Three Parts Fear by VicXntric

Why fear death? It is the most beautiful adventure in life. --Charles Frohman

With cool detachment, Percy Weasley lifted his chin to examine the thin line of bruises that encircled his neck. His only real concern with them was that he hadn't gotten enough sleep the previous night to allow him to hold a concealment charm all day. That meant he had to wear his robes with the high collar. It was not a very pleasant option when one was going to be stuck in a stuffy little bookstore on a humid summer day.

Not that Percy particularly cared.

He'd already resigned himself to the fact that he'd be plodding through another day in a sleep-deprived fog. Fortunately, his job was not one that required much thought. It barely required his presence. If he truly wanted to, he could likely take a quick nap in the back corner without anyone noticing.

Not that he ever would.

He may have fallen exceedingly short of everybody's expectations, including his own, but he hadn't yet allowed himself to reach the level of his underachieving prankster brothers, Fred and George. Working at a tiny bookstore in Knockturn Alley was hardly what he'd planned to do with his life, but it paid the bills (barely), and he was able to devour books in his spare time. As a clerk at the Mulciber-Bode bookstore, spare time was something he had plenty of. The bookstore was definitely a front for something else; Percy might have been blind before, but he wasn't that naive. He knew that whatever went on in the back room or in Mulciber's quarters upstairs definitely wasn't legal, but he also knew that it wasn't terribly dangerous. Of course, even if it was, there was nothing he could do about it.

Report it to the Ministry? Very amusing. Who would listen to him? He was one of the biggest jokes of the War.

Cornelius Fudge had needed a scapegoat once it was proven that Voldemort was, indeed back, and Percy turned out to be very convenient. According to Fudge, Percy was given a second chance after the disaster with Barty Crouch, Sr, and had dropped the ball again. He'd gone to school with the Boy-Who-Lived, his youngest brother was the Best Friend of the Boy-Who-Lived, and yet Percy still hadn't informed Fudge of all the evidence that You-Know-Who had returned. Within a week, Percy was receiving as much bad press as Harry Potter had. Blind-sided, he had no time to respond to the allegations before he was fired. Not that he would have responded; he was still in shock at the realization that You-Know-Who had indeed returned and the War would be happening all over again. He was even more sick at heart that he had taken the Minister's word about Harry, who had been part of his family for four years, and was absolutely appalled at his own disastrous judgment in trusting the Ministry over his family.

Swamped with guilt, Percy went to Fudge and asked to be allowed to do something to help. Dense though Fudge was about some things, he could tell that Percy was desperate enough do anything that was asked of him. Displaying unusual canniness, the Minister assigned his former assistant all the dangerously amoral assignments that no one else at the Ministry wanted to dirty their hands with. Percy applied himself to his tasks with the same determination that had gained him a record number of NEWTS at Hogwarts. Within his first five months, he had taken down nine Death Eaters--four of them permanently, two Dementors, and a trio of Quintapeds. It was in the fight with the Quintapeds that he was injured, but rather than sending him to St. Mungo's, Fudge suggested he recover in one of the many refugee camps that had sprung up in the countryside. Percy had no desire to go to St. Mungo's, where most of the Order were taken when injured, and readily agreed. For the next two years, whenever he was injured, Percy was packed off to a refugee camp to work there until he had recovered enough for another suicide mission.

Percy did all this willingly, which was fortunate, because each time he survived, his next assignment became more dangerous and his injuries more frequent. Hoping to scavenge some feeling of redemption, he spent his recovery time repairing broken bones, comforting traumatized orphans, and holding the hands of dying schoolmates. On his first stay in a camp, Percy held down Angelina Johnson as the healers repaired the gaping hole which had once been her left arm. On his second stay, Percy wrote down the last words of Roger Davies', held the former Quidditch captain's hand as he drew his last gasping breath and then discovered that there was no need to send the parchment to his parents as both Mr. and Mrs. Davies had been killed as well. After that, one stay blended into the next. Although a few things stood out. Like, being the one to tell the four-year-old daughter of former Slytherin Edmund Bletchley and former Hufflepuff Jette Adler that her mother and father would never be coming back for her, and yes, she had to stay in the scary forest until they could find another relative to be her caretaker. Worst of all was when Penelope Clearwater was brought in unconscious; Percy sat next to her the entire time, but she had never awakened.

After eleven months of this, Percy began to feel nothing he could do would make up for his blatant stupidity.

After fifteen months, he knew it.

After two years, it ceased to matter--he had become numb to any emotion.

Percy was buttoning his robe when he heard a tapping on his window. Sparing a quick glance over, he saw Hermes perched outside. He calmly finished with the last button before opening the window to let his old friend in. The tawny owl nibbled his fingers affectionately as Percy untied the parchment from his leg.

"You're looking fit, Hermes," Percy said, stroking the soft feathers as he unrolled the parchment single-handed. He had sent Hermes to his parents after receiving his first assignment; giving them the owl permanently…on the condition that they never use him to try and contact Percy until the war was over. Now, he was glad he had done so, certain that Hermes never would have survived the War otherwise.

He immediately recognized his mother's handwriting, asking him to come to dinner at the Burrow again. Sighing, he scrounged up a quill and wrote out what was becoming a standard reply, "No thank you, Mother, but I would be happy to treat you and father to lunch in Diagon Alley at your convenience."

He tied the parchment back onto Hermes' proffered leg and prepared to send the reluctant owl back to Molly Weasley.

"They certainly need you more than I do," Percy said as he met the solemn amber eyes. "Especially now that Errol's gone. Perhaps when I'm better settled, I'll buy them another owl and you can come back, all right?"

Hermes hooted softly and launched himself away from the window. Percy watched him go, wondering just how much owls understood of human conversation. It was a much more comfortable thing to consider than going back to the Burrow.

It was when Voldemort was finally defeated in Harry and Ron's seventh year that more workers began showing up at the camps as part of a rescue effort--which Percy thought was a very pretty way of saying "to identify bodies." When he saw Remus Lupin there, Percy knew it was only a matter of time before his family members would show up and he immediately left for London.

It was there that his father and Bill tracked him down barely three days after Voldemort's death. It soon became obvious that someone in the Ministry had been keeping the Order apprised of Percy's actions--Percy guessed it was either Amos Diggory or Amelia Bones--because Arthur insisted he come back with them to the Burrow and Bill congratulated him on becoming one of the more successful Hit Wizards. Whoever it was had obviously neglected to tell anyone about his time in the refugee camps because his mother certainly would have mentioned it when she hugged him, saying how proud they all were of him. Percy raised his eyebrows at these words since the looks he'd received from Fred, George and Ginny on entering the house suggested anything but "proud." Charlie, on the other hand, clapped him on the back and asked about the Quintapeds he had defeated. Although none of them spoke, Ron and Harry both shook his hand and Hermione gave him a soft kiss on his cheek, astonishing him no end. All three looked appallingly older than their seventeen years and all three seemed relieved that he was no more inclined to speak than they were. Percy soon discovered that they--along with Neville Longbottom, one Ravenclaw, three Hufflepuffs and two Slytherins were the only students from their year to survive. Percy found their silence understandable and even tolerable, whereas Ginny's and the twins' was merely hostile. Everyone else's forced cheer seemed completely unnatural to him.

Percy had left the Burrow as soon as he could.

That had been nearly six months ago and he hadn't been back since. Although he did meet his parents for lunch in Diagon Alley now and then to assure them he was still alive--more or less. He couldn't very well tell his mother and father that the only time he actually felt alive any more was when someone was tightening a cord around his neck until lights began flashing behind his eyes and his consciousness began to blur. Since this someone--any someone--was almost always fucking him mercilessly at the same time, it was something he had no intention of discussing with anyone and least of all with his family.

Percy thought they were really more like flashes of emotions, not true memories. Despair: so many deaths in the camps. Pain: his visit to the Burrow; the reactions of his family members. Shock: his first sight of two men engaged in sex, strangling each other between two buildings. Repulsion and attraction came after that flash. Then, Fear and Anticipation as he remembered walking into the pub he'd seen those men enter. Again, Shock: being propositioned by another man in the pub. Finally, sublime Terror: coming closer and closer to Death as that man began to cut off his air in the same alleyway that had first introduced him to this craving.

Engaged in the act, there was suddenly no room for Guilt or Shame--his entire world had narrowed down to getting that tiny trickle of air into his lungs to stave off the encroaching darkness. That darkness was beguiling in its own right. Percy wondered from time to time how long it would be before he happily fell headlong into it and stayed there. And always, there was that shattering release that would allow him to forget everything but his blissful Agony.

Whenever Percy thought about what he was compelled to do three or four times a week, he felt tendrils of Horror begin to weave through his stomach. Not at the knowledge that he wanted to do this with men--that was something he had realized in his seventh year--but that he wanted to do this at all. Certainly nothing he had ever encountered in school or in his family had prepared him for this sort of sexual gratification. He wasn't even sure that he could actually be said to enjoy it. Rather, it was that he simply couldn't enjoy anything less dangerous. And dangerous it was--Percy made certain of that by always choosing partners that were strangers to him and changing again after two or three encounters. The less he could trust his partner, the closer he came to Death.

Exactly the way he wanted it.

Percy awoke from his reverie and looked around him without much surprise. He was at his usual place behind the counter in Mulciber-Bode's books with no real recollection of how he got there. It wasn't an unusual occurrence, as he spent most of his days running automatically, rather like one of the wind-up Muggle toys his father used to bring home. Neither of his employers was in yet, again, not uncommon as they did their most profitable business in the night.

Before he could pick up the book he had started the day before, another owl landed in front of him; this one grey and bearing the Daily Prophet. Percy took the paper from it and paid from the tiny tin Mulciber kept under the counter for this purpose. Abandoning his book for the moment, he plowed apathetically through the newspaper until a list caught his eye.

Order of Merlin Recipients.

Holding the paper closer, Percy checked to see how many names he recognized. First Class: Sirius Black...That must be driving Fudge half-mad; Hermione Granger...Oh, well done, Hermione; Xiomena Hooch...That's right, she led the Air Strikes; Remus Lupin...A werewolf. Umbridge probably went right round the bend when she heard; Minerva MacGonagall...Professor MacGonagall, excellent; Alastor Moody (deceased)...Damn Malfoy; Harry Potter...Of course, it would be a crime if he didn't; Kingsley Shacklebolt...The only Auror? That's rather surprising; Severus Snape...Hopefully, that will improve his temperament; Arthur Weasley; Ronald Weasley...

Percy's jaw dropped and he read it again. Arthur Weasley; Ronald Weasley...Merlin! No wonder Mum wants me there for dinner. I'll have to send another owl. After taking several more minutes to digest this and allowing himself a brief, truly happy smile, he returned to the list.

Second Class: Katie Bell...Gryffindor. Excellent to see; Susan Bones...From Ron's year. Hufflepuff, I believe; Lavender Brown (deceased)...Oh no, there's one of the Gryffindors from Ron's year; Amos Diggory...Doubt it means much to him at this point; Seamus Finnegan(deceased)...Oh sweet Cliodne! Another one; Filius Flitwick; Ernie MacMillan (deceased); Broderick Miles; Adrian Pucey (deceased)...So he was on our side-I'd always wondered; Stuart Quinlan; Cassiopeia Sinistra; Dean Thomas (deceased)...And Dean. No wonder they all looked so...dazed; Molly Weasley; William Weasley...Oh Mum! Why didn't you write me about this?

Percy abandoned the Third Class list in order to reach for a parchment to write his mother again immediately. As he did, though, one last name caught his eye.

Oliver Wood.

Oh.

Even from his place in the shadows of the Ministry, Percy had heard about Striker Oliver Wood, one of the best and most dedicated members of the Air Strike Force. It didn't take much imagination to envision his former schoolmate arrowing after a Death Eater with the same intensity as he had used to protect the Gryffindor hoops. Simple to imagine the dark eyes narrowing and the square jaw clenching as he went after his target...

Don't be ridiculous.

Percy drew on every bit of his self control and pushed all thought of Oliver Wood out of his mind as he began composing another letter to his mother.

"Oliver!"

"Well done, old boy!"

Oliver couldn't help but smile as he heard those two voices in tandem--as always. He turned to greet Fred and George Weasley, accepting their handshakes and back slaps. "Well done to your family as well," he grinned.

"Here, come on back to the Burrow..."

"...Mum's giving a huge bash..."

"...should last all weekend..."

"..be a grand time..."

"...loads of people..."

Oliver was grateful he hadn't lost the habit of following both twins at one time. "I'm not sure I'm in the mood for a big party. I'm a bit tired and--"

"Come off it, Ollie..."

"...no one's saying you have to stay for the whole thing."

Oliver held up his hand before they could get off on another roll. Agreement appeared to be the only way to head them off. "All right, then. Just let me go home and change and I'll be at the Burrow right after."

"Why d'you want go home and change?"

"I'd stay in the Striker robes if I were you..."

"...get all girls you want wearing those..." Fred eyed the robes enviously.

"...boys, too," George finished with an evil grin.

Oliver shook his head in amusement, "This was officially my last assignment for the Strike Force. If I ever put these robes on again, it'll be too soon."

Fred's smile slipped, but George kept his determinedly in place. "But you'll come, right?"

"I'll be there."

Another couple of slaps to his back and the twins left to find the rest of their family. Oliver took advantage of the moment to step outside and disapparate back to his parents' cottage. My cottage, he corrected himself with a sigh. He had rebuilt it after the War, salvaging what little he could from the rubble of the original. Now it was one story rather than two, a concession to some of the injuries he'd incurred and thankfully one of the smallest. Traveling up and down stairs several times a day wouldn't be a hardship for him right now, but it certainly might in the future.

He apparated into his front parlor and immediately took his Order of Merlin medal from around his neck. It dangled from his hand as he stood in front of the shelf that housed his Hogwarts Quidditch Cup--one of the few things that had escaped the destruction of his parents' home. With the smallest twist of a smile, Oliver dropped his medal into the cup and walked into his bedroom to change.

He apparated to the Burrow at the edge back garden, hoping to avoid an immediate crowd, but it was not to be. Guests overflowed the many-storied house, and the garden was full of tables, benches, people and animals. Gnomes, on the other hand, had apparently abandoned the place.

The first person he met up with--and almost ran into--happened to be his old teammate Angelina Johnson. For several long seconds, the sight of her missing arm robbed him of speech; but he recovered himself and returned the kiss she gave him. "Congratulations, Oliver."

"And you," he replied with a smile. She had received a Third Class Order. Oliver personally thought her sacrifice merited much more than that.

"Anxious to get back to Quidditch? I'll be glad to watch you again."

Oliver blinked in surprise, then reflected that his condition was not common knowledge. "I can't play Quidditch anymore, Angelina." At her puzzled frown he continued, "My legs were broken so many times--well, there's only so much healers can do. After the last time when I broke my back as well..." He saw her startled expression and decided not to go into detail, "Several medi-wizards warned me that another serious injury would not be repairable. That leaves Quidditch out of the question."

"Oh, Oliver, I'm so sorry."

Involuntarily, Oliver's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

Angelina smirked, "Don't look at me like that. Mine was a clean wound and it wasn't my wand hand. Besides, my parents have a good business, so I've got a job lined up if I want it."

"If you want it?"

"Oh, I've been talking to other people who are even worse off than I am and with no family left to help them. The Ministry has confiscated all the Death Eater holdings and I think at least a portion of that should go to support the wounded and orphans."

"Angelina, that's a brilliant idea," Oliver gave her an admiring look.

"Hermione Granger's, actually. She asked if I wanted help, and then I asked if she did."

Oliver's rueful smile said he wasn't surprised.

"I'm going to go talk to Amelia Bones about it," Angelina excused herself. "Make sure you talk to Alicia and Katie while you're here."

"I will," Oliver promised.

Angelina gave his arm a squeeze and then moved away. She was barely gone before Ron and Harry appeared, Harry with a bottle of butterbeer for him. Oliver stood with them for a while talking about the state of Quidditch in Great Britain since the War. As other friends and acquaintances came and went, Oliver reflected that he really had to get some new interests now that the sport would no longer be a major part of his life. He'd always love it--he could no more give up Quidditch than he could stop breathing, but he'd never realized before now that all his friends seemed to identify him solely with a Quaffle. What's more, they all seemed to think that it was a great tragedy for him not to be able to play. Oliver didn't have the inclination to correct them. He personally doubted he'd miss Quidditch as much as they thought he would. He had seen enough battle from brooms that even the controlled violence on the pitch was now repellant to him.

Fred and George, with the help of Ginny and Colin Creevey, were getting ready to set off several firecrackers, both Filibuster's and Weasleys'. Oliver decided the ensuing noise and commotion was not something he enjoyed anymore, and wandered into the nearly-empty house.

"Hello, Oliver."

Oliver's eyes hadn't adjusted from the sunshine to the gloom of the kitchen, but that hardly mattered. He immediately recognized the voice. "Hi, Percy."

"Is the food running low out there?" Percy asked, getting up from his seat at the table.

Oliver blinked in confusion. "Er...not that I know of."

"Oh. I thought perhaps Mum sent you in because she couldn't find any of my brothers."

"No, I just came in to get away from--" Oliver paused as a barrage of fireworks went off. "--that," he finished when quiet descended again.

Percy's lips twisted in a wry smile. "This obviously isn't quite far enough." He cast a silencing charm and then held up a bottle, "Butterbeer?"

"I'd rather tea if there's any more." Oliver nodded towards Percy's cup.

"Of course," Percy flicked his wand towards the cupboard.

"Thank you," Oliver said formally as a cup landed perfectly on the table in front of him. He was a bit uncomfortable with Percy--they'd been close in their first few years together, but had drifted apart after the twins joined the Quidditch team and Oliver began hanging around with them more. He hadn't actually seen Percy since graduation.

Percy apparently felt the need for formality as well. "May I be the last to congratulate you on your medal?"

"I hope so." Oliver smiled at the surprised look that earned him. "D'you know where it is right now?"

Percy arched an eyebrow.

"In my Hogwarts Quidditch Cup."

"Well, at least you've got your priorities straight."

This time Oliver's eyebrows went up. Cynicism had never been one of Percy's qualities. "I can't play anymore."

"I...what?"

"Another airborne crash and no healer would be able to fix me."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Somehow the old formality no longer seemed to fit the ex-Head Boy. It clashed with his air of world-weariness.

"I'm not," Oliver said, just to see if he could catch this new Percy off guard again.

Success. Percy actually seemed to be at a loss for words. Oliver reflected briefly that this was the most fun he'd had since arriving at the party.

"I don't think I'll miss it that much, although I'll have to find something else to do with my life."

"Find some nice witch and settle down. Shouldn't be too hard for a war hero. Raise your own Quidditch team."

Percy's voice had taken on a slightly patronizing tone and Oliver decided to try for a third time. "Not bloody likely, considering I only like other guys."

That got the best reaction yet. Percy's jaw actually dropped for a few seconds before he caught himself and snapped it shut. Something flickered across his face, but was gone again before Oliver could identify it. "Ah."

Oliver tried desperately to keep the smile off his face. He caught Percy's eyes flitting from his lips to his hands and away again and suddenly realized what that fleeting look had been. Other instincts kicked in and Oliver took another look at Percy, examining him not as a former classmate but on sheer physical attractiveness. He decided he liked what he saw. Rather than being lanky, Percy was now tall and lean. Gone was the prissy, pursed look from his face and in its place was something Oliver couldn't identify, but something that attracted him all the same. "So what have you been up to?" he asked, hoping his tone was casual.

"I work in the Mulciber-Bode bookstore in Knockturn Alley."

Touché. Oliver hoped his jaw hadn't dropped as far as Percy's had. Percy Weasley and Knockturn Alley simply did not go together in his mind. "Well, that must be..."

Percy looked faintly amused.

"I have to go to Diagon Alley next week for some things. Why don't I stop by and we can go for lunch?"

Percy's eyes widened.

Wow. Four times.

Then Wednesday.

And Thursday.

Friday.

By the end of the second week they were meeting for dinner nearly every night. The third week, Oliver invited Percy to his cottage for dinner on Friday.

"Can you cook?" Percy asked him dubiously.

"You'll have to show up to find out," Oliver grinned in return.

They were stopped on the street just a block down from the Leaky Cauldron after a dinner in a Muggle Italian restaurant that had lasted nearly three hours--which was becoming the norm for them.

"I can meet you in Diagon Alley after work and we can apparate there," Oliver said, stroking Percy's arm as he spoke. "Or you can Floo there. I opened my fireplace back up a little while ago."

"I'll Floo there after work," Percy said quickly. Thus far, he had seen to it that Oliver never had to look for him in Knockturn Alley, and he meant to keep it that way.

"Alright," Oliver kept a hand on Percy's lower back as they walked into the Leaky Cauldron. "It's 'The Calan,' then."

"I should be there just after six."

"I'll be watching for you." After a soft smile and a warm kiss, Oliver disapparated and Percy walked out to Diagon Alley.

As he made his way back to his tiny flat, Percy allowed himself a small, bitter smile. Oliver had initiated a kiss the week before, and Percy had baulked--more out of surprise than anything else. Since then the ex-Keeper had been so gentle, so careful with him that Percy thought he should be amused instead of touched. Oliver obviously thought that Percy was frightened either by past experience or inexperience and was acting accordingly. Percy wasn't sure what Oliver would think if he found out what Percy did with his partners and still had no idea how to bring the subject up, or whether he should bring it up at all.

After their first few lunches together, Percy fantasized about Oliver's callused hands around his throat instead of the cord his other partners always used and had managed several shattering climaxes with the image. After their fourth meeting, however, when it became apparent that the mutual attraction was not merely physical, that fantasy lost its appeal. There would be no danger with Oliver controlling his breathing. No pain, no darkness, no impeding death. Percy wasn't certain Oliver would be willing to inflict even slight pain. After his career as an Air Striker, Oliver felt that he had given enough pain to others for a lifetime. That he'd also received enough went without saying. It was the closest they had ever come to talking about the War.

Percy decided to let Oliver take the lead on Friday evening. As he got ready for bed, a voice in the back of his head began reminding him that he had no choice about letting Oliver set the pace because he had never been with another man when violence wasn't involved. Viciously, Percy silenced the voice so he could get some sleep.

Almost as well as he kissed.

These thoughts occurred muzzily to Percy as Oliver thoroughly explored the interior of his mouth with an inquiring tongue. The cooking thought only intruded because he could still taste the spices from dinner on Oliver lips. Percy was glad that Oliver also seemed quite pleased with his ability, because he hadn't had that much practice--his other partners never wanted to waste time on anything so trivial.

They broke apart, but Oliver kept Percy's face cradled in his hands, stroking his thumb along a flushed cheek as he gazed intently into the blue eyes. Percy wished for a instant that those hands would slip lower and encircle his throat, and the image struck him as so wrong that he actually flinched.

"Percy?" Oliver let him pull away. "Perce, I'm sorry, did--?"

"Oh gods," Percy closed his eyes. "Don't apologize, whatever you do."

"Too fast?"

Percy smirked and leaned back further into the deep sofa. "Too fast?" he repeated, and began to laugh.

Oliver frowned in bemusement. "Percy."

"You have no idea, do you, Oliver?"

Oliver's expression darkened at the slightly patronizing tone. "Obviously not. Enlighten me."

Percy merely shook his head, his lips still twisted in a parody of a smile.

"What is it you want, Percy?"

Gods, don't answer that. "What do you want, Oliver?" Percy countered instead.

"You." Oliver replied simply. "Long term. Forever, if you'd let me. "

"Don't ask for much, do you?"

"I don't ask for more than I'm willing to give."

Startled, Percy looked him in the eye, but found he couldn't meet those steady brown eyes for more than a few seconds.

"But I need to know what it is, Percy." Oliver tried to catch his eye again. "This... something between us. What aren't you telling me?"

"It's not what you're thinking," Percy assured him, looking away.

"You don't know that." There were several minutes of silence, then Oliver spoke again. "What is it about me that you find so amusing, anyway?"

Percy realized he was smiling that same bitter smile again. "Sorry."

"With all the condescending you do, I'm surprised I didn't break this off after ten days," Oliver said casually. "It was the only thing about you that irritated me in school. But it's different now."

"Really?" Percy arched an eyebrow.

"Then it was because you were a little scared. Now it's because you're terrified."

Warning bells went off in the back of Percy's head and he struggled to regain the upper hand, even as he wondered whether he ever had it. "I beg your pardon?" he mustered every iota of snottiness he could--which was considerable.

Oliver merely nodded as though that only confirmed his thoughts. "I just don't know what frightens you so much. It's not me. It's not sex--although I'd thought it was at first. Love, then, Percy?"

Percy abruptly got off the sofa they'd been happily sprawled across only moments before. He glanced around the cottage's small living room. "Thank you for dinner, Oliver."

Oliver stood as well. "Percy..." There was a slight rebuke in the soft tenor.

"I believe I should be going. I have to be up early tomorrow." Percy waited for Oliver to argue that the next day was Saturday and he didn't have to work. Oliver remained silent, although Percy could feel the weight of that perceptive gaze. Finally, he lifted his own eyes, but they quickly skittered away after a few seconds, while Oliver's didn't waver.

"I'll talk to you soon." Another soft kiss from Oliver and Percy realized with a start that there would be no coaxing that he stay. He disapparated before he succumbed to the temptation to change his mind.

Percy had also come to several realizations about Oliver Wood as he lay awake. While he'd always found his Quidditch-mad year-mate likable and not stupid, he'd also never thought of Oliver as someone on his own intellectual level. Certainly, Percy never thought Oliver would pick up on the condescension he had always demonstrated--he was barely able to acknowledge it himself. Then he thought back to their time at Hogwarts, when Oliver treated classes as something merely to be endured between Quidditch practices and games. The Keeper's marks in all his subjects--while nowhere near Percy's--were always high enough that the teachers never considered interfering with his Quidditch play. Percy had the feeling that if Oliver had thought it worthwhile to put the type of effort into classes as he did into sport, Percy's place at the top of the class might not have been so secure. It was very unsettling. Even more unsettling was that everything he thought he kept well hidden from Oliver might not be as secret as he'd assumed.

By Saturday afternoon, Percy had resolved that he would tell Oliver; by Saturday evening he had resolved that he would not. Sunday morning he concluded firmly that Oliver would not be terribly surprised by Percy's practices and would be able to handle it. Sunday afternoon, he decided that Oliver would be thoroughly disgusted by such a revelation at definitely end the relationship. Sunday evening Percy didn't decide anything, because Oliver's barn owl, Fiada tapped on his window with a letter in her beak and a package in her talons. Percy let the bird in, relieved her of her burdens and gave her some of the ham he'd been planning to fry up for his breakfast.

Ignoring his curiosity at what the package might be, he very properly opened the letter first. It was short and to the point.

Percy,

I'm sorry.

Meet me at Biagio Café tomorrow after work?

Oliver

Percy sighed, disturbed that Oliver felt the need to apologize. Then he opened the parcel and his frown vanished at the sight of Sugar Quills and Dragon Egg Truffles. Sugar Quills were a weakness of his, although he hadn't eaten one since leaving Hogwarts--he'd felt it beneath him as a Ministry worker and candy had been the last things on his mind since then. He laid them aside and found some parchment and a real quill.

Oliver,

I'd rather eat at your cottage again. It would be easier to talk.

I'll bring dinner from Yming's.

Percy

Deciding that was suitable, Percy quickly rolled up the parchment and walked back to Fiada. She'd finished her treat and held out her leg expectantly when Percy approached. "There you go," he said, tying it to her leg and smiling as she blinked black eyes at him. Barn owls always made him smile, with their white, heart-shaped faces. Ron and Ginny had called them "funny face owls" when they were little. That only reminded him again how separated he was from his family, and his expression darkened so drastically that Fiada fluttered her wings uncertainly. Percy rubbed her beak to reassure her, then opened his window again. "Off you go then."

He twirled a Sugar Quill between his fingers as he watched Fiada disappear into the evening sky. He started to put it in his mouth, then halted and instead put in back with the others. Better to save them for work, he told himself sensibly, knowing he would 'conveniently' forget about them until after he had talked to Oliver about everything.

Dinner passed in the same stilted manner and Oliver was glad to clear the table with his wand and pour the after-dinner drinks. "Sofa?" he asked simply, and was relieved when Percy immediately headed in that direction. He resisted the urge to finish off his black current rum in one go and sat down next to Percy, smiling as Percy bolted back half of his own drink in one swallow.

Percy took a deep breath as though he was about to say something, and then--didn't. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, holding his glass loosely and gazing down into the dark liquid.

Oliver trailed one hand down Percy's back in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

"It's not easy for me to say I was wrong," Percy said in a low voice.

"I know," Oliver replied, earning himself a withering look. "You've always been like that, Percy."

"Always underestimating you, you mean?" Percy leaned back so it was easier to look at Oliver. "Doesn't it make you angry?"

"I'm used to it," Oliver shrugged. "The only problem would be if I underestimated myself, don't you think?"

Percy stared at him as though he'd grown another head.

"Part of Quidditch strategy," Oliver grinned. "If you don't know what you're capable of, you're going to get slaughtered on the pitch."

"Quidditch philosophy," Percy shook his head. He finished his drink and set the empty glass on an end table. "Oliver, when we first met in Diagon Alley I thought it would be...well, I never thought it would turn into this pseudo-relationship."

"What's 'pseudo' about this relationship?"

"We haven't....well..."

"Perce, that doesn't mean we don't have a relationship. We've only been seeing each other for three weeks." Oliver set his own glass on the coffee table and turned more fully towards Percy. "I can slow down if you need me too."

"You've hardly been rushing me, Oliver," Percy smiled ruefully. "If anything, we've been moving at a snail's pace compared to what I'm used to."

"All right," Oliver said, trying to keep any surprise out of his voice. "Then we can speed things up, if you like. I want to be with you, Percy. I might even jump through the occasional hoop to do it, but you've got to let me know what it is you want."

Percy went dead still, then nodded as though he'd made up his mind. He reached into his robes and pulled out a thin braid of leather about two feet long. "This," he held it up in front of Oliver's eyes.

Oliver was intrigued and felt certain parts of his anatomy take a sudden interest as well. "Tie you up? Or me?" He'd never tried either, but that didn't lessen the appeal.

Percy blinked a few times, obviously surprised at such an agreeable reaction. "Neither, actually."

Neither? Oliver stared at the cord for another few seconds, then gave up. "Dare I ask where this goes, then?" he teased.

"Around my neck." The words landed like bricks between them.

"Like a collar?" Please like a collar.

"Tighter." Percy wore a detached expression.

Oliver struggled to keep everything casual. "How tight?"

"So that I nearly pass out."

Oliver looked into the blue eyes--or tried to. As always, Percy avoided his gaze. "Just out of curiosity--how do you find out that's something you'd like?" he asked, half-expecting Percy to launch into lecture mode.

"After the--" Percy chewed his lip. "I saw two men in Knockturn Alley. I was... intrigued."

After the War. Oliver knew instinctively that was what Percy almost said. "I've talked to some other people that's happened to. Especially Strikers."

Percy's eyes widened in surprise.

"Not specifically...what you do, but wanting to always be close to the edge." Oliver shook his head. "They've done so many things they'd never imagined they would ever do, and so now...nothing ordinary makes them happy. They're always looking for the next most exciting thing." He sighed, "There are a few people who were in my brigade that have died since the War was over, because they kept trying such dangerous things."

"But not you." Percy still wasn't looking at him.

"Not me," Oliver agreed. "Some people went in the opposite direction and want a life with a minimum of excitement. I'm one of those."

"Oliver, I don't expect you to...I mean, I thought about it the first few times we went out, but then we got closer and--"

"'Then we got closer?'" Oliver frowned. "Percy, wouldn't that be necessary? You certainly wouldn't want to do this with someone you don't trust."

Percy's eyes abruptly skittered away, telling Oliver things he didn't necessarily want to know. "I'm just telling you because I've never...that is, I'm unaccustomed to...not using this," Percy lifted his hand indicating the braid he had nervously wrapped around his fingers.

Oliver was learning more from what Percy didn't say than anything he did, and he didn't like the direction his instincts were leading him. Percy's posture was more rigid that he'd ever seen it, indicating that Percy's apprehension had reached new heights. Carefully, Oliver reached out and untangled the braid from Percy's fingers. "Are you telling me that you've never been with a man when this wasn't used?" he asked, keeping his tone non-judgmental.

"Anyone," Percy clarified in a very low voice.

"Anyone?" Oliver hoped none of the shock he felt had crept into his voice.

"Penelope and I never...then I wanted to concentrate on work. Then..." Percy's voice shook slightly. "Then...the War."

"Jumped in a bit deep, didn't you?"

Percy smiled in acknowledgement of the slight humour Oliver forced into his tone.

Oliver cupped Percy's head with one hand and bent his head for a soft, moist kiss. "So technically," he whispered against the reddened cheek. "This is experimenting for you."

"Technically," Percy agreed breathlessly.

"Imagine the great Percy Weasley actually needing tutoring." Oliver brushed his lips softly against Percy's before tracing about his jawline and finding an extremely sensitive spot just under the earlobe.

Latching onto that spot made Percy squirm against him, Oliver found to his delight, and seconds later Percy had shifted so he could latch onto the pulse point Oliver's neck.

"You always were a fast learner," Oliver gasped.

"You always did talk too much in class," Percy returned.

That taunt seemed an excellent reason to capture Percy's mouth in a searing kiss, investigating the moist warmth before sucking on Percy's tongue in an invitation to do likewise. Tentative at first, it wasn't long before Oliver realized that all the talking Percy used to do made for a very agile tongue. He thought happily of the uses something so talented could be put to in the future before turning his full attention back to the kiss. When the need for air finally forced them apart, Oliver went back to that oh-so-interesting earlobe. "What now, Perce?" he asked, nuzzling the spot. When he touched his tongue to it, Percy clenched a hand in his hair.

"Anything..."

"This?" Without moving his head, Oliver used his hands to find the buttons of Percy's robe.

"Yes!" Eagerly, slender fingers sought out the fastenings of Oliver's clothes.

As they divested one another of their robes, a part of Oliver's mind detached itself from the proceedings to analyse the situation more carefully. It was the same part of his mind that had allowed him to think of Quidditch strategy while Transfiguring or making a Potion well enough to suit Hogwarts' professors and had saved his life more than once as a Striker. While never missing a chance for a deep kiss or soft touch, Oliver also considered whether going for an intense sexual experience was such a good idea, since it was obvious Percy had had plenty of those. He decided that tenderness during sex would be something Percy wasn't used to and something that should definitely be experienced. But first... "Is here okay?" he asked, using his larger body mass to back Percy down onto the sofa.

Percy responded by lying back and trying to pull the heavier man on top of him.

"Not yet Percy," Oliver knelt on the floor beside the sofa, then leaned over for another kiss. His hands traced patterns on the pale chest, occasionally brushing a nipple and making Percy jump, then moved lower as they were followed by Oliver's lips. Oliver was nuzzling the flesh just about Percy's navel when one hand found the weeping cock and Percy pulled painfully at his hair.

"Ol...Oliver..." Percy started to sit up.

His left hand was busy, so Oliver used his right to hold Percy down. Percy slumped back and trembled a bit as Oliver's mouth trailed a path lower.

"Gods..." The slim hips bucked wildly when Oliver took the tip in his mouth, and the ex-Striker had to quickly change his plan. Oliver settled for licking Percy's length rather than engulfing him, deciding that the latter would finish things off too quickly.

Oliver felt himself becoming painfully hard in response to the gasping noises Percy was making and climbed on top of him, making sure their erections were brushing against each other. "All right, Percy?"

Although much slimmer, Percy was only an inch or so shorter than Oliver and it was simple for him to lift his head and seek out Oliver's mouth.

That's a yes... Oliver concluded as Percy kissed him with near-desperation. He thrust slowly against the body beneath him and swallowed the moan Percy responded with. Oliver broke away and instead began kissing each freckle along the bridge of Percy's nose and cheeks while he moved his hips lazily.

Percy choked slightly and began moving his hips much more frantically as his long fingers dug into the muscles of Oliver's back.

Oliver tried to keep things slow and easy, but before long sheer instinct took over and he began to match Percy's speed. Percy kept his head buried in the crook of Oliver neck, so Oliver couldn't make out what he was gasping as he came. It was only after he felt the wetness of Percy's climax between them that Oliver allowed himself release, pushing harder against the relaxed body cushioning him until he came in a rush of fiery sensation. He smiled into Percy's hair when he noticed that Percy hadn't loosened his hold in the slightest, but knew he had to be getting heavy for the lighter man. With a quick kiss to Percy's ear, he began levering himself upwards, somewhat surprised when Percy began pushing at him forcefully.

Thinking Percy was very uncomfortable, Oliver sat up more quickly and barely had time to ask what was the matter before Percy shoved him away and stood up. "I have to go," Percy said, drawing his robe over his naked body without even cleaning off their combined semen.

"Percy, what is it?"

"Nothing, Oliver. It was...fine."

Oliver barely kept the scowl off his face. Fine was worse than bad, in a way. What's more, Percy's reactions had indicated he'd found it more that fine. "Percy..." he grabbed an arm when it looked like Percy might disapparate.

Percy pulled away. "It was too...you were too...I can't, Oliver."

"Too what, Percy?" Oliver caught him again. "Too rough? Too easy? Too quick? What?"

"Too...kind," Percy spat. "Too sweet...too good..." Oliver's grip slackened in surprise and Percy backed away again, picking up his clothes and wand. "Find someone that should have those things, Oliver. It isn't me."

"Should have? Don't you mean wants?"

A strange look crossed Percy's features, as though he'd been caught at something and then he disapparated without another word.

Naked, alone and confused. Not the way I had planned this evening to end.

Oliver opted for a bath instead of a simple cleaning charm after Percy left, and as he leaned back in the steaming water, he reflected on what a strange three weeks it had been. Before the War, he had looked forward to a long career in Quidditch, with his main goal being to play for Britain in the World Cup and afterwards go into coaching or training. Companionship consisted of several fun, easy-going encounters with other players--Oliver had neither wanted nor needed any particular commitments. During the War, Oliver at first concentrated on being the best Striker Xiomena Hooch had, and then, terrifyingly, on simply staying alive. Squad members clung to one another for comfort more than anything else. Now that the War was over, Oliver wanted only a peaceful, simple life and the occasional visit with old friends. Commitment to a single person was suddenly appealing, provided that person would be happy with a routine and maybe even a touch of monotony. When he'd first met up with Percy Weasley in the Burrow kitchen and that initial spark had flared between them, Oliver thought he had found exactly what he was looking for.

The Percy Weasley he remembered from Hogwarts had certainly been fond of routine, and not known for impetuosity, but he'd also been a stuck-up prig. From what Oliver could tell, the War had taken care of the latter problem. He had heard from the twins about Percy's break with his family early on in the War, and assumed that had much to do with the Percy's new attitude. Oliver thought that Percy was now someone he could easily grow to love, but there were two things he hadn't counted on.

He never imagined that Percy was carrying so many conflicting emotions deep inside and he never dreamed that he would have fallen head over heels in love with Percy after one week.

Common sense told Oliver that if he wanted a quiet life with minimal emotional conflict that he'd best break things off with Percy Weasley and look elsewhere. Every other instinct he possessed said that nothing else in life would make him as happy as making Percy Weasley happy. As always, Oliver decided to go with his instincts, which were giving him several other suggestions about the emotional state of the former Head Boy.

He loved Oliver Wood. Percy knew that. He'd known since the sixth year that given the slightest push, he could love Oliver Wood. He frankly didn't see how anyone couldn't. Harry Potter may have been the heir of Gryffindor, but for Percy, Oliver embodied all of the qualities Gryffindors were supposed to aspire to--courage, loyalty and nobility. And for some strange reason, Oliver seemed to love him as well--at least, he loved him knowing what little he did about Percy's life since leaving school.

So what were his options? Live happily ever after and hope Oliver didn't find out about his actions during the War or tell Oliver and go back to the solitary life broken up only by visits with his parents and anonymous sexual encounters? Encounters that Percy knew wouldn't be quite as satisfying after having Oliver's complete attention lavished so tenderly on him.

In his life, Percy had been arrogant, desperate, cold-hearted and despairing, but he had never been dishonest. He decided he had to tell Oliver and let the ex-Keeper find someone more deserving.

Before he could disapparate, though, Oliver strolled around one side of the cottage. He was perusing a parchment in his hands and nearly bumped into Percy before he saw him. Oliver blinked in astonishment for an instant before catching hold of Percy's arm, guessing correctly that Percy might decide to disapparate any moment. "Finally!" he gave Percy a brief, hard kiss. "I was going to start tracking you down in Knockturn Alley tomorrow."

Percy raised his eyebrows in question, obviously in reference to the kiss.

Oliver grinned at him. "You came here, that means there's hope. If I had to find you, I'm sure it would have been to fully end things."

"I suppose it never occurred to just leave things alone."

"Hi, I'm Oliver Wood. Obviously, we've never met."

A snicker escaped from Percy, surprising him more than Oliver. Then he remembered the reason for this visit and sobered. "We have to talk, Oliver."

"That we do." Not relinquishing his grip on Percy's hand, Oliver led him into the living room and back to the sofa.

Percy sat down stiffly, unable to stop the memories of a fortnight ago.

"Are you going to start or shall I?" Oliver sat just far enough away so that he wasn't exactly in Percy's space, but it wouldn't talk much movement to bring him there.

"I think I'd better say what it is I came to say," Percy replied.

Oliver's contented expression dimmed somewhat, "All right."

"Right." Percy lifted his chin and fixed his gaze on a point on the opposite wall. "I know you think that for some reason you've come to...care for me, but there are a lot of things you don't know about me. Not just about...sex..."

"Enlighten me," Oliver said, not sounding the least bit worried.

"First of all, you don't know what I did during the War. Not many people do."

"You mean the refugee camps?"

That startled Percy so much that he actually glanced at Oliver briefly.

Oliver interpreted the quick look as a question. "I've seen Angelina a few times since your parents' party. She told me you looked after her."

Percy gritted his teeth. "I didn't look after her. I held her down so they could tear what was left of her arm off."

"That's not the way she tells it. And Sean Towler told me how you looked after his son until he could find him. Katie was there at the same time as Roger Davies, and she said--"

Percy snorted, partly to cut Oliver off, but mainly to get the illusion of death and despair out of his nostrils. "Well, I wasn't talking about the refugee camps," he snapped. "I was talking about being a Hit Wizard."

"What about it?"

This time Percy's jaw actually dropped. "I was a Hit Wizard, Oliver. I snuck around, I went for people's backs--I did everything a Gryffindor isn't supposed to do."

"I led attacks on sleeping Death Eaters," Oliver countered. "I destroyed buildings even though I knew there might be non-Death Eaters inside. It was a war, Percy. No one was doing anything they wanted to do, we just did what we had to do."

"I turned my back on my family."

And you're still punishing yourself for it, clicked into Oliver's mind and suddenly a big piece of the Percy-puzzle fell into place. "It seems as though they've forgiven you." He thought back to Fred and George, "Mostly."

Percy's eyes were wide. "You knew?" he whispered.

"Fred and George were furious with you, Percy," Oliver said as gently as possible. "They pretty much let everyone know how they felt. I heard about it when I went to their store opening, before the War had actually started."

"You knew," Percy said blankly. "You knew. But--"

"Are those all your deep dark secrets, Percy?" When Percy didn't reply, Oliver grabbed his chin and turned his head. "Percy?"

"You knew all this time?" Percy drew away from Oliver's hands.

"I didn't know you thought it was a secret, Perce."

"But you....you....I don't think you understand..."

Oliver sighed. "You never think I understand, Percy, but I do. More than you, I think."

"Oliver..."

"My turn now, Percy," Oliver put a finger to Percy's lips. "Do you really enjoy sex while you're being choked?"

Percy's eyes, impossibly, got even bigger. Even though Oliver had removed his finger, he found himself unable to answer.

"I'm not saying you should or shouldn't, and if you really want, I'll even give it a try. I just want to make sure it's something do because you like it, and not because you think you should only have pleasure if it's combined with pain."

"That's--"

"Of all the men you've been with, how many of their last names did you know?"

"I don't see how that's any of your--"

"How many of their first names did you know?"

"Oliver, really--"

"How many times would you be with someone before things got too comfortable and you decided to find another stranger?"

"How did you know--" Percy abruptly pressed his lips into a firm line.

"What is it you think you need to be punished for?" Oliver realized that was the truth of the matter the instant he asked the question. "That's what you're doing, isn't it? That's why you ran out of here, right? You liked what happened between us, but you thought you didn't deserve it, isn't that what this is, Percy?"

"Stop it!" Percy hissed, scrambling to his feet.

"Oh no," Oliver jumped up as well and wrapped an arm around Percy's waist so the slighter man couldn't leave. "You said you were here to talk, Percy. So talk to me."

Percy dug his fingers into Oliver's upper arms. "And are you going to tell me I shouldn't feel that way?" he practically snarled. "I betrayed my family to follow a fool, and when that fool cut me loose I turned into a sneak-killer into order to save my sorry pride! Do you understand that, Oliver? Of course you don't, you--" The rest of Percy's words were muffled as Oliver caught his mouth in a hot, hard kiss. Percy pushed away for a split-second before sinking into the kiss and moving his hands from Oliver's arms to his hair.

Oliver broke off the kiss, but kept Percy firmly against him. "You were nineteen, Percy." He kissed his way along Percy's cheek to whisper in his ear. "You were guilty of poor judgement and pride, nothing more. You made a mistake, just like most nineteen-year-olds do."

Percy shook his head, but kept his arms wrapped around Oliver's neck.

"It was a big mistake, there's no getting around that," Oliver stroked the soft red hair. "But there are worse ones. And you've more than made up for it since. You're in the same boat as a lot of people, Perce--you have to put the War behind you. I know. I'm in that boat, too."

"Oliver--"

"Percy, if you tell me I don't understand, I will strangle you."

Percy jerked away to stare at Oliver in shock. This time when their eyes meet, Percy found himself unable to look away. The deep brown eyes held humour and love and the promise of life rather than existence. For once in his life, Percy spoke before he thought, "I love you."

"I'm glad," Oliver smiled.

Percy gave him a reproving look. "That's hardly what one hopes to hear in response to such a declaration, Oliver."

Oliver actually laughed. "Why didn't I notice in school how sexy it is when you get all proper, Percy?"

"Perhaps because it isn't."

"I beg to differ," Oliver said in the same tone. Then he caught Percy's face in his hands. "I love you," he kissed Percy softly on the lips. "And from now on," on the cheek. "I want you in my life," down the jaw. "In my house," on the neck. "And especially in my bed," the earlobe.

"I suppose that will do," Percy gasped, tightening his arms around Oliver's neck.

They made their way to the bedroom, shedding clothing as they went. Oliver tossed his wand in the general direction of the night stand.

"You never actually showed me around the cottage before," Percy commented as he was licking Oliver's collarbone.

"This is the bedroom," Oliver pushed Percy back so he landed on a plush comforter. "That's the bed." He covered Percy's body with his own. "I'll get to the rest tomorrow."

Percy didn't get the chance to reply before Oliver caught his mouth in another searing kiss. Percy had never bothered to do much exploring of his other lovers' bodies, but now he traced his fingers over every inch of skin he could reach. Whenever Oliver reacted to a certain spot, Percy would spend a little more time there. He felt Oliver working his way downward again, and tried to pull him back up. "Wait..."

Oliver looked up from his intense examination of Percy's inner thigh.

"Oliver...this time you should...."

Oliver's eyes had darkened to a velvety brown-black, and very deliberately, he ran a finger from under Percy's balls to his arsehole, taking care to put pressure on the prostrate from the outside as he went. "This time I will," Oliver promised before taking the tip of Percy's cock in his mouth.

Percy let his head fall back and twisted his hands in the comforter.

"Lube..." Oliver released Percy long enough to mutter. "Drawer..."

Percy tried to coordinate his limbs enough to follow instructions--no easy feat when Oliver had nearly engulfed his whole length and was teasing the tight opening between his ass cheeks. Finally he found a bottle and shoved it in Oliver's general direction, hoping it was the right one.

Oliver trailed his hand on the edge of the bed until he found the bottle, and removed his fingers from Percy's cleft long enough to coat them, then went back to work.

"Oliver....Gods, Oliver....that's enough..." Percy was trying to sit up again. "I need you..."

"How?" Oliver lifted his head, and trailed his fingers back up to fondle the sensitive sac.

"I want...to see you," Percy fixed blazing blue eyes on him.

"Oh, yes..." Oliver gave a wicked smile Percy never would have thought him capable of and abruptly hooked his arms under Percy's legs, lifting them.

Percy needed no more encouragement than that and he shifted so he could draw his legs up to his chest.

Oliver groaned at the blatant invitation and leaned down to plant a kiss on the heaving chest before levering himself on his arms and positioning his throbbing cockhead at Percy's loosened opening. He touched it once more with his fingers, prompting a growl from Percy.

"Now, Oliver!"

"Bossy, bossy," Oliver teased, but slid carefully into the warm passage. Percy moaned and all thoughts of teasing fled from Oliver's mind at the sound. Manouevering slightly so that he could support himself on one arm, Oliver wrapped the other hand around Percy's weeping prick. He tried to move slowly, having no idea how long it had been for Percy, but Percy started moving his hips at a faster tempo and Oliver gladly followed, pumping Percy's pulsing cock in time with his thrusts.

Percy's hands clutched frantically at Oliver's hair, his back, his shoulders, brushed over his nipples and chest and any other part they could read. "Please...yes...yes...."

Oliver knew he wasn't far, and fisted Percy faster, wanting to be sure his lover achieved completion before letting himself fall over the edge. "Mine, Percy..." he rasped, holding Percy's wild blue gaze.

Percy let out a choked cry at that and Oliver felt the warmth against his hand an instant before he felt Percy clenching around him. With a hoarse cry, Oliver plunged towards his own release, emptying himself into the welcoming heat beneath him.

Oliver had no idea how long they'd slept, but the angle of the sun suggested it hadn't been long. His wand hadn't landed on the night stand, but it had been near enough that he was able to reach it without getting out of bed. He'd cast a cleaning charm on Percy who mumbled something that sounded like 'thanks' before falling into a deep sleep. Oliver kissed Percy lightly on the temple and held him closer, smiling at the happy sigh his touch provoked.

Oliver wasn't such an optimistic Gryffindor anymore that he assumed everything would be smooth sailing from now on, but he was still enough of an optimist to look forward to every bit of it.

To fear love is to fear life, and those who fear life are already three parts dead. -Bertrand Russell

END