In a World of Their Own

A muffled groan, a tightening of arms, and a very sleepy voice, "Percy?"

Much as he didn't like to admit it, Percy Weasley enjoyed waking up each morning with Oliver Wood sprawled across his chest. He couldn't admit it, of course, because such a weakness would brand him as forever human, forever imperfect. And Percy Weasley was certainly everything other than imperfect.

"Oliver," he replied quickly, stroking the other man's hair, because that was what was required of him. Oliver sighed happily, a perfect affirmation that Percy had followed the rules correctly, and settled down to sleep again.

While he slept on, Percy lay awake and thought. Today was to be a turning point, he knew. Today was the day when his theories, his plans of treason and spoken words in a neutral office all came to fruition. Today was the day he could not turn back from, even if he changed his mind. Today was the day his reality began to be drawn in a slightly brighter ink. Today was the day he was to cast his first Unforgivable on a fellow human.

Oliver did not know, of course.

Oliver could never and would never know.

As far as Oliver knew, Percy's day was to be like any other. As far as Oliver knew, Percy would go to his neat little job in the Ministry and write his countless essays and hope to become Minister of Magic one day. As far as Percy was concerned, Oliver knew nothing. And that was how it was to be.

When Oliver awoke for the second time, and stirred properly, stretching his arms above his head and yawning loudly, Percy was already arisen and arranging his tie just so in the mirror. He met Oliver's eyes in the reflection and smiled curtly.

Oliver smiled back as he got out of bed, although when Percy thought back to it afterwards, Oliver's smile seemed forced and more than a little sad. Rather apt.

"And what is on your schedule today, Oliver?"

At that, Oliver stopped short and put his hands on his hips. Percy quickly realised that he had made some serious error in judgment. He'd obviously forgotten some detail; a rather rare occurrence. He sighed, awaiting the tirade.

"I am playing *Quidditch*, Percy. It's the-- it's my bloody debut for the Puddlemere United team. Have you-- bloody hell, you said you were coming, Percy, it's my big day--"

Percy sighed and smoothed his hair down with a quick spell, tuning Oliver out as he ranted on and on, over and over the same points, for Oliver became rather repetitive rather quickly when he was angry. He had not remembered that Oliver made his debut today. The thought had not entered his head. He'd had far too much on his mind to bother about silly little hobbies like Oliver's Quidditch.

The argument, one sided as it was, continued as they went into the kitchen for breakfast. Percy conjured some tea and sat down with the newspaper as Oliver kept shouting, his voice almost breaking with anger.

Eventually, as was to be expected, Oliver stopped for a breath, and Percy interrupted. "I can not come today, Oliver. I'm very important at work and they can't survive without me." He continued very importantly, "Especially not today."

Percy expected a continuation of the temper tantrum; as indicated from previous argument experience and Oliver's general demeanour. However, against all predictions, Oliver sat down and buried his face in his hands. Percy watched him over the edge of the Daily Prophet, minorly concerned at this break from routine. He ran through all his carefully constructed contingency plans in his head, trying to find a suggestion for what was to follow.

He had almost decided to say something, or perhaps even to reach out to touch Oliver's shoulder lightly, when Oliver looked up, running his hands through his hair. He looked at Percy for a minute, then turned to stare out the window. "What's happened with us, Percy?"

And that, too, was an unexpected question, and Percy raised both eyebrows, thinking of an answer. "I don't know what you're talking about," he answered haughtily.

"Neither do I," Oliver answered sadly, and got up from the table to go back in the bedroom.

As the door slammed, Percy tried to focus on his newspaper. He soon realised he was reading the same paragraph over and over again, and laid it down, wrapping both his hands around his mug of tea. He sipped it gently, slowly, savouring each mouthful as he thought about what had just happened.

For some reason or another, best known to Oliver, he had broken routine, disobeyed the rules. It had never happened before, obviously, as that was how the rules came into being. Something had happened to change Oliver's behaviour, and something therefore had to be changed.

Idly, Percy stirred his tea with his wand to warm it again.

Oliver came back into the room after a while, carrying his bag and broomstick. He didn't meet Percy's eyes, looking down at his feet instead. "Percy. I went. Into your work yesterday, to surprise you. For lunch." He looked up, and out the window again. "They said. At the International Magical Co-operation department, said you didn't even work there." He sighed. "I don't-- I don't know what's going on. Or why. I don't know why you're lying to me. Have been lying to me forever, maybe. I don't understand, Percy. And now -- you say you're going to come to my game, and you don't even remember." He shook his head.

Oh, Percy thought. So that was what had happened. That certainly had to be dealt with.

"I don't know what to tell you, Oliver," he said very carefully. It was true. He needed some time to think about what was the best lie to feed him now, which string was the best to give him to play with.

Oliver looked at him, slightly stunned. "You could start with the truth, Percy. How about where you work? We could start with that."

"I do work at the Ministry," Percy said, and it wasn't technically a lie. Some of his work did involve being inside the Ministry buildings. "I can't tell you what I really do."

"Oh," Oliver said, and Percy could swear he could almost hear wheels being turned in Oliver's mind, agonizingly slowly. After several minutes of frowning and figuring things out, he asked, "So, you're an Unspeakable?"

Percy simply smiled. It wasn't exactly a lie if one did not confirm or deny, and so he let the silence hang, allowing Oliver to make his own decision. It worked perfectly, as Oliver smiled after a while, looking down at the table. "You should have said something, Perce. That you didn't work there any longer -- I felt like a right twat, you know."

"You understand that I couldn't say," Percy said. Speaking to Oliver was an art. If you led him well enough, he reached your conclusions and thought the work was entirely his own.

Proving Percy's point, Oliver grinned and nodded. "All right. And you know the secret's safe with me."

No, Percy thought, that wasn't quite what he knew. He knew that Oliver would tell everyone the minute he forgot it was a secret, but that wasn't exactly the same thing. He smiled at him instead of actually answering, and Oliver grinned happily.

"You're sure you can't get off today, though? It's so important."

Percy shook his head. He could only imagine what his superiors would do if he decided his boyfriend's little game was more important than what was about to happen. "I'll be there next time, Oliver," he said, for that was what was needed. "I promise."

Oliver loved promises, because they meant something to him. He could point to them and explain why he hoped for things. So another of the rules was to use the word "promise" as often as possible, and bring smiles to Oliver's face. Oliver grinned then, nodded, and leaned over to kiss Percy gently. "I'll see you when I get home, then. If we're not finished, come to the game after work, yeah?"

Percy kissed him back, as he had learned to do by now. "Of course I shall," he replied, putting on a smile. "And you will be brilliant, Oliver, we both know that."

Nodding, Oliver said "Well, if I'm not, I couldn't possibly be any better. Can't remember ever being this prepared for something in my life." He picked up his bag and broomstick, and smiled again. "And, um, good luck with whatever you're doing today." He winked, and Percy almost wanted to laugh at Oliver's idea of subtlety. As Percy nodded and smiled to acknowledge Oliver's encouragement, Oliver lifted his wand and disapparated.

Once Oliver disappeared, Percy moved swiftly. His case was packed for the day, his heavy black robes freshly pressed. He checked his tie and appearance in the mirror, and smiled in satisfaction. He looked like somebody. His clothes weren't shabby or at all second hand; he hardly looked like a Weasley. Even his hair was less red nowadays.

He had, as he had intended, risen above it all. Today proved it. He wasn't Bill, or Charlie, or his father. He was Percy, and he had done more than any of them.

He'd achieved power. He'd become somebody. His reflection knew it, and when the mirror murmured appreciatively, he knew it was obvious. He oozed power. Perfection. At long last, perfection.

Particularly when Oliver wasn't around to mar it.

As he double checked his briefcase - the papers were all in place, every last one of them, all checked and tweaked until they were as perfect as their author - he raised his wand and smiled. After today, he imagined he would even have a chapter in Prefects Who Gained Power. Because oh, he had. Power beyond anything so many in that book could have ever imagined.

He disapparated with a smile on his face.

The morning at the offices was spent finishing the paperwork. Little was said by anyone, and an air of anticipation hung around them. Eleven fifteen sharp was the time they had designated for departure.

In the name of secrecy, only a few - the leaders of each department - knew where their group was carrying out their raid. Six simultaneous attacks across Great Britain was all the rest, including Percy, knew. Six attacks on major wizarding centres to show those who doubted that there was a powerful group just under the surface. A group who knew more than the Ministry. Six attacks, and people would know who they were dealing with. They would portkey in, to hide the location even from those involved. The second in command would cast the Mark into the air. The others would kill.

Percy knew that was what was to be done - he had dealt with the idea. It was what was necessary - they had to remove their opposition in order to win, and when they won, everybody would know his name. That's what they had said. When their side won, everybody would know Percy. His parents would be impressed, of course - how could they not be? They would realise which side was the winning one, and when they realised their own son was among the most-admired... they couldn't help but admire him. He would be honoured.

He would be loved.

At eleven fourteen, his group met. They seemed identical when their masks were on. Percy barely knew his coworkers - by first name only, if that. They looked at each other, then, as the clock on the wall turned over to eleven-fifteen, each reached out for the cracked coffee mug in the middle of the group.

The portkey activated.

Percy didn't have time to register a thing when they arrived at their destination - someone yelled "MORSMORDE!", and then, as screams filled the sunlit sky, they all spread out.

He walked with his wand raised as they spread in a circle, his hand only shaking a little. The first to try to stop him was a young lady just landed on the ground in sky blue robes - she rushed at him, arms outraised, and he quickly - Merlin, actually instinctively - shouted "Avada Kedavra!", there was a flash of light mirrored all around him, and she dropped to the ground.

He hardly hesitated to check her body, stepping over her and going on. There was another, and another, and another, as the screams started becoming fainter and fainter and a roaring grew in his ears, his left arm burning hot. The crowd was thinning, running, making their way out of the stadium - were they at a Quidditch match, perhaps, Percy wondered - and Percy was about to turn to meet back at the portkey when a hand grabbed his left arm, and he turned in surprise to see Oliver.

He froze.

Oliver knew, Percy could see. Oliver knew. Oliver knew everything; and it was written all over his face. His jaw had dropped, his face was streaked by panic, he whispered Percy's name in disbelief and he scraped at Percy's sleeve to see the Mark.

Percy only hesitated slightly before pointing his wand. The rules didn't cover this. He would have to work of his own accord, now. The rules never mentioned this at all. But the rule, the rule that was to be obeyed above all other rules, said that Oliver must never know about his work. The rules were very clear about that.

"Avada Kedavra," he whispered, and the last thing he saw before the green light flashed in front of him yet again, was the way Oliver looked up at him in surprise. Always surprise. Always seeing things with fresh eyes. Always innocent. And Percy closed his eyes as Oliver dropped away from him, as Oliver's hand slipped from his arm and as Oliver fell to the ground without a further noise.

Percy stood there, unable to move.

Someone ran past him, yelled for him to hurry. He didn't reply, looking down at what he had done. He had obeyed the rules, but he never expected it to come to this. The rules had betrayed him. Betrayed him like the Ministry had. At the last minute, they had left him. He could not trust the rules. They no longer made sense.

Percy knelt next to Oliver's body and removed his own mask, slipping it over Oliver's face.

He put his hand on his own left arm, over the Mark, bowed his head, and began to cry.