wrapped around your cock - Oliver had looked at him darkly again, and said, "fine then, you prick", and turned over onto his side of the double bed, leaving Percy alone.

Percy gazed up at the ceiling and wondered what he'd done.