Chapter Text
Oliver Wood had been hoping for one quiet night in the midst of a raging war, but that had been a foolish hope. There are no true breaks in a war. Instead, he is stuck in traffic in a slightly banged-up silver subaru. Sitting next to Oliver is his best friend, Percy Weasley, holding onto a worn atlas a little too tightly.
“After this turn,” Percy says, knuckles white, “go straight until the next lights, then turn left.”
Although the war has been in full force for three months, tonight is Percy’s first hands-on mission. Normally Oliver is alone in a rented car, driving to avoid the notice of Death Eaters, but always on high alert as he moves vulnerable people out of the country, to Mexico, to Canada, to Japan. To anywhere but here, to some faraway place where they are not on a hit list.
But tonight, he is not alone. Tonight, he is in the same place as his best friend for the first time in nearly a month, speaking in terse sentences and looking ahead at the blinking lights instead of each other. Oliver is cursed with a best friend who is simply too handsome for this world. He looks straight ahead, watching the lights blink red. He needs to stay focused, not lose himself in Percy’s copper curls and soft peach lips.
It is seemingly mundane work, driving people from their homes to Cardiff Airport. Fighting in a war is not all glitz and glamour. But it is important. Oliver knows that the only reason his mother is still alive is that she is not here.
The lights turn green. Oliver’s eyes stay on the road and his hands stay stuck on the steering wheel, but his mind is elsewhere, far removed from the English countryside. Oliver wonders what it would be like to not be in love with Percy. He cannot fathom not being stuck in a place of endless yearning.
But now is not the time to bemoan his romantic woes. Tonight is a night to save another person, or maybe several. Oliver doesn’t know.
And that - that is what makes tonight abnormal. As a golden rule, Percy does not go out in the field. His role as an insider in a warped Ministry is too important. If he fell, they would all fall.
But today, he had seen the file of someone staked out for capture laced with a tongue-tying curse, so he has had to come with Oliver to guide him to the targeted people to prevent their capture and imprisonment by Umbridge.
What is life without a little risk?
Oliver’s jaw is clenched too tightly, too uncomfortably, but he cannot be bothered to unclench it. Sore jaws are the least of his problems, at the moment.
Dusk had been on the verge of falling when Percy had unexpectedly turned up at Oliver’s flat. Fire had flickered in his eyes, a scorching flame locked behind his thick square glasses. I need you to take me somewhere, he had said, and so Oliver had.
He would do anything for Percy and almost anything for the war effort. Preventing innocent people from dying is a choice Oliver would make a million times over.
It has been an hour of driving, of discomfort settling deep into Oliver’s bones. They have passed through the outskirts of London and are now heading west. The sky is inky black, scattered with silver stars, sparse yellow light spilling from occasional street lamps.
Uncertainty prickles like ice down his spine. What if they are too late, what if they are caught - and it is not just Oliver this time on the line, but Percy, their lynchpin in this whole operation - what if, what if, what if.
What ifs torture Oliver at night, constantly, consistently, frequently. He has not had a solid night of sleep since the Ministry fell.
His hands stay steady on the wheel as they drive through winding roads, silently.
Oliver cannot falter. The stakes of his life a few years ago feel immaterial - a broken dream and a broken heart cannot measure up to blood staining his hands.
Another hour passes and then some before they finally stop in Bristol. Oliver parks outside a red brick house covered in climbing ivy. Frost glitters on the grass, lit by the moon. It is nearly full.
“Alright,” Oliver whispers, although there is really no need. But being quiet has become as natural as breathing in the last few months. He turns on the overhead car light. “Is this it?”
Percy stays quiet, but the glint in his eyes is more than enough affirmation. Oliver is not the only person smuggling wanted people out of the country, but he is the only one who knows Percy well enough to get around the tongue-tying curse and read instructions through looks alone.
Oliver has studied the book of Percy Weasley extensively, he could recite it back to front from heart. Some might say he is obsessed: Oliver likes to think he is an attentive best friend who is a little lovesick.
He takes out a small blue pill and crushes it under his feet. Crushing it activates a temporary anti-Trace ward around everything in a fifty-metre radius. The Ministry is synonymous with Death Eaters, these days, and Oliver cannot risk sending out a beam with their location as they smuggle people out of the country.
“Right,” Oliver says, unbuckling. “Let’s go.”
Everything is so silent and dark, but in an ordinary kind of way, not a war kind of way. The click of the door, the thudding of their steps, the swish of their coats. It is all too loud, breaking the silence of an ordinary and seemingly peaceful English muggle street.
They enter the property quietly, rubble crunching underneath their feet. After Percy closes the gate, Oliver takes out his wand and casts a glamour over the house, preventing anyone outside of the property bounds from seeing what is going on inside. Every step is crucial, not one can be missed, or they all will perish.
Oliver’s hands don’t shake as he tightens the blue and gold scarf around his neck as they walk up the steps to the house. He doesn’t hesitate before he knocks, even if it feels like he should.
In the seconds before the door opens, Oliver looks at Percy.
They had discussed this in the car: greet the targeted people, demonstrate that you are on the right side, gain their trust, and take them to safety. Easy peasy.
Lemon squeezy.
The door opens, revealing the silhouette of a man.
“Hello,” Percy says as he spreads his hands out, palms upturned. “Mr Nguyen, my name is Percy, this is Oliver, and we are here to help you.”
Mr Nguyen opens the door a little more, the hallway’s light spilling onto him - he is a tall, wiry man with greying black hair and square glasses. “How can I trust you?”
This is when Percy glances at Oliver, steadfastly: this is your rodeo now.
Oliver rolls up his sleeve and Percy quickly follows suit, showing their bare left arms to Mr Nguyen.
He then takes out his wand, making sure to point it away from Mr Nguyen. He thinks about everyone he loves, boundlessly, all his friends and family - about Percy, standing next to him, loyal to his dying breath. And then he whispers: “Expecto patronum. Tell Royal we have code gold.”
Silvery strands twist out of his wand, pooling together to form a husky. The husky circles around Percy and nuzzles him once before running off, disappearing when it hits the property boundary, teleporting to wherever Kingsley is.
“Okay,” Mr Nguyen says, and he opens the door a little more. “That is good magic.”
Still, it is a tense few minutes before a silvery lynx swoops into the front yard.
“You can trust Oliver,” the lynx says, the deep voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt stilling the air. “He is on our side and will take you to safety.”
For good measure, Oliver adds, "My mam is muggleborn and she's currently hiding in Finland with my squib sister."
Mr Nguyen relaxes, almost fully. “I recognise that voice from that resistance station. Ryan’s friend’s mother told us the code before we went into hiding.”
Oliver rolls his sleeve back down and tucks his wand away into its holster. “May we come in, then?”
“Yes,” he says, opening the door fully. “I trust you.” The yellow hallway light glints off his glasses, his gaze still stern: I will fuck you up if you betray my family. “Please leave your shoes in the hallway.”
“Of course,” Percy replies, also rolling down his sleeve.
They walk through the door and into the house, taking off their shoes. Oliver waits until the door is fully closed before he takes the next step.
All steps must be executed flawlessly. One missed, and the whole house of cards comes tumbling down.
“I’m glad that you trust us,” Oliver says, wringing his hands a little, “because your location has been compromised and your family needs to leave the country immediately.”
Percy steps in to elaborate. “The Ministry wants to imprison your son.”
Mr Nguyen doesn’t look surprised, merely exhausted. “Alright.”
He turns around and raps on the stairs three times. “Come on down,” Mr Nguyen says, brows furrowing. “They’re safe, but we need to leave.”
Slowly, they are joined by two more people: a middle-aged woman wearing a floral blouse and skirt, her black hair tucked up in a bun, and a boy who cannot be more than twelve, his fringe almost falling into his eyes.
The boy peers at Percy suspiciously. “Are you a Weasley?”
Percy smiles, gently. “Yes.”
Although Percy’s siblings may vehemently disagree, Percy is good with kids and had been a favoured prefect back in their Hogwarts days.
The boy perks up, turning to his parents. “The Weasleys are friendly with Harry Potter and are well-known blood traitors. They’re okay.” He turns back to Percy and Oliver with a toothy grin. “I’m Ryan and I’m a Hufflepuff!”
“It is very nice to meet you, Ryan,” Percy says, as Oliver finally works out why this particular family has been targeted: Ryan is a muggleborn who must have attended Hogwarts at some point. Innocent children with muggle parents are particularly hated by the current regime, unfortunately.
“Where are we going?” Ryan asks, looking to his parents first, then Percy and Oliver.
“Somewhere outside of Britain,” Mr Nguyen says, “somewhere safe, where you can go outside and learn more about magic.”
He is smiling, but it is too wide, too bright. Mr Nguyen turns to Percy and Oliver, looking at them expectantly.
Again, Percy answers, swiftly. “We have booked flights for you to Melbourne, an Australian city. It has a population of about three million and a temperate climate.”
He wants to listen to Percy talk about a million and one things. Oliver is watching Percy softly, too softly, too tenderly.
Percy continues, focused on reassuring the Nguyens, not on his best friend’s too-tender looks. “It is a pretty safe country and we have arranged for you to stay in the suburb of Sunshine, which has a long-established and thriving Vietnamese community.”
Oliver is overtaken by a burning desire to snog Percy senselessly and study every inch of him, even right now, when it is far from an appropriate time or place. Although it is Percy’s first mission, he is calmly and competently executing it.
Still. This is a serious and sensitive mission, so Oliver tears his eyes and thoughts away from Percy and back to the Nguyens.
Mrs Nguyen smiles, tentatively. “That is good to hear. Thank you for coming and arranging all of this for us.”
“It’s the right thing to do,” Oliver says, and nothing else. He is not a verbose person if one excludes Quidditch and Percy from a conversation. “We have another fifty minutes before my wards expire, so we’ll need to get out of here by then. I set up a ward that allows us to perform magic undetected to assist the packing process.”
Now, Oliver is glad that Percy is here for many reasons: because he is Oliver’s best friend, he loves him, and his presence is vital to the success of this mission. But he is also grateful because Percy is much more proficient in household spells than Oliver, who is merely mediocre and normally does this part alone and awkwardly.
“Alright,” Mrs Nguyen says softly, her gaze resigned. “We have a few suitcases. Can you increase their capacity in some way?”
“I can cast an undetectable extension charm and you can pack as much of your things as you want,” Percy assures her, “and you will also have access to funds in Australia.” At Mr and Mrs Nguyens’ pleased but understandably baffled looks, he adds: “One of the people we work with is incredibly wealthy and absolutely detests blood purity, which is definitely a help.”
Mrs Nguyen nods. “Okay.” She turns to Ryan. “Can you go fetch your school trunk?”
“Yep!” Ryan says, before racing up the stairs, two at a time.
Mrs Nguyen says, quietly, “Ryan’s friend told us that sending Ryan back to Hogwarts wasn’t safe anymore, but Ryan was so excited about returning for his second year, he packed it anyway. I don’t think he could bear to unpack it, it would have felt like giving up on magic forever for him. He loves exploring the magical world.”
“Right,” Oliver says, blinking back tears.
One of the hardest parts about smuggling people out of Britain hasn’t been the risk involved or the long, boring hours spent alone. It has been this: the abstract terror of the war turning tangible as persecution becomes personal and faces are put to grim statistics. It is what keeps him up in bed at night: this constant confrontation with the war’s real stakes, a reminder that so many of his loved ones’ lives are in perpetual danger.
It doesn’t take long for Ryan to come back downstairs with his trunk, slightly scuffed with bright yellow stickers. It doesn’t take much longer for everything else to be packed, mere minutes passing as the Nguyens’ home becomes a hollow shell of a house.
“Can I play my Game Boy on the way to the airport?” Ryan asks. He is holding onto his mother’s hand tightly, biting his lips.
Everything tastes bittersweet: the Nguyens’ excitement at leaving behind the war is tainted by the involuntariness of their departure.
Mr Nguyen smiles, but it is brittle. “Of course.”
They all leave the house shortly after, the quiet click of Mr Nguyen’s keys locking the door almost heartwrenching in its finality.
Percy and Oliver quickly pack the suitcases into the subaru, giving the Nguyens a few more seconds to say goodbye to their home.
“Alright,” Oliver says, softly. “Percy is going to head back to London now by himself and I’m going to take you to Cardiff Airport for your flight. It’s going to take an hour, tops. Any other questions before we leave?”
Mr and Mrs Nguyen shake their heads.
And then -
And then Oliver is driving again, but this time without Percy, alone but for a scared family of strangers.
Oliver looks ahead, tapping on the wheel. Takes a deep breath.
“There’s some crisps in the back if you’re hungry!”
He can do this.