In A Time Of Uncertainty

Marauder

Story Summary:
They once longed for each other years ago, but neither was ready to face his feelings. Now Voldemort has returned, Oliver is recruiting wizards to fight against him, and Percy is estranged from his family. Hesitant and apprehensive, they decide to try to be a couple.

Chapter 13

Chapter Summary:
Percy sees Oliver again and encounters some surprises...especially a blond one called Ian McTavish.
Posted:
09/15/2003
Hits:
1,308
Author's Note:
Much thanks to hikarineko, who nursed my sick plot bunny. It is now recovered, throwing parties, and dancing in a kilt.

Part Two, Chapter Four

The two years since they'd parted had left Oliver virtually unchanged; if anything, the angles of his face were more sharply defined. Not looking at Percy, he led him out of the pub and into the street.

"Well be apparating back to Edinburgh," he said. For the first time, Percy noticed that Oliver was holding the handle of a small suitcase in his hand. "My boyfriend ought to be there - I've been abroad for the past week and I left him house-sitting. He's got an engagement at half past two, so we'll have privacy after that. Do you remember my address?" He looked over at Percy, his face showing nothing.

Percy nodded. "7 Allerby Lane, flat 2A."

"Right. We ought to end up outside my building; Ian's a Muggle, he isn't used to people popping up right in front of his eyes. Are you ready?"

"Yes."

"All right." With a crack he was gone, and Percy followed suit.

Allerby Lane, which housed most of Ediburgh's wizarding population, was a long row of cracked gray cobblestone framed by squat brown buildings. Two old wizards sat at a table on the sidewalk, playing chess. A group of noisy small children flew their toy broomsticks in the street while a stern-looking witch glared at them. Drainspout gargoyles looked down from the corners of each roof with unblinking, pupil-less eyes.

Without a word to Percy, Oliver turned his key in the door and opened it. They walked silently up the dark and dusty staircase, which was lit only by two windows on the landing. The banister creaked under Percy's hand.

Oliver didn't unlock the door to 2A; he turned the knob and pushed. Percy followed directly behind him.

"Hey, Ol," said a thickly Scottish voice from across the room.

On the charcoal-colored leather couch sat a young man with a newspaper beside him. He was remarkable, thought Percy, in that he was completely ordinary. His face was soft-featured, and neither very ugly nor very attractive. His head was covered in close-clipped dark blond hair; he had a medium build and looked to be several inches shorter than Percy, who was a couple of inches over six feet. The man wore a pair of khaki trousers and a white shirt. The only truly dazzling thing about him was his smile, which was aimed at Oliver; it didn't seem that he had noticed Percy yet.

Oliver set down his suitcase and took a few steps forward towards the couch, and the man got to his feet. Smoothly, he slid his arms around Oliver's waist and thrust his hands down the back pockets of Oliver's jeans. "Nice to have you back," he whispered. His teeth found Oliver's earlobe and his hands squeezed lightly. Percy stared.

Oliver cleared his throat. "Ian, we have company."

"Oh," said Ian, not startled in the slightest. He removed his hands and peered around Oliver's shoulder. "Hello, I'm Ian McTavish."

"Percy Weasley," said Percy stiffly.

"Percy and I have some business to attend to," said Oliver, whose eyes had not left Ian since he entered the flat. "Come back after you see your family and I'll tell you about Romania."

Ian twitched his eyebrows. "Promise?"

"Of course."

"All right then," he said, kissing Oliver briefly on the mouth. "Just one moment, I need to get some things I left in the bedroom." As he walked out of the room he reached into his pocket, and shortly afterwards Percy heard the whir and click of a cigarette lighter.

"Ian, I told you I don't want you smoking in here," Oliver called.

"Christ, Ol, I was only going to have one."

"That's not the point."

"I don't see why this is such a bloody issue with you."

"If your career depended on your body, you'd understand."

"Fine. Excuse me for not understanding about your precious Quidditch." He came back into the sitting room, a pile of disheveled clothes in his arms.

"Hey." Oliver stepped in front of Ian, blocking his path. He placed two fingers under Ian's chin, raised his head, and kissed him gently on the temple.

"Sorry," Ian muttered. He kissed Oliver back and started for the door. "See you in a few hours."

"Could you stop by my parents' and pick up the book I left there last week?" Oliver asked him.

"Sure."

Oliver turned to Percy. "Ian's family lives next door to mine."

A distant conversation, long forgotten, came to Percy's mind. "You two used to play pirates," he said slowly.

"You told him that, Oliver? God, I'd forgotten all about that." Ian rested one hand on the doorknob. "Nice to have met you, Percy."

"Likewise."

With a final smile to Oliver, Ian left, closing the door behind him. Percy heard a key turn in the lock.

He turned back to see Oliver moving Ian's papers from the couch. "Here, sit down." Percy obeyed.

"Does Ian live here?" he asked hesitantly.

"No." Oliver laid the last of the papers on the table and sat next to Percy, who was keenly aware of the silence that Ian had left.

"I asked you to come over," said Oliver, "because it looks like we might be seeing more of each other."

Whatever Percy had expected, that wasn't it.

"Your brother Charlie and I are doing some work together for the Order," said Oliver. "Your mum is already talking about having me over to dinner. We need - "

"You've joined the Order?"

"Yes, and that's all I can say," said Oliver immediately. "Don't concern yourself with it. The point is, it looks like we won't be able to avoid each other, and for the sake of everything I think we ought to come to some sort of a truce."

Percy swallowed. "Were we fighting?"

Oliver stared, incredulous. "You told me I was a 'detriment to your career'." He let out a short, humorless laugh. "As if the Ministry has time to care about its employees' personal lives...Quidditch is a hell of a lot more public, but I didn't treat you like crap."

Percy's mind struggled; part of it was coming up with arguments, while the other half was cringing.

"Do you even fancy men at all, or was I just your experimental phase?"

He made himself look directly at Oliver. "I'm bisexual."

Oliver bit his lip thoughtfully. "So Penelope wasn't just a cover."

"No."

"Well," Oliver said. His voice had softened. "Then you're a bit better than I thought."

They sat in silence for a moment, until Percy said, "I've thought about you a lot since we broke things off."

Oliver looked surprised. "You have?"

"Yes. I - you're right, Oliver, I did treat you like crap. And you didn't deserve that."

"You're damn right I didn't," said Oliver, but the mild tone of his voice undermined the harshness of his words. "There was a lot I could have given you, if you'd have let me."

A lump began to form in Percy's throat, but he swallowed it. He leaned back and closed his eyes. "I did like you. It wasn't about you, it was my problem."

"Yeah, Perce, I know."

Percy opened his eyes. "Do you hate me?" He didn't know what he'd do if Oliver said yes.

"No, I don't. But I hate what you did."

"I understand."

Oliver rested one hand on Percy's shoulder. "You care a lot about what other people think of you, don't you."

The words left his mouth before he had time to think. "I don't!"

Oliver rolled his eyes, a sad, sort of tense smile on his face. "Percy, yes you do. Don't give me that." He removed his hand, sat back, and sighed. "God, that always bothered me so much..."

Percy's mouth froze. He wanted to say something, anything, to Oliver, but his mind refused to work. Words, his treasure and his solace, had finally failed him.

"I should go," he finally choked out, frightened of what might happen if he stayed longer.

"All right." Oliver's voice seemed far away; he stared blankly at the wall, his lips slightly parted.

Percy nodded and, with a shaky crack, disapparated.