Chapter Text
They’d graduated from Hogwarts and thrown themselves headlong into the future. Seventeen years old, straight from Quidditch games and nightly feasts and an enchanted ceiling over their heads. It’s a jolt of harsh reality—suddenly there are responsibilities, and goals, and careers. In the spirit of seventeen year olds everywhere, they are loathe to live with their parents, not when there is a great big world to explore, so the four of them get a tiny little flat in the Alleys.
They’ve got to pay for it, of course, but Penny has all of her tutoring money from the summer, and Percy’s been writing articles for Magical Review since sixth year, so they’re alright for the moment. It’s not a great place to live, because the couple upstairs is up at all hours of the night (“Great Merlin, don’t they ever sleep?” groans Oliver after they’ve been roused by the sound of a rattling bed frame for the third night this week), and the unit across the hall is owned by Marcus Flint, of all people, but it’s theirs, and they make it home.
Audrey’s mother is teaching her to knit, and while Audrey usually has no patience for this kind of thing, it’s surprisingly soothing, so the two-seater with the ugly floral print and the cushy armchair that they fight over are both covered in bright yellow knitted blankets. Percy Transfigures curtains for their sole window out of a pair of old socks, and Oliver hangs up Puddlemere United posters everywhere (Penelope charms mustaches onto the players’ faces and it takes him three days to notice), and they ignore the cracks in the ceiling and the oddly shaped stain on the wall in the kitchen.
The flat only has two bedrooms, and Audrey called dibs on the smaller one (no one argues—she’s always experimenting with plants, and some of the more excitable ones have been known to eat articles of clothing), so Percy takes the left side of the big bed (it was cheaper than buying two twins), and Oliver and Penelope switch off on who takes the right side and who uses an Extending Charm on the two-seater. They’d tried rotating couch nights between the three of them, but Percy is built like a beanpole, too tall and lanky for even an Extending Charm, so he gets the bed, for the sake of his back.
They’re making plans for the future from their little safe haven, which is in one of the less-traveled parts of the Alleys, but still close enough to Diagon that Audrey can walk to her shift at Flourish & Blotts, and they can all use the Floo at the Leaky Cauldron. She’s lined up an apprenticeship in America next summer, with the Herbology professor at Ilvermorny. He’s legendary in the Herbology world, according to Audrey, and they’ll be spending some time researching rare magical plants in Venezuela. For now, however, she’s working mornings at the bookstore, and sending home money to her mum and three siblings.
Percy’s at the Ministry, slogging his way through entry-level bureaucracy and mountains of paperwork in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. It’s tedious and unfulfilling, but there hasn’t ever been a Weasley afraid of hard work, and he may be a stickler for the rules and ambitious to a fault, but Percy is a Weasley through and through. He’s the youngest person in his department, and he’s working in the Ministry like he always wanted, so the success will come eventually.
Penny is pursuing a career in magical law, and she’s ruthless. There isn’t a wizarding equivalent of the bar exam, but if there was, she’d pass it. She sits in on Wizengamot sessions during the day, and comes home to pore over stacks of legislation. There’s something alluring about the power of law-making, of being able to create the rules of society. She observes court proceedings and makes a list of things to fix in her head. It grows every day, as does her determination.
Oliver lives and breathes Quidditch, but so did the three hundred other Keeper hopefuls at the Puddlemere tryouts, so he’s wiping down tables and manning the tap at the Leaky for now.
“Just until next season”, he reminds them, setting down three butterbeers. It’s late Friday afternoon, and old Tom has entrusted Oliver with the after work-hour rush while he visits with a friend upstairs. They’re sitting in the high stools by the counter, watching Ollie serve pints to middle-aged men in Ministry robes. Percy has a matching one, but it’s thrown over Audrey’s slim shoulders at the moment, because she’s forgotten her sweater at home again. Penelope is on the other side of Percy, the sheet of parchment she’d been using to take notes temporarily abandoned in favor of tracing pictures in the condensation from her butterbeer. She’d gotten to the bar at the beginning of Ollie’s shift, and brought a clipped-together court report to study while waiting on the other two.
“Yes, we know, darling,” soothes Audrey. “You’ll be back on a broom in no time.”
Merlin, I hope so, because he’s driving me nutters in the meantime, Percy thinks. He loves Oliver, he really does, but the longer that boy spends not on a broom, the more insufferable he gets. His thoughts must show on his face, because Penny kicks him sharply in the ankle, the pointed toe of her shoe digging into his skin.
“Ow, Pen!” He draws his leg up to rub at the sore spot. She flashes him a look, eyes wide in warning, but lips tipped up in a fond smile. He wrinkles his nose at her. Why does she need to wear those shoes anyway, she’s already bloody tall, and she uses them as a weapon of violence. Evil woman. Percy shoves her lightly in retaliation, though she favors him with one of her patented Unimpressed Looks and goes back to her stack of parchments.
“So, Perce, how’s working the most boring job on the face of the planet?” He turns his attention to Oliver, who is leaning casually against the counter, customers served and occupied for the moment. His words are jesting, but his face is serious, and a bit concerned. His expression reminds Percy of what he’s really asking. Is everything alright at the Ministry?
There have been rumors, in the last few months, since the escape, capture, and repeated escape of Sirius Black. Though nothing is certain, public tensions are rising, not helped in the least by the articles in the Prophet about the You-Know-Who returning with the help of his most trusted and loyal servant.
Rita Skeeter, Percy thinks in disgust. That woman will write anything. He nods at Oliver, smile tinged with the edge of a grimace. “It’s quite alright, so far. Dull, but the work is useful, and I’m making so many new connections.” He glances down the bar at the group of wizards clad in the crested robes of the MOM, and lowers his voice slightly.
“The DMLE’s been in uproar, of course, since Black’s escape. We’ve been getting no end of grief from other wizarding leaders as well, but of course I’m not really handling those higher-level communications anyway. Rumor has it the ICW will be calling an emergency session soon, and the Minister’s been in a panic all week. He’ll be expected to explain what in Merlin’s name went on that night, which I imagine will be extra difficult considering…” he trails off, as the four of them trade the looks of bemused understanding that seemed to appear whenever they spoke of the increasingly odd events that have begun to occur at Hogwarts in the last few years.
Percy hasn’t missed that Harry Potter tends to be at the center of these things, with Ron right beside him. He has an inkling that the two of them and Hermione Granger had more to do with Black’s escape than they’ve let on, though the how or why of the situation eludes him. With a sigh, he returns his attention to the peeling label of the drink in front of him.
“Have you…” Audrey’s voice brings him out of his reverie, trailing off uncharacteristically. Percy raises an eyebrow at her quizzically. She leans around him to peek at the wizards past Penny’s shoulder, and moves closer, widening her eyes meaningfully. “Have you heard anything else about the Tournament?”
“Nothing I haven’t already told you,” Percy responds slowly, confusion rising. “The champions are to be chosen using the Goblet of Fire, Dumbledore himself will draw the age line, to make sure no one underage,” Fred and George, he thinks pointedly, “tries to participate. I’ve not been told what the first task will be, but they’re planning it for the 24th of November, presumably so the champions will have enough time to prepare after they’re chosen.” He pauses. Why is she asking? Audrey isn’t the type for gossip, and she wouldn’t be pushing the subject if she didn’t at least suspect something. He shoots her a sharp glance, brow slightly furrowed. “Have you heard something?”
Audrey shakes her head, but continues to speak quietly, ever mindful of who could be listening in. “Just a mention, and I’m not even sure if it’s related, but what's-her-name came into the shop when I was working the other day. I’ve forgotten her name, damnit! The girl in your brother’s year, the one with the hair!” Head cocked back in thought, she gestures wildly at Percy. “You know, the—it’s something like Motts, or Totts—she’s got some stupidly long first name?” she tries.
Percy’s lips have begun to turn up, almost involuntarily. For someone who can be so absolutely terrifying, especially when she’s around plants, she’s probably the most adorable person he’s ever met. Not like that, of course. She’s like a sister to him, and she looks the part- all fiery curls and cornflower eyes. The only thing differentiating her from the Weasleys is that all of them—Percy, his brothers, and even his sister—tend to tower over most people their age, and Audrey barely comes up to Percy’s bicep. She can barely reach Ollie’s shoulder, actually, and Oliver is no giant among men.
“Nymphadora Tonks, you mean? In Charlie’s year?” he asks amusedly.
“Yes!” she exclaims, victorious. “She was in the shop the other day, and she mentioned that she had plans to meet with your brother in a few months. Of course, she could have meant that he planned to come back from Romania for the holidays, but I remembered you said he’d already been here over the summer, and I figured dragon-taming probably didn’t allow for that much time off.” she pauses, unsure. “It could be a coincidence, of course! Except, what are the odds that your brother who works on a dragon reserve is visiting, at the same time Hogwarts is hosting a previously deadly tournament, on what is presumably a work trip, and the two aren’t related?”
Percy reaches up to rub at the wrinkle that’s been forming between his brows lately, quiet with consideration. Dragons? As the first task? Merlin, he hopes his brothers have the good sense to stay away from this tournament. Of course, Dumbledore’s Age Line should theoretically keep them from participating, but well, Fred and George. His brothers are too smart for their own good, and Gryffindors through and through. That, combined with Harry Potter’s propensity for trouble and Ron’s propensity for being right next to him at all times, and well—.
Something thick and choking, something like fear, rises in his throat, just for a moment. He pushes the thought out of his head. His brothers will be fine. Then, his mouth tightens again as the rest of what Audrey’s said hits him. Charlie. His older brother is coming back to Britain, and Percy hadn’t known. Perhaps he’s been instructed not to tell anyone of his visit so no one puts together the truth of the first task like Percy has, but he’d seen fit to tell Nymphadora Tonks, hadn’t he? Percy is reminded, as he so often is lately, of the growing distance between him and the rest of his family. He knows they don’t agree with his career at the Ministry, nor his opinion of Dumbledore, but he’d thought Charlie, at least, would.. Well. Anyways. He’s not thinking about it.
A nudge from Penelope on his right draws him out of his thoughts. He looks around at his friends, noting the concern on Oliver’s face, and the knowing look on Penny’s. Of the three of them, she’s the only one who knows how far his family has drifted from him, and how hard Percy’s been taking it. She’d seen, after all, how things were at Hogwarts, how he’d hid their relationship for months before he felt confident enough to tell his parents, let alone his siblings. Even though they’d ended things amicably a few months later, as NEWTs drew near, she was his closest friend, and she still knew him better than almost anyone else.
Almost, of course, because through it all, and even before, there had always been Oliver Wood. Percy and Oliver had been inseparable since the first day of their first year—sorted to Gryffindor one after the other, partners in Transfiguration, Head Boy and Quidditch Captain. Ollie was his oldest friend—he hadn’t had any before Hogwarts, as sad as that was. His oldest friend is looking at him now, worry and sympathy and something Percy can’t name in his eyes.
Percy meets those eyes with his own, and with a reassuring little smile. He’s been silent for a while, he realizes. He tips his head to the side, hunching down uncomfortably so he can rest it on Audrey’s shoulder. He looks like an idiot, he knows, but it’s worth it when he can feel the tension she’s been holding release under his cheek. “You’re likely right about that, Dee. Merlin, if that’s the first task, I can’t imagine what they could possibly have in store for the rest of the tournament.”
He slumps down further, letting her take more of his weight. She doesn’t even waver, all strength and steady comfort and a spine of steel. Terrifying. He loves her. A rush of something fond wells up in his chest, warm at the thought of his friends, these people he loves so much, who love him back enough to be worried for him, to be happy when he is and upset when he isn’t. The future is uncertain, he knows, but he’s got everything he needs right here. He can make it through anything with them, even if he has to do it without his family. The Tournament, at least, shouldn’t be a problem. He’s only peripherally involved with its preparations, from his junior position in Mr. Crouch’s department, and it’s unlikely he’ll be assigned to work on something that important for a while yet.