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Oliver had walked the path towards the slanted house many times many times before. He walked slowly, remembering his visits for summer Quidditch games and, more recently, late night talks with Molly and Arthur about the status of the war. Even in the height of the fight against Voldemort, he had always been happy to visit them. As he walked now, weighed down with a basket of food from his mother, he wondered if he would ever be able to approach the house with the same sense of happiness.
The house was uncharacteristically quiet as he knocked on the door, but Oliver noticed that the kitchen light was still on. He sighed, never before having been hesitant to enter the house. The door shortly swung open, and he found himself with a wand pointed at his face.
“Hello, Charlie,” Oliver said calmly.
“Oliver,” Charlie said softly, “Sorry mate.”
The wand lowered slightly but didn’t drop altogether.
“Who won in your first Quidditch match for Hogwarts?”
Oliver smiled softly. “Gryffindor. Though I wasn’t much help, as I was unconscious after 2 minutes.”
Charlie chuckled and pulled Oliver in for a tight hug.
Oliver had long since grown used to the physical affection of the Weasley family, both with each other and with friends.
“Is that Oliver?” Arthur’s voice came from the kitchen.
Charlie chuckled and led Oliver through to the kitchen table. Arthur looked tired, not that Oliver could blame him. Even a week after the final battle, the Order were still busy clearing up the final of Voldemort’s supporters and helping track down families of the victims.
“Hello, Arthur,” Oliver said, “I wanted to…drop by.”
Arthur smiled. “Thank you, Oliver. That’s nice of you. Can I offer you tea? Or something stronger?”
“Just tea would be perfect, thanks.”
Charlie busied himself making tea while Arthur and Oliver sat silently at the table.
“How is Molly?”
Arthur smiled sadly. “She’s coping…keeping busy, when she can. But she’s finding it hard, obviously. Her brothers were also twins, you know, they both died in the last war.”
Oliver nodded.
“And George?”
Arthur sighed. “He’s still taking it pretty hard, which is to be expected. Honestly, we’re just trying to get him to eat and spend some time out of his room at this point.”
The three of them sat sipping tea quietly, making quiet small talk about mutual acquaintances.
“Can I go see him?” Oliver asked eventually. Even though it was relatively late, he doubted that George would mind.
Charlie smiled. “I’m sure they would both like to see you, if you wouldn’t mind.”
Oliver chuckled, ducking his head. As his Quidditch Captain and teammate, Charlie had always been able to read him, including his complicated feelings for Percy.
“Go on up, Oliver,” Arthur agreed with a smile, “George is bunking with Charlie for now, we figured it was best.”
Oliver made his way up the winding stairs of the house. Outside Charlie and Bill’s old room, he paused and knocked. There was no reply but, having expected it, he entered.
The room was relatively bare, given that Charlie and Bill had both moved out years ago. The only remnants of Charlie were a suspicious burn in the celling above his old bed, which Oliver heavily suspected had come from a baby dragon before he had entered his legal dragon handler career.
In Bill’s old bed, he saw the remaining half of the duo who had caused him so much joy and frustration at school. He could see George’s eye’s glinting in the moonlight, although he hadn’t reacted to his entrance.
“Hello, George,” Oliver said softly, heading towards the bed, “I would say I’m sorry, but I don’t think that is really worth anything at this point.”
George snorted. Oliver settled next to him, and George leaned against him slightly.
“How are your family?” George said, his voice soft but rough from crying.
“We’re all fine,” Olive said, feeling a pang of guilt, as he often had when talking to people after the battle.
George took his hand and squeezed it. Oliver appreciated his concern.
“I know Mum and Dad are worried about me,” George said, “But I don’t know what else to do. I almost wish Moody was here.”
“Moody?” Oliver asked in confusion.
“He’s the only comparison I can think of. I feel like I’m learning to walk again, but I’m missing a limb.”
Oliver felt a stab of pain in his chest. He guessed that was an appropriate comparison. “Moody was mental, but he was brilliant, even with one leg.”
George chuckled. “I know,” he said, “And besides, I think Fred will literally murder me from the afterlife if I mope too long.”
“Oh, he definitely would,” Oliver sighed.
They sat for a few moments in silence.
Finally, George spoke up. “Right, you better get going before it gets too late.”
“Are you that keen to get rid of me? I’m hurt!”
“I think we both know I’m not the person you are actually here to see, Oliver.”
Oliver froze, then groaned, his head leaning back against the headboard. “Merlin’s beard, does your entire family know?”
“I’m pretty sure Ron is oblivious. Ginny knows, though, can’t get anything past her.”
“Don’t I know it, I still maintain that with her and Harry on a team, Gryffindor should have been unstoppable.”
George chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Go on, Ollie, and be nice to him will you? He’s been blaming himself for this.”
“I’m always nice to him,” Oliver muttered, “It was you lot that teased him.”
George nodded, looking contrite. “Well, he pulled through in the end for us, despite how we treated him.”
Oliver nodded, and after a final hug, left George to venture upstairs.
Oliver stopped short at Fred and George’s door. Although it had been a few years since the twins had lived there full time, his holidays at the Weasleys had often included some sort of commotion from their room, whether it was an actual explosion or another commotion of noise, light, and smell. He had long since learnt to be cautious of the twins room in general, and to be wary when accepting anything they handed him, for fear it may be prank intended for him or Percy. He understood why George could not bear the room now in its silence.
Eventually, he moved over to the other door on the landing. There was no light coming from underneath it, but Oliver suspected that like George, Percy was not sleeping despite the hour. He knocked but was met with only silence. The door was, as expected, locked.
“Percy?” he said, trying not to be too loud. “It’s Oliver.”
There was no reply. “I was just visiting George and wanted to stop in and see how you were doing,” Oliver said lightly. He knew that Percy, as stubborn as he was, would not respond well to the suggestion that he was anything less than okay.
“Perce?” he said again, softly. Beneath his fingers, Oliver felt the door unlock. He let out a breath and quickly stepped in before Percy could change his mind.
As with Charlie’s and George’s room, the room was dark, lit only by the moon. Oliver quickly noticed that the reason the moon was shining in so clearly was that the windows were open. The summer breeze was slowly filling the room. Most importantly, Percy was perched on the window sill. He had not turned at Oliver’s entrance, despite having obviously unlocked the door. Percy sat in pyjamas with his wand and was waving it seemingly aimlessly towards the ground. Without his glasses and suit, it had been years since Oliver had seen him this vulnerable.
Other than briefly at the Final Battle, Oliver hadn’t seen Percy for two years. After they had left school, he and Percy had stayed in touch and met up when both of their busy schedules allowed it. Although he would never admit to it, Percy had enjoyed getting wine drunk in the security of his flat while eating take away with Oliver and complaining about his job and pretending he was bored while listening to Oliver talk about his Quidditch training. After the Triwizard Tournament, and Harry’s insistence about Voldemort’s return, these evenings had dropped off completely and their relationship had become strained, but they still wrote to each other constantly. As Oliver had believed Harry from the beginning, Percy decided just never to address the issue with him, perhaps choosing to preserve the friendship as his social circle dwindled. The last time they had spoken in person had been when Oliver had visited Percy to discuss the events at the Department of Mysteries. Although Percy was relieved to hear that his family, and Harry, were safe, he vehemently denied that the Ministry had any fault in the matter by refusing to believe that Voldemort had returned for almost a year. Oliver, who knew of Harry’s attachment to his godfather, lost his cool and yelled at Percy, insisting the Sirius could have been saved if the Ministry had accepted the truth from the beginning. When he left that evening, Oliver knew from the look on Percy’s face that it would be months before he would hear from him. Only Dumbledore’s death had prompted Percy to reach out again, hesitantly, and Oliver had consistently but discreetly supplied him with news about the War. When Oliver had heard that the Final Battle was occurring at Hogwarts, he had immediately let Percy know before rushing there himself; they had missed each other’s arrival by minutes, but Oliver had known that Percy would want to be there.
“Hello,” Oliver said gently, sitting on the other end of the window sill and placing his hand softly on Percy’s ankle, trying not to startle him.
Percy stiffened, but otherwise did not react. He continued to stare at the ground and wave his wand. Oliver had always been jealous of his ability for Non-Verbal spells.
“Do you want to move away from the window? We’re quite high up?”
“There are protective enchantments.”
Oliver knew that. After a harrowing incident involving the twins, baby Ron, and the drainpipes, Molly and Arthur and set the best protective enchantments possible so that any possible fall from the house would be slowed. Fred and George had been delighted, and this resulted in a brief period of them scaring visiting relatives by jumping out of windows and off the roof, before Arthur had threatened to ground them permanently by taking their brooms.
“Protective enchantments which you seem to be periodically removing. Look, can we just sit on the bed? I hate heights.”
This caused Percy to look at him sceptically. “You’re afraid of heightsI?”
“Yes.”
“Oliver, you’re a professional Quidditch player.”
“I didn’t say it was logical, Perce. And it’s not so bad on a broom, I just don’t like tall buildings. Why do you think I hated Astronomy?”
Percy looked at him incredulously. “I always figured it was the late classes which interfered with your early training.”
Oliver laughed and Percy huffed, turning back to his view of the garden.
“Seriously though, let’s move away from the open window, yeah?”
Percy ignored him.
Oliver sighed and settled closer to Percy, with a solid grip in his ankles.
“I’m sorry, by the way.”
“What?” Oliver asked in confusion.
“I know you and Fred were …close.”
Oliver stared at him. “He was your brother. From what your Dad told me, you were there when he-”
Oliver cut himself off, unable to finish his sentence.
“When he died,” Percy said stiffly, “Yes, I remember that, funnily enough.”
“Then why on earth are you apologizing to me? I should be the one comforting you.”
Percy shook his head. “I was too late, Oli. Despite me coming to my senses, I was no help to them.”
“You arrived when it counted, Perce. You would have never forgiven yourself if you hadn’t.”
“I don’t know if I can forgive myself now.”
Oliver felt his heart break. “He would want you to, you know.”
“No, he wouldn’t. He would have wanted me to suffer like the power-hungry moron I am.”
“He didn’t truly think that. He forgave you, they all did.”
“Only so they didn’t lose another son.”
“What?”
“I don’t think Mum could cope with losing two of us. And he died. So they had to forgive me.”
Oliver shook his head. “They’re your family, Perce, they would forgive you anyway!”
“Will you?”
Oliver stared in confusion. “What?”
“You loved him, Oliver.”
“Of course I loved him, Perce,” Oliver said, exasperated. He loved all of the Weasleys.
“But you loved him.”
“What?” Oliver felt like they were having two separate conversations.
Percy stared at him, his eyes showing hurt.
“Percy, what the fuck are you talking about?”
“He and George used to tease me about it,” Percy muttered, “They said you would be a part the family officially one day.”
Oliver nodded, still confused as to how Percy had got his wires crossed.
“At first I thought they meant Charlie,” Percy said, “But he has never expressed any interest in anything without wings or scales.”
Oliver chuckled.
“And even I could see that you wouldn’t make a move on Ginny.”
“I think between Harry and Ron, that would have been taking my life in my hands.”
“So that left the twins,” Percy said exasperated, “And you were closer to Fred, so…”
Oliver stared at him before standing up.
“Get up,” he said, gesturing.
“I’m quite comfortable here.”
“Percy, you oblivious, beautiful idiot, stand the fuck up.”
Percy stared at him in shock but stood, They stood facing each other.
“The twins were, as usual, far too smart for their own good; and right about the fact that I’d like to officially be a part of this family.”
Percy bristled, but Oliver took his hand in his.
“I’m in love with you, Percy. I have been since about fifth year.”
Percy stared at him in shock, his mouth falling open. “You never said anything.”
“The only thing you cared about was school; and I was pretty focused on my Quidditch. I figured that when we left school I could say something, but then-”
“But then I became a family-disowning prick.”
“But then we were at war. And I wasn’t going to give you something else to worry about.”
“I did, though.”
“You did what?”
“Worry about you.”
Oliver smiled and leaned towards Percy, only for Percy to pull away abruptly.
“But we were friends. How did I not know?”
“I gave you my Quidditch jersey, Percy.”
“I thought you were just being nice!”
“Yes,” Oliver sighed, “Very nice.”
Percy pulled, scrubbing his hands through his hair. Oliver recognised the signs of an impending panic attack, a familiar sight during OWLs and NEWTs.
“Percy,” he said calmly, reaching out to take his hands in his, “Breathe with me.”
Percy took a few shuddering breaths and leaned forward to place his head in the crook of Oliver neck. Despite his instinct to embrace Percy now he was so close, Oliver waited, knowing that the best way for Percy to clam down was for him to be close but for Percy to be in charge of the physical contact. Years of growing up with an overbearing, if well meaning, mother and six other rambunctious and affectionate siblings had meant that Percy often erred on the side of aloof in order to protect his naturally sensitive, and overly stimulated, self.
After a while, they both began to shiver in the cool summer breeze.
“Can I close the window, Perce?” Oliver asked quietly.
“I suppose you might as well,” Percy muttered, “It’s not like you’d let me get close enough to even get a leg over the sill.”
“Damn right I wouldn’t,” Oliver said sharply, finally lifting his arms around Percy’s frame. He squeezed him tight, thinking briefly how much smaller Percy seemed, and wondered if he actually was so or if he just seemed so in grief. Keeping his hand on Percy’s wrist, he reached out and closed the window. The atmosphere in the room immediately shifted, and Oliver wondered if it was the protective enchantments locking back into place or simply the fact that he and Percy were now contained in their own world.
Oliver lead Percy to his bed and Percy followed without complaint. Oliver lay them down, pulling the homemade quilt over the shoulders. Percy just stared at him.
“You don’t believe me, do you?”
“I believe that you believe it. But I also think that you’ve just been through a great loss, Oliver. A great many losses, in fact. You’re not in love with me.”
Oliver frowned at him. “I may not be as smart as you, Percy, but I think even I know my own feelings about things.”
Percy shook his head. Oliver tightened his grip, refusing to let him turn away from him. “I’m your friend, Ollie, I’m…convenient. Goodness knows I’m not the obvious choice for someone like you-”
“What, smart? Funny? Caring? Incredibly attractive?”
“Don’t flatter me, it’s beneath you.”
“You could be beneath me, if you’d stop being an arrogant prat!”
Percy stared at Oliver in shock before falling into silent laughter.
“Merlin’s beard, Oliver.”
“I’m sorry,” Oliver gasped, breathless with laughter, “You know I’m a hopeless flirt, always have been.”
“Well, at least it wasn’t a quidditch metaphor.”
“Ah, don’t you think I’m a keeper, Perce?” Oliver chuckled. Percy groaned and leaned against him.
“You really are awful,” Percy mumbled. Oliver felt him yawn against his jaw.
“We’ll talk about in the morning, aye?” Olive said, carding his fingers through Percy’s hair.
Percy grumbled, but Oliver knew he was moments away from sleep.
Curled around each other, in a bed much too small for two fully grown men, they lay and fell asleep.
***
Oliver was warm. He could feel the sun across his face, bright enough that he must have slept in. But somehow he knew, in his rapidly increasing awareness, that something was missing. He opened his eyes and inhaled sharply.
Percy was glaring at him from the other side of the bed. Not at he usually did, with irritation that barely concealed his amusement, or even as he had often done when interrupted, with actual annoyance; no, Percy was scared. Hiding it behind a semblance of anger, yes, but there was no mistaking the glint in his eyes.
“Perce,” Oliver said softly.
“Don’t call me that,” Percy hissed, “How dare you, I don’t know who you are or what you’ve done with him but I swear the only reason you are still breathing is so I can find him, otherwise there is no law that would prevent me from doing unforgivable things to you!”
Oliver felt his blood run cold. He had often witnessed Percy’s temper, and it was clear that when it was coupled with his protective nature, and perhaps the trauma of the war, he could be impulsive and dangerous. Oliver knew Percy would never hurt him. But hurt someone else for him or to protect him? Well, that might be a possibility.
“Percy,” he said firmly, “I’m Oliver.”
Oliver mentally scanned the room, trying to figure out where he had left his wand and where Percy would have placed his.
“You know what I learnt working for politicians? Its very easy to lie.”
Oliver shuddered. Percy was clearly not thinking straight. He gripped his shoulders, hoping the physical contact would snap him out of it. Within a split second, he was flung back, landing with a loud bang on the floor.
Oliver lay there, rubbing his pounding head. He saw Percy scramble and groaned, reaching out and grabbing his ankle. Percy squawked and sprawled on the floor next to him. Oliver was on him in a second, pinning him to the floor.
“Percy!” he yelled, “It is me, Oliver. Please calm down and stop trying to curse me.”
“That’s exactly what a Death Eater would say!”
Oliver groaned. Percy wriggled against him and Oliver battled his flailing limbs.
“When I said to cheer up my brother, Oliver, this is not exactly what I had in mind.”
Oliver turned to find George at the now open doorway to Percy’s room. Behind him, he could see the entire Weasley family crammed into the corridor, likely summoned by the commotion.
Percy took advantage of his distraction to punch him in the nose.
“Merlin’s balls, Percy!” Charlie muttered, moving into the room with Arthur to separate Oliver and Percy, “This is not the way to have a sexuality crisis.”
Oliver groaned, as blood began to drip from his nose and spots appeared in front of his eyes. Fucking concussions, he never got used to them, even as a Quidditch player. He could hear Percy ranting, but from the looks of the Weasley’s they were not making any sense of his insistence that they tie Oliver up.
“I didn’t know you were into that kind of thing, Percy,” Ginny muttered, and she and Hermione erupted into giggles.
“He thinks I’m a Death Eater,” Oliver muttered, as Arthur fixed his nose.
“Why on earth would he think that?” Charlie muttered, “Does he think we just let anyone wonder in through the door without checking?”
“Because he said he was in love with me!”
The room fell silent. So silent, in fact, that Oliver wondered if the house had been that quiet since the day Bill had been born.
“Pet, how does that make him a Death Eater?” Molly asked in a kind tone.
“Because it’s ridiculous!”
Oliver groaned, and wondered if it was perhaps a moment like this that had inspired whoever had first charmed the missing steps at Hogwarts, as he had never before so distinctly wished for the ground to swallow him up.
“Yes, well, admittedly it is hard to believe a charming man like Oliver would fall for someone who would try to murder him,” George sighed dramatically, “But he has been rather insistent about it. For years.”
“Are we sure that isn’t a symptom of brain damage?” Ron chuckled.
Charlie turned to Oliver thoughtfully and examined him. “Unlikely, given how hard his head is.”
Percy seemed to deflate, the anger draining from his body. While one impersonating Death Eater may have been believable (and, considering the year Barty Crouch Jr spent masquerading as Moody, was probably something they should be more cautious of), no one would have been able to take on the entire Weasley family, as the final battle had proven.
Oliver stared at him and saw the moment Percy fully came back into himself.
“It’s okay,” Oliver said immediately, seeing the panic in Percy’s eyes. “Percy, it’s okay, I’m okay, you’re okay. We’re fine.”
Percy just stared at him, no longer in hatred but now in shock.
Molly hugged Percy tightly and started shooing everyone out of the room. She stopped at Oliver.
“Lovely to see you, dear,” she said kindly, “Even if you wrestling with my son was quite a thing to wake up to.”
Oliver silently groaned and covered his face as he heard Charlie’s crude comments and George’s distinctive laugh on their way out. Eventually he heard the door click, and the shimmer of a Locking Spell. A moment later, he felt the bed dip next to him.
“You know,” Oliver said, “I have been rejected before. If you didn’t feel the same, you could have said so, instead of accusing me of being a Death Eater and threatening me with Unforgiveable Curses.”
Percy hit him with his pillow.
“Forgive me for being sceptical after two years of checking every person I work with,” Percy muttered.
Oliver ruffled his hair.
“Would you really have broken the law to find me?” he muttered.
Percy looked at him seriously. Percy reached up placed his hands on either side of Oliver’s head.
“Oliver Benjamin Wood,” Percy said.
“Merlin, I hate that name,” Oliver sighed.
“If you think Voldemort himself could have stopped me from finding you, you have no idea how much I love you.”
Oliver grinned, and Percy smiled back.
They lay back, two grown men in a single bed.
From around the house, Oliver heard the sounds that he was used to at the Weasleys. The ghoul groaning in the attic; Ginny singing, off key but confidently, in the shower, the sound of chickens being chased around the garden and the accompanying laughter of George; Arthur and Charlie’s low, comforting tones from the kitchen; Ron’s impassioned rant about something, and Harry and Hermione’s patient and indulgent replies; Molly’s fussing as she made breakfast.
Percy’s soft sigh against his neck.
Oliver knew then that, despite the darkest times, they would always find happiness here at the Burrow.