In A Time Of Uncertainty

Part Three, Chapter Nine

They wrote a hurried reply to Oliver's parents and stayed up late into the night. In celebration they opened a bottle of champagne and licked the bubbles off of each other's naked bodies, laughing as they became more and more inebriated. Percy's good mood was incandescent; he was unable to stop smiling and allowed Oliver to hand-feed him strawberries.

"Can't tell Remus about this," Oliver murmured as Percy opened his mouth and pointed to the strawberry bowl. "Bad idea. Shouldn't have let you get drunk."

"Shouldn't have let you get drunk," Percy retorted. "'m not drunk."

"Yes you are."

" No'm not." He ran his tongue fleetingly down Oliver's neck. "Can I have another strawberry?"

Oliver reached over to the bowl. "How's this one?" he asked.

"It's got mold."

"No, it's just dark."

"Mold!" Percy insisted. He reached over to point to some imaginary fungus and promptly fell off the bed.

"Perce?"

Percy began to laugh, his voice breathy and his hands clutching the edge of the blankets. "Maybe I am drunk."

"Yeah." Oliver suspected he had licked up less champagne than Percy had, and set the bottle on the floor under the night table. "Come on. Back up on the bed."

"You come down here."

"No." Oliver got to his feet and bent down to lift Percy. "Arms around my neck."

Percy stretched his arms above his head. "Stay here. Let's make love on the floor."

"It's half before two - half past two in the morning. Arms."

Percy reached out for him. "Oh, you're carrying me off to bed."

"Twice was enough." Oliver's head began to spin and he set Percy down immediately. His lover giggled - Oliver didn't think he'd ever heard a bloke over thirteen giggle before - and tried to pull Oliver on top of him. "Ol..."

"Come on, Perce, I'm tired, I have to go to work tomorrow."

"That coach of yours is a sadist," Percy muttered as he let his legs drop from around Oliver's waist. "Can't you lot unionize or something? Who hired him in the first place?"

"The team's owner."

"So sack the team's owner."

"Can't, he owns the team."

"Sell yourselves."

This struck Oliver as immensely funny and he lay down on the other side of the bed. "Percy, are you suggesting I become a prostitute?"

"If it means we can have a third go - "

"No."

"Please?" His tone was needy, perhaps exaggeratedly so. He ran one hand over Oliver's chest. "It's only half past two. I'll let you be rough again if you want."

"You liked that?"

"Yes. Or maybe I could be rough with you."

The offer was highly tempting, yet Oliver's muscles still ached and the clock was ticking threateningly. "Lie on your back," he whispered. Once obeyed he began to kiss up and down his lover's body, tasting the remains of the champagne and stopping tantalizingly just above the hips.

"Oliver, please..."

"Beg."

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

He woke the next morning to find Percy in the deepest of slumbers beside him. A

strawberry seed lay on his lips. Oliver kissed it off and began to dress.

He felt no aftereffects of the champagne, except for a dry feeling in his mouth, until a sharp knocking at the front door shot through his eardrum and echoed in his skull. Muttering expletives under his breath, he quickly buttoned his robe and went to answer it.

"So." Ian stood at the front door, smiling softly. "I hear Percy is back in the Wood good graces."

Oliver exhaled. "Thank God. One conflict down, approximately two dozen left to go. Can you imagine being with someone your parents can't stand?" He stepped back to allow Ian into the flat.

"Unfortunately, I don't have to imagine it. My father thinks Arnaud is affected and my mother thinks he's effeminate and not my type."

"He isn't effeminate," Oliver said. "He's just dramatic and well-dressed."

"Yeah, well, my mum thinks that anyone who's not solid muscle and doesn't have the initials O. E. W. is absolutely wrong for me. You'd think my family'd given yours a goddamned dowry or something." Ian flopped down on the couch and groaned. "I won't stay long, I expect you've got to go ride your phallic symbol soon."

Oliver sat down on the couch's armrest. "Not until one o'clock. It's Sunday."

"D'you mind me whining for a bit? Don't worry, after a while I'll go away and leave you to your domestic bliss."

"Stay as long as you like. The domestic bliss is out cold."

Ian's eyebrows twitched. "Wild night?"

"Celebrating the letter. What do Agnes and Paul think about Arnaud?"

Ian began a long diatribe. Agnes thought Arnaud was fun but Paul was convinced that Ian was dating him just to annoy their parents. Of course, it didn't help that Paul had just gotten engaged to a woman Ian termed "creepily normal", who always wore long skirts and hardly ever smiled. Mrs. McTavish was convinced that Oliver had broken Ian's heart, or that Ian had broken Oliver's heart ("it depends on what sort of mood she's in") and didn't believe Ian when he said that both he and Oliver were very happy apart.

Meanwhile, Arnaud had just argued with Jean-Marc, and Louis was on Arnaud's side - Arnaud had been his friend from Muggle primary school. Something about local politics.

Percy came into the sitting room just as Ian was getting ready to leave; he had a class in half an hour. Percy was fascinated by the concept of university and asked Ian questions about it until the latter insisted he had to leave.

The second after Ian closed the door behind him there was a tapping at the window. Oliver discovered Ares outside and let him in. The owl carried not one letter but two.

Wood and Percy:

Can't make the meeting today, have got something else important to do. Figgy is sick in bed. Probably caught something from Sapphira Whosit, the weird little beast.

Percy, you ought to go and visit your family, as Ron has just come home and your mum says she hasn't heard from you in days.

Dung

Dear Oliver and Percy,

We were so relieved to get your letter, and I'm excited to write back with good news. As Oliver knows, I used to be a reporter for the Daily Prophet back during the first war, when they had an actual journalistic standard, and now they've asked me to come back and work for them again. Fudge has them under orders to print no more than three frivolous articles per paper, which means a good quarter of the staff has been sacked. I hope I can be of help.

Things are going to be very busy around here for the next few days, which unfortunately means that we won't be able to see you until Puddlemere's match on Thursday with the Holyhead Harpies. Best of luck!

Much love, Mum - Anne

"Blimey," Oliver said. "She hasn't worked since I was born."

Percy was studying the letter. "She says she hopes she can be of help," he said. "Notice how unspecific that is. Same thing with Dung's letter, both of them are being careful not to write anything that directly links us to the Order." He ran one hand through his hair. "Today's Sunday, isn't it?"

"Yeah. I don't have to go to work until this afternoon."

With a sigh, Percy took both of Oliver's hands in his own. "We ought to sell the book."

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

They spent breakfast very quietly, each thinking his own thoughts. Afterwards they quickly prepared to leave, tying shoes and closing windows without saying a word. On the staircase to the street they did not hold hands; each took one end of The Emerald Cloak, and it was a bridge between them.

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

"Oh sweet Merlin," Theo said, his eyes wide and a laugh in his voice. "Wow."

"Things change," Oliver said, slipping one arm around Percy's waist and grinning at Theo's amazement. Of course, the last time Theo had seen Percy the latter had been a closeted control freak with extremely ugly glasses...

"You know, you see a lot of things in this job," said Theo. "This old bloke came in yesterday and wanted to sell us this ancient journal that his mum wrote. Load of boring rubbish. Lots of drivel about what the weather was like and how many eggs the hens laid. Last week this kid thought we ought to lower the price of the new Martin Miggs comic because - get this - we let it gather dust, and the dust damaged its collectability." Theo rolled his eyes. "But I never thought I'd see - wait until I tell Lane!"

"Do you still see Lane, then?" Oliver asked.

"No one's told you about Lane? He went on holiday to Canada the summer after graduation and ended up eloping to Ontario with some girl called Claudette." He grinned. "We write on occasion. They're having a baby in October."

Oliver tried to imagine Lane raising a child; an image of his former roommate making a baby plate after plate of food came to mind and he too smiled.

Percy, as was his way, couldn't concentrate on anything else until the task at hand had been completed. "I'm not sure how much you can give us for this book. It's not exactly in mint condition, but it's rare enough, anyway." He set The Emerald Cloak on the counter and waited expectantly.

"Don't know a thing about old books," Theo said. "I'll have to go to Mr. Flourish, that's his specialty. One minute." He disappeared into the rows of musty leather and aged parchment, a cloud of dust rising behind him.

"Can you imagine us with a kid?" Percy asked Oliver.

"Not at the present time," said Oliver truthfully.

"Do you mean you want them later?"

Oliver couldn't read the tone of Percy's voice. "Probably," he said. "They're awfully sweet, Perce."

"Penelope always wanted children." He sighed; his eyes grew big and his look became distant. "I haven't ever thought about it since we broke up."

Theo returned at that moment with Mr. Flourish, a lanky wizard with rectangular spectacles who looked as though he could have been a classmate of Dumbledore's. With an air of great authority he produced a bronze magnifying glass from underneath the counter and proceeded to examine the book.

"Family heirloom?"

"I found it at yard sale," Oliver said.

Flourish shot him a suspicious look and returned to his inspections. "Faded ink stain on the inside cover," he remarked critically. "Centimeter-long tear on page two hundred and seventeen. Uneven type at the bottom of one hundred and eighty-four." His gaze rested on Oliver. "Oily fingerprints all over chapter eleven."

"Crisps."

"I see." He put away the magnifying glass and crossed his arms over his chest. "I'll give you a million and a half Galleons."

"Three million," said Oliver at once. Percy's mouth fell open.

"You're going to argue?" he hissed, but Oliver shook him off.

"A million and three-quarters, Mr. Wood."

"For one of the rarest books in the wizarding world?"

"Two."

"Three."

"I," said Flourish, "fail to see what someone who eats crisps while reading a rare volume deserves three million Galleons."

"I," Oliver retorted, "fail to see why someone who speaks rudely to his customers deserves this book."

"Two-point-one."

"Two-point-eight."

"Two-point-two."

"Point six."

"Three."

"Five."

"Four."

"Sold. Please send the money to Gringotts with instructions that it be placed in Percy Weasley's vault."

"Perhaps I ought to let you argue from now on," Percy muttered, his ears inflamed.

"Well, it is your book. I gave it to you. But the money is for us - "Oliver squeezed Percy's waist " - and for the future little Weasley-Woods."

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

"So, what are you doing until I get home?" Oliver asked once they had said goodbye to Theo and stood outside Flourish and Blotts.

"Figure out the pseudo-job and do laundry, most likely," Percy said. "Perhaps I'll stick around here for a bit and spend a few of my new riches."

They parted after a brief kiss; Oliver watched Percy walk down Diagon Alley and remembered a day two years ago when his lover had crossed these same cobblestones, ignoring Oliver calling his name.

The men of Puddlemere were in a foul mood.

"It took my wife eleven tries to get me out of bed today," Pritchard complained as he slid his robe over his head. "I was out like a rock. Finally she convinced my four-year-old to tickle me until I moved."

"Penge's lost it," said Ellis, a reserve Chaser. "On my way in here I heard him whispering under his breath about keeping us for hours in the weight room."

"That's Hufflepuff for you," Oliver said, digging in his locker for a change of socks. "Work until you drop. No offense to anyone," he added.

"None taken," chorused Pritchard and Meritt, Pritchard's best friend on the team.

As Oliver turned back towards his locker he heard Ellis say, "Christ, Wood, what happened to your back?"

His mind went blank. "Hmm?"

"There's these little marks on your shoulders."

"Little half-circles," said Meritt. "Fingernails?"

"The redhead's fierce, it looks like," said Pritchard, leaning up against the wall and smiling in a way Oliver couldn't interpret. "So, tell us about her."

"Yeah, who's the redhead?" Ellis asked. "How'd Penge know her? Has she been around here?"

"Don't tell me it's that girl in the advertising office," said Douglas, joining the conversation. "Nice to look at, but that voice..."

"I say no one goes anywhere until we get the full scoop on the redhead," interjected Meritt. "Has she got nice legs?"

"We're playing the Holyhead Harpies on Thursday," Oliver said. "If we want to win, we ought to focus on those women during practice and forget everything else."

"Ach, he's embarrassed by her," said Ellis casually.

Why, today of all days -

Oliver looked Ellis in the eye. "I'm not," he said as calmly and evenly as he could, "embarrassed by him at all."

Jackson snorted. Oliver turned to face him. "How about we ask you - "

But no one could ask Jackson anything, because at that moment Penge apparated into their midst. His face was ashen and his eyes were devoid. "Practice is cancelled," he said hollowly, resting his eyes on the wall. "Looks like the war's had its second battle. There was an explosion in Diagon Alley."