In A Time Of Uncertainty

Part Three, Chapter Two

When Oliver arrived at the coffee shop just before noon, Ian was already there, standing next to the door. Upon seeing Oliver, he stubbed out his cigarette and smiled. "Percy stayed home?"

"No," said Oliver, "he had to go into work early."

"Too bad. He still hasn't told that Minister of yours to shove it?"

"Not yet."

Inside, they ordered and sat down at a table by the window.

"All right," said Ian, stirring his cappucino. "You're just going to have to tell them. In a logical and rational tone. If you act any less than completely mature, they'll take it and use it as evidence against you."

Oliver smiled. "Evidence against me?" That reminded him of Sirius Black, which in turn reminded him that he ought to go and see Remus soon.

"My roommate wants to be a barrister," Ian said. "It rubs off. Anyway, I'm glad they're meeting Percy tomorrow, that way they won't have much time to form opinions before they know him."

"My dad will," said Oliver. "My dad can form opinions in the time it takes to blink an eye. And Perce is awkward around strangers. You've seen him."

"Yes, but it's a sweet sort of awkward. Cute, really."

Oliver propped his elbow up on the table and rested his chin in his hand. "Ian, do you fancy my boyfriend?"

"No, I merely appreciate his considerable attractions." He twitched his eyebrows and grinned. "Besides, I haven't got time to fancy your boyfriend. I've got another date with Arnaud tonight after class. God, are all French blokes good kissers?"

"The one I dated was."

"Just gorgeous," Ian moaned.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Oliver's parents exchanged long looks.

"And you've known him a month?" his father asked at last.

"I've known him for years, I've dated him for a month."

"I don't remember him," said Michael, squinting as though it would improve his memory. "Was he that sort of broad one who ate all the time?"

"You're thinking of Lane. Percy's got red hair and wears glasses."

His father blinked. "That scrawny kid with the long nose?"

"Michael!" his wife exclaimed.

"He's not scrawny," said Oliver indignantly. "You can't have seen him since we were, let me think, fourteen or so. And his nose is fine."

Anne Wood recrossed her legs and sighed. "Ol, I know it's very exciting and romantic to decide things on the spur of the moment, but I don't want you to take this lightly. Moving in with someone isn't always fun, you know. You get into fights about who was supposed to make dinner and dirty socks on the floor. Sometimes you annoy each other."

"I know all that, I know it's a big decision."

"And big decisions take time to make."

A memory of Remus flashed across Oliver's mind, quiet and sad. He took a deep breath. "Mum, we're both fighting agaist Volde - You-Know-Who. For all we know, we haven't got much time left."

Both of his parents froze. His father's hand, holding a turkey sandwich, was suspended in midair. His mother's mouth was half-open.

"Well," she said finally, "I can't argue wit that."

Michael's hand came down quickly upon the table and hastily dropped the sandwich. "So," he said abruptly, "what're the odds that Puddlemere will beat the Tornados?"

His wife's mouth became very set in a hard, rigid line. She poured herself another glass of water and set the pitcher down too hard.

Oliver hesitated, and then said, "We're expecting to win."

"I would too, if I were you. Douglas and Lellenold are fairly evenly matched, but the rest of their team is nothing compared to Puddlemere. Not since Flendish and Abbot retired."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"I'm going to die," Percy moaned. "My nerves are going to explode and I'm going to die. What am I supposed to talk with them about?"

"Are you trying for a standing ovation?" Mundungus asked.

"You'll barely be alone with them," Oliver assured Percy. "Only during the match, and they won't want to talk then anyway."

"I'm sure you'll be fine," said Mrs. Figg, counting stitches. Much to Mundungus's consternation, she was knitting a jumper for Mr. Tibbles. "I remember when I met Mr. Figg's parents for the first time," she continued. "I was terribly nervous. It wasn't considered wise, you know, marrying a Squib."

"Especially a batty one who's never heard of shoes," Mundungus added.

"But, as you can see, I survived unscarred - "

Mundungus snorted.

" - and they eventually accepted me into their family. Mundungus, do you have anything useful to do?"

"Yes," he said with a stubborn glare.

"Well, I have yet to see any evidence of it," she snapped. Percy threw Oliver an anxious look. "You spend these meetings wasting time and being in everyone's way."

Mundungus crossed his arms over his chest, a hardened look coming over his face. "It ain't my fault that Dumbledore don't like my lists."

"Well, who would! There's no point in having more thieves in the Order if the one we already have doesn't even - "

"Look," said Oliver hastily, "we're all under a lot of strain, and we're doing our best - "

"No, Wood, let her finish," said Mundungus, his eyes fixed on Mrs. Figg.

She was silent.

"I'm first to admit I ain't perfect," said Mundungus, standing up and beginning to pace the room. "Never said I was. But I'm insulted, Figgy, I really am. I know I take the mickey out of you know and then, but I never thought that you'd think so low of me as to think that I don't care about the Order." He stopped and turned to face the couch. "If anyone's wanting me, I'll be at Ali Bashir's flat for the rest of the day." And he disappeared with a particularly loud crack.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"They're being stubborn," said Percy that night as Oliver was brushing his teeth. "And they're not going to apologize until something makes them do it, knowing the two of them."

"If either one of them takes the initiative, it'll be Dung," Oliver said after he'd rinsed his mouth. Noticing Percy's surprised look, he continued, "He cares what she thinks about him, even if he doesn't care about most other people."

"How do you know that?" Percy asked. He was looking in the mirror and poking a spot on his forehead.

"He calls her Figgy, and no one else does. You don't give a person a nickname unless you care something about them."

"I think we ought to make them reconcile," said Percy as the two of them climbed into bed.

Oliver sighed. Perpetually trying to be in control, that was his Percy. "It won't work. They'll just resent us for interfering and they'll feel insulted by people over thirty years younger than they are telling them what to do."

"I just thought I'd suggest it," said Percy, sounding a bit annoyed, "because I wish someone had made me apologize to my family before I did."

"But would you have listened?"

Percy bit his lip. "No."

The look on his face was so tender and sincere that Oliver kissed him. "Sometimes people learn more if they figure things out on their own."

Percy laid his cheek on Oliver's chest. They were both shirtless; Oliver was wearing boxer shorts and Percy was wearing a pair of faded pajama bottoms. Oliver lifted his lover's arm and let his lips graze the downy hair. Percy lowered his eyes. "What're your parents like?"

"Well...they're intense," said Oliver after a couple of seconds. He set Percy's arm back down and being to caress the soft skin of the inner elbow. "Really intense. I didn't realize how much I'd inherited that until I captained Gryffindor and your brothers made fun of my pre-game speeches." He laid his hand lightly over Percy's. "Does it bother you if I mention them?"

"No," said Percy, but a moment later his forehead creased and he let out a frustrated noise. "I just hope your parents like me, because I'm sick of fighting."

Oliver turned on his side so that he could place his hands on Percy's back. "I know," he said, wishing that fifteen years had passed, that Voldemort was destroyed, that he and Percy were older with stable lives, perhaps a few kids, schedule and order. "They will, I think. I mean, they liked Gerald - he came before Ian - and he was a bit of a mental lightweight."

Percy laughed, a sound that made Oliver's shoulders relax and his mouth spread into a contended smile. "Not the brightest candle in the chandelier?"

"Not the dimmest either, though."

"So who was before Gerald?"

"Jonathan. I met him at a drag show."

"Oh, you did not."

"I did! This friend of Ian's called Miss Clarinda was in it - "

"Miss Clarinda???"

"Yeah, so we went to see - her. Jonathan was the announcer."

Percy slid on top of Olvier and began to lightly twist his lover's hair around his fingers. "And before him?"

"Reginald."

Percy snorted. "Is that a pseudonym to protect the innocent?"

"Oh, Reginald was not innocent. He worked in a porn shop."

Laughter. One thigh rubbing between Oliver's legs. At that moment, Oliver decided that nothing was more adorable than Percy when he wanted sex. "I'm not kidding. He did."

"And what - " Percy was practically purring now " - were you doing in a porn shop?"

"Erotic novels don't grow on trees, you know."

Percy nipped at Oliver's chest. "Really."

"Really. And speaking of erotic novels, I noticed that my copy of Phallanthropist is in the kitchen."

"I'm used to reading as I eat." He ran his nails down Oliver's chest and smiled and the pleasurable shudder. "And who was before Reginald?"

"Some bloke. We still keep in touch. As a matter of fact, he's touching me right now."

Percy thrust his hands under the waistband of Oliver's boxers. "No penetrating me," Oliver groaned, gasping for breath as Percy began to vigorously bite his neck. "I have to ride a broomstick tomorrow."