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Chapter Text

A Scotland sun, TOTALLY NORMAL, was beautiful when it was fully out from its constant cover of clouds. Oliver basked in it, a few hundred feet up in the air. Their practice was going great! Potter was a natural at catching, even as a little third year. And the twins had only given one new member a concussion. He called the practice early so the rest of the team could go and relax under the surprisingly good weather. 

“Think heʻs possessed?” George asks out loud, but Oliver pays him no mind, leaning further against his broom. 

Fred flies up beside his twin, “Most definitely. Heʻs lounging . Like a cat.”

“Maybe McGonagall finally figured out how to possess students.” 

“Oi, Professor, could I get an extension on our essay?” 

“No, and whatʻs more, I want two more feet of paper before the dayʻs out.” He quips back. Damn, with all this sun theyʻve been having the past couple of days he might even be able to get his tan back. Oliver scratches his head, at least, he thinks they’ve had this much sun the past couple of days. He can’t really remember. 

The twins yell, flying away as fast as possible screaming, “Professor McGonagallʻs possessed a student.” Oliver chuckles, just a little bit. Theyʻre going to get so much detention for that stunt, and maybe even that extension. 

It's been a grueling day so far, and when it was all over, Oliver would fetch Percy from whatever hole the poor workaholic squireled himself into in the library, then go eat dinner. He exhales, righting himself and doing some lazy maneuvers on his broom. It was their last year, and while uh. Well, Oliver was being a bit intense with the Gryffindor Quidditch team, it was nothing compared to what Percy was doing with his school work. 

At one point in time, Oliverʻs pretty sure he saw genuine muggle rocket science in the gingerʻs notebook. For elektricity, no doubt!

From what he could remember from this time period, it doesnʻt help that each time Oliver found and picked up Percy for dinner he looked worse and worse for wear. He was starting to get concerned for his friend. Oliver touches back down to the pitchʻs fluffy grass, nearly running into Potter himself. And Potter was a sight to see, his eye bags looking like he was punched in the face, twice. 

Maybe that wasnʻt so far from the truth. After their loss against Hufflepuff, Oliver upped the practices for Fridays, too. So every day after classes theyʻd all go down to the pitch and do drills, mock run throughs, and more drills. 

“Hanging in there, Potter?” Oliver asks, and Potter stares into the void. He looks around for one of his friends (they started getting called the Golden Trio by the Slytherins, it was gaining traction in Gryffindor, too) but couldnʻt find Ron and Hermione. 

“Devil Twins!” Wood calls out, causing two heads to turn in unison. “Whereʻs your brother? Potterʻs starting to look like Perce.” 

“Oh, Ickle-Ronniekins—” 

“Got sick of going to the practices—”

“To only watch us fly in the—”

“Same ten circles, fifteen up-and-downs—-”

“Thirteen feints—” Oliver cuts off the twin that was speaking. 

“Can you guys take Potter back? Or to Madam Pomfrey?” They nod, also in unison. Creepy. 

Fred (?) pokes Harry with the edge of his broomstick, and he almost falls over. Laughing, the one that didnʻt do the poking lets out a fake gasp of surprise, giving his broom to his twin. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, our poor Savior of the Wizarding World has been felled by none other than Oliver Wood!” Oliver is pretty sure thatʻs George. 80% sure. George scoops up Potter, carrying him like a princess and runs to the other Quidditch members. Fred follows close behind, waving the brooms up and down and proclaiming to the rest of the team that “Princess Potter needs beauty sleep.” And for Harryʻs defense, or as a showing of how bone-dead tired he was, he closed his eyes and fell right asleep. 

As they go to bother Alicia, Oliver feels a bit of mischief rise up within himself. So he calls out to them, “Make sure you noble knights protect the fair maiden.” They both salute him. Or George tries, still carrying Potter. Oliver wipes a hand across his face. Merlin, they might get detention from Snape, too. Where did they find the energy?

The trek to the library with the sun out is one of the prettiest walks Oliverʻs ever been on. Everything was so green . Oliver even thought he heard an honest-to-Merlin bird tweeting. He stretches his fingers, curling them up into loose fists before relaxing them at his side. For the first time in a very long time he felt good. He felt powerful. It was so peaceful, too. Maybe if the sky was this clear when full night came, Oliver would drag Percy away from the permanent eye strain long enough to look at the stars. 

A door, in desperate need of oiling, announces it's being opened as Oliver walks to the very back of the library. Most normal people used this secured location to snog or something even more disgusting. Instead, Percy capitalizes on the broken lock on the restricted section near the back left, using it to borrow higher-level books for his assignment prep. Oliver canʻt really blame Percy for that, since he’s used the exact same spot Percy studies at to revise Gryffindorʻs Quidditch plans. And a couple of times, he gave Ron the plans to look over and make sure that everything lines up. Merlin bless the Weasley family and their banal genius. 

“Perce.” Oliver calls out, not really worried about Madam Prince—she was asleep at her desk. Which Oliver would have been, too.  

“Hmm.” Someone grunts, and Oliver turns around to the other corner. He must have been studying potions, then. At the other end of the very back of the library, Oliver finds Percy hunched at a near right angle to the desk, a muggle candle the only light source as he rapidly scribbles notes for their potion essay. Oliver squints at the writing. It's a far cry from Percyʻs usual tight handwriting, long flowing, cursive loops. 

“Cʻmon, Percy, your writing is starting to look like an actual human being, you're going to malfunction soon.” Oliver jokes, reaching for the quill. Percy mumbles something about the transmutation of a liquid luck potion, tightening his grip on the quill. 

“Percy,” Oliver reaches for the quill but Percyʻs other hand stops him. 

“Hold on, let me just write this last thing then we'll head down to lunch.” 

"It's dinnertime .”

“But I left right before breakfast?” Percy says, voice monotone and eyes glued to the textbook in front of him. 

“What did you eat today?” Oliver asks, looking around the workspace for any snacks that he might have snuck into the library. 

“My will to live.” Percy says dryly, dotting his last iʻs and crossing his final tʻs. 

Oliver grabs at his chest, “Oh Merlin, he jests . Surely, you must have been possessed now.” He pretends to faint, leaning hard against the otherʻs chair. 

Then, honest to everything magical, Percy starts laughing . It's soft. Oliver had never really gotten his ever-uptight roommate to chuckle during their Hogwarts years, let alone laugh. Oliver thinks, at least. And it was loud, too. Resonating through the musty library halls. 

He can only look at Percy, mouth agape. And there he is, throwing his head back and laughing, even snorting . 

“Are you actually possessed?” Oliver asks, and he has half-a-mind to start doing some counter-curses just to make absolutely sure. 

Percy rolls his eyes, pushing Oliver off of his chair as he stands up. “Of course not, Oliver.” Then he sniffs, looking away haughtily. “I would have taken the Ministerʻs position if I had been.” 

“Another joke!?” Oliver guffaws, scrambling up to help Percy put away his study supplies. The quills are easiest, so Oliver sets his mind to grabbing the many that have scattered their way across the desk. 

Percy, always the quirky one, hated sharpening his quills, instead casting it to a pile and finding a new one. Well, forming a pile when he had the mind to. Except, these quills were a little odd. 

“Perce, what kind of anger are you working through?” Oliver asks, holding up all of the broken quills. Some had simply snapped at the very point, but others were, for lack of better word, maimed. Broken in half, the tiny feathers plucked out and knotted. Percy looks away, face turning an alarming shade of red. 

“Shove off, Wood. You've barely picked up a quill this semester. Why are you so suddenly interested in mine?” 

He holds up his hands, broken quills still in them, “I get the humor and the Wesley temper today? Maybe Iʻm the possessed one.” Percy rolls his eyes, the cheek! 

The ginger chooses to ignore him, carefully putting his work inside of his book bag. 

“Whatʻs for dinner, anyway?” Percy asks. 

“How should I know? We just finished up on the pitch.” Oliver replies, now grabbing at all the broken quill bits to banish later. “I might be pushing Harry a bit too hard.” Percy snorts. 

“Gee, you think?” 

“The cheek returns!” 

“Finish your story, Wood.” 

“He was about to fall over, so I had your demonic brothers go help him.” Oliver doesnʻt see it, but Percy freezes in his work as Oliver continues talking about Fred and George. 

“Itʻs been so long since Iʻve seen them both.” Percy says, something hollow. Something dead in his voice. Oliver snorts. 

“You're so dramatic, they just turned your porridge blue yesterday.” 

“Oh, right.” 

“Alright, I think thatʻs all of the quill bits. Oi! Perce, this is your bloody work, donʻt make me clean up the papers too.” Oliver says, already reaching for the piles. But Percy literally smacks his hand away. 

“Paws off my potions assignment, Wood. Do your own.” Percy then just shoves the assignment in his bag and heads to the door. Oliverʻs pretty sure he saw one of the corners crinkle!

“Who are you and what have you done with the real Percy?” Oliver jokes, pushing in the chair and casting a quick cleaning spell over the area. Percy tenses up midstep, too fast for Oliver to see, then turns to the man. 

“He grew up.” There was something off about the way he said it, but Oliver figures it was probably the stress of finals. They make their way to the Great Hall in relative silence. And the entire way, Percy was tense. Like he was waiting for something to jump out. The grip he had on his book bag was enough for his knuckles to turn white. And the closer they got to the Great Hall, the heavier Percy was breathing. 

Eventually, Oliver was sure his roommate was going to pass out. Before they made the last turn to dinner, Oliver yanked Percy by his collar in the opposite direction. 

“Come on, you introverted gremlin. Weʻll stop off at the kitchen and get dinner there. I could probably carry you if you fainted, but I donʻt want to test that theory.” He loosens his grips on the otherʻs uniform, and they both head to the kitchens, Percy a lot less nervous. 

“Thank you for that.” Percy says softly, “I didnʻt. Uh. It was.” He continues stumbling for words, but Oliver swats him on the back, hard. “No worries, Perce. Youʻve been in your dark, little cave for an entire day, of course people are going to be troublesome.” 

Percy quirks a smile, “Yeah, the light is almost burning my eyes.” Oliver was concerned, until he realized, “YOU MADE ANOTHER JOKE? Percy Weasley, ladies and gentleman.” Oliver announces, “One of the funniest people in the school.” 

“Yeah, you're just funny looking.” 

“Ooh, my heart. Perce, you might be too funny.” The walk to the kitchens is much easier for the both of them, small talk passing their way. It was nearly empty, all the other students at the actual dinner. 

The little pear gets tickled then the kitchen door swung open with the regular grandeur thatʻs expected from a secret passageway in a castle. Elves of all shapes and sizes, but mostly small and skinny in ratty pillowcases, were scurrying around the kitchen. Pots and plates floating everywhere, loaded with stews and bread rolls. Percy took a deep breath, almost leaning against Oliver with the exhale. 

“Wow, itʻs been a while since I ate.” Oliver laughs, waving down one of the elves. 

“ʻEllo! I is Blinky at your service.” Blinky blinks, “Why is the students not at the Great Hall?” Oliver shrugs, “This one,” Pointing at Percy, “Was too caught up in studying and we didnʻt want to go all the way there.” The lie falls easily off of his mouth, and he catches Percy looking at him weird. But Blinky gasps, then snaps. Two plates and a few bowls go flying to her. She ushers them to a table with tablecloths and cutlery flying to set itself up. 

“My, my! Blinky cannot be having students going hungry over studying. The students be sitting down now and Blinky be getting more food for them.” The table receives a nice vase with flowers as a last touch before they sit down, the food following soon after. 

In front of Oliver is the fluffiest mashed potatoes heʻs ever seen, the usual peas and carrots, with veal, reminding him of home. The bowl on his right was some sort of stew, with more carrots and meat popping through the thick gravy. He wasted no time in decimating the pile of food. 

Percy snorts, “Brute.” He says, digging into his own heap, no less energetic. 

“Hypocrite.” Oliver says, mouth full. 

Blinky comes back as promised, this time with the bread rolls Oliver had seen before, and grilled asparagus. “Here you two is, make to call Blinky if you is wanting anything else!” Then she snaps out of existence. 

“Merlin, bless house elves.” Oliver says, already with two rolls in hand, shoveling asparagus onto his plate. 

“When was the last time you ate anything?” Percy asked in astonishment as Oliver continued downing his food and water (he hated the taste of pumpkin juice). 

“Sometime yesterday, I think? I had one of the muggle granola bars that Hermione gave me for Christmas. Theyʻre really good!” 

“Oliver! We canʻt both have bad eating habits.” Percy whines, stealing one of the rolls from Oliverʻs plate instead of the big one literally right in front of him . But Oliver doesnʻt say anything, just grabs two more from the shared plate. 

“I was going over Quidditch plans for one of Ginʻs new chaser tactics.” Oliver says, running a napkin over his mouth. She was scary when she was mad. Not only with magic but just in brute strength, too. Having five brothers will do that to someone, Oliver guesses. 

“Good thing that Puddlemore and Harpies play on separate teams, she wouldʻve kicked your arse.” Oliver hums in agreement. Merlin, itʻs been such a long day. He canʻt wait to get back to their dorm and just knock out. Tomorrow was a Saturday, too. 

“What finals were you working on?” 

“Umm,” Percy rubs his eyes from under his glasses, nearly smudging the lens. “I donʻt even remember, now. Merlin, I think Snapeʻs? Maybe Remusʻ?” 

“ Remus? Whoʻs Remus?” Percy stills, then stumbles, “Oh fuck, I meant Lupin, Professor Lupin.”  Oliver chokes on his food, banging against his chest and pointing at Percy. 

“PERCY, YOU JUST SWORE!?” Oliver yells, Percy hushes him immediately. 

“You dolt, the elves are working.” 

“They need to know. EVERYONE needs to know. Was this your first swear word? Am I the first person to be witnessed to this? Could I make a moving photograph of this memory? I think Iʻll be able to sell it for 50 galleons, easy.” 

“Oliver Wood, youʻve got to be the dumbest…” Percy trails off, then smiles, “The dumbest FUCKING student in this school.” Oliver wheezes again.

“HE DID IT! AGAIN! PERCY, WEʻRE RICH! 100 GALLEONS!” They both end up laughing, nearly falling out of their chairs. 

Their meal finishes up soon after, Blinky wrapping up little cakes for them and their leftovers with a small stasis charm, “So you boys be not getting hungry during the studyings tomorrow.” She sends the boys off with the leftovers slowly levitating behind.

“I can see why Hermione started that Merlin-forbidden S.P.E.W. club.” Percy says as they make their way back to the dorms.  Oliver, cakes in hand, walking beside him.  Black shadows casted themselves across the floor as they started their ascent to the tower, halls empty of students. 

“Oh, that was a nightmare.” Oliver let out a chuckle. “I think Dobby—Potterʻs elf? Had, like, ten socks on each ear for a month.” 

Percy laughs, “No way. Oh, I miss Dobby.” 

“Me too.” Oliver says, a sudden solemness in his tone, muttering the password to the portrait, then holding it open for Percy. 

“What a gentleman.” Percy snarks. 

“Only for the prettiest ladies.” Oliver shoots right back. 

“Iʻm not the only one full of jokes tonight.” The ginger remarks, shoving their dorm door open and swiping a cake from Oliver’s hand.

“What can I say? Iʻve been inspired.” The leftovers descend on the desk closest to the door, Oliver taking off his uniform and searching for his sleepwear. 

“Do you have any plans for tomorrow, you know, that donʻt involve studying?” 

“Of course I do, Wood.” Percy says. Oliver is still rummaging through his trunk. Where is his damn sleepshirt? Itʻs silent, save for the rustling coming from either of the studentsʻ trunks. 

“Well?” Oliver pops his head up to look at Percy. But Percy just looks away. 

“Well…” 

“Oh, you liar!” Oliver throws his dirty uniform shirt at him. 

“Oh, the stench! What kind of foul torture have you been putting the Quidditch team through!” Percy yells, throwing the shirt to the other side of the dorm. Oliver laughs. 

“The winning kind!” 

“Go shower, you filthy creature!” Oliver laughs again, finally finding some clean clothes. 

“As you wish, but after I get out, go take a shower, and then , we’ll talk weekend plans!” Oliver says, shooting Percy a flirty kiss. 

“Thatʻs not helping with the accusations that weʻre dating, you know.” Percy deadpans. So Oliver pulls him into a hug and plants the most obnoxious kiss he can on the otherʻs cheek, with an over-the-top ‘mwaaaaaaah’ sound. 

Percy pretends to gag, rubbing at the spot on his cheek. His face turning a red so bright it could light Santa Clausʻ way through a snowy night. 

“Calm down, Rudolph.” Oliver says. 

“Wood, Iʻm strangling you as soon as you get out of that shower.” 

“Kinky.” 

The lock to the bathroom door releases, revealing a freshly laundered ginger. 1:07 A.M writes itself in glowing dust as Oliver checks the time. He fluffs up Percyʻs pillow—his bed was closer to the bathroom and Oliver really couldnʻt be arsed to move to his bed after today. 

“You done now, Princess Percy?” Oliver croaks out, rubbing at his neck where Percy had, indeed, tried to choke him out. The whole time Oliver was shouting different nouns as their ‘safeword’. 

“Some noble knight you are, why are you using my body wash when you have your own.” Percy asks, throwing his towel at Oliver. Who catches it because he was one of Puddlemoreʻs United star players til ʻ06. 

“But yours smells like piiiine. I want to smell like a tree.” 

Percy sniffs, “Youʻre a tree. Budge over, Groot.” 

Oliver relents, even moving the covers so Percy could slip under, “I’m not just any tree — I’m a gentle-tree, from a long line of Woods.” 

“But really, Groot?” 

“It was a good movie!” 

“Yeah, I liked it, too.” Oliver says, getting comfortable on Percyʻs bad. Damn, his sheets were way softer than his, he should have slept in his bed sooner.

“It was funny. My favorite character was Baby Groot with his powerfully stupid little dance.” Percy says, depositing his glasses on the nightstand and stretching a bit. With Percyʻs back to him, Oliver could see the night shirt ride up, to reveal a mostly healed scar on his left side. 

“Whatʻs this from?” Oliver asks, poking the scar. Percy ‘hmms?’, lazily looking down where Oliver prodded his skin. “Scrimgeour.” 

“Oh, right. Sorry, looks weird from this angle.” 

“No, itʻs fine. He was a sadistic bastard and Iʻm glad heʻs dead.” Percy waves him off, gratefully going under the covers. 

“Me too. Who knew heʻd kill one of his own.” Oliver mutters, looping an arm around Percy to draw him in closer. Even after all this time, Oliver still couldn’t muster Voldemort’s name out loud. Just thoughts, painful, hazed over, thoughts. “So, what are we doing tomorrow?” The Quidditch player asks, waving his hand to extinguish their dorm light. 

Percy shrugs, tilting his face so it's in the junction of Oliverʻs neck. He does smell like pine, that bastard. 

“I dunno, want to sneak out and buy muggle pens? I hate quills, and I'm too used to Papermate already.” 

Oliver chuckles a little, “Isnʻt that a Yank brand?” 

“I went to a Yank university, didnʻt I?” 

“Yeah, I still can’t believe you went back during the pandemic years, no less.” Oliver murmurs, running a hand through Percyʻs curls. His hair was soft, wispy too. Like a cloud. There's something tugging at Oliver’s brain, something he forgot. But it slips through his fingers, too. Oh, maybe it was something about the cloudless sky, tonight? 

“Thatʻs Dr. Percy - Ph.D - to you,” Percy mumbles, almost asleep. And with those words, whatever was in Oliver’s head floats away. 

“My bad, Professor .” Oliver emphasizes, sleep tugging at his eyes, too. “Yeah, weʻll get your stupid pens tomorrow.” 

“Mkay, love you, Ollie.” Percy says, tapping against Oliverʻs chest for his hand. Oliver curls his fingers together with Percy. 

“Love you too, Perce.” Oliver mumbles out. He never got the chance to ask if Percy wanted to see the stars. Sleep claimed the both of them before either could realize that almost every single thing they said simply couldnʻt have happened in their current year of 1994.

But that was alright, there would be other chances to gaze at stars under a cloudless sky. There was always room for second chances. 

Chapter Text

In Percyʻs dream, heʻs sitting in a chair. It was his chair, but Oliver still felt the need to sit on it when he wasnʻt there—he knew, of course Percy knew, he put alarms on the damn chair. It was the most comfortable chair in all the wizarding world, his arm chair was. He made sure of it, even opening up the backing to put more stuffing in the cushions. 

Percyʻs sitting in his chair, well more like lounging, legs hanging off the arms. His hair was the same ginger, with a bit of white seeping into his temples, but that had been happening since his early 30s. Ron never got tired of teasing him about it, calling him old and whatnot. It didnʻt help that his beloved niece followed suit, calling him Uncle White Ginger in her toddler years. Oh, Percy would have decked Ron if Hermione hadnʻt found it so funny. 

So, lounging, doom scrolling through his iPhone, and trying to kill as many brain cells as he can. It was a lovely Saturday afternoon in Godricʻs Hollow. Oliver even went out with Potter and Ginny to do a few loops (despite two out of three of their jobs revolving around Quidditch). So here Percy was, finally able to relax in that peaceful silence he craves unceasingly. 

A TikTok pops up, one of a puppy just learning how to sit. Percy smiles at it. Oliver wanted to get a dog, and Percy had been arguing that they already had all of Percyʻs siblings and their children. But, look at the little guy. It was a golden retriever puppy and she was so fluffy. It reminded him of Harry’s dog, Stick. Percy sent it to the dummy account that he used to save his memes to show Oliver. The brute still didnʻt get a damn phone, even still pronounced electricity as “elektricity”.  

“Maybe we should get a dog.” Percy says, to no one in particular. But it would be fun. And going into their fifties with a companion wouldnʻt be so bad. Maybe heʻd bring it up tonight? Theyʻd be doing their weekly Weasley dinner at The Burrow. 

The door opens, and Percy smiles to himself. Oliver must have gotten home early, then. 

“Hey, Ollie!” Percy calls out, tucking his phone in his sweatpants pocket. “How was flying with Harry and my evil sister?” He doesnʻt answer back, which is weird, but heʻs probably caught up in getting the mud off his shoes. Or he better be caught up in getting the mud off his shoes because if Percy needs to clean up dirt from their kitchen floor because of his husbandʻs stupidity, then—

Percy hears the hammer of a gun get pulled back. 

And he knows the comforts of his arm chair no longer. 

Itʻs the wonderful connection of love, where two souls spend so much time together they become in tune with another. So not even ten minutes later, when Oliver arrived back to their little hovel early,  did he wipe his shoes on the carpet, shouting from their little porch area to where Percy was definitely still lounging in the stupid LazyBoy, the potato. 

“Perce! Your sister and brother-in-law tried to maim me! I swear, they donʻt know what it means to be gentle with the quaffle. Gin definitely tried her hardest to send me off my broom straight into Urgent Care. And I have to tell you about this thing that happened with Harry and Tony, it was really weird. I think Tony might come to visit a little later.” Oliver gives up, the mud caked on. Neville had been over and did something weird with Harryʻs Quidditch pitch. By the end of their matches, everyoneʻs shoes had been covered in cake-smelling dirt that was also resistant to most types of magic. 

“These bloody shoes.” Oliver mutters, stepping fully inside. Itʻs still quiet, not even Percyʻs ʻfoneʻ is playing those funny little videos he likes to watch when he thinks Oliver isnʻt home. “Also! Perce, what time do you want to go to your mumʻs?” 

Oliver always cracks up whenever they go over to Mrs.Weasleyʻs house because it seemed like a Quidditch team reunion each Saturday. Harry, Ginny, some of the old mates from Gryffindorʻs old Quidditch team, even Krum stopped by whenever he and Charlie were in town. But they were usually trouncing all over Europe, either busy with dragon, Quidditch, or both. He turns the corner to their parlor, a dishrag from the kitchen still scrubbing at his hands, not looking up when he talks, too caught up in trying to get the dirt out from his hands. 

A second bullet leaves the chamber. 

And in Oliverʻs dreams, he falls before he gets a chance to see Percyʻs face. 

Oliverʻs dreams begin to morph, the blood pooling out from his chest—a fatal shot—blurring into happier times. It was post-war, and Percy Weasley had officially run away from the Wizarding World. He stayed for Fredʻs funeral, then a few years later, for Georgeʻs wedding. And after that, two notes were written. Mrs.Weasley found one, and Oliver never revealed that other letter. It was read a hundred times through, etched into Oliverʻs skull, before burned by a strangerʻs lighter. 

They werenʻt dating, not at the time anyway. But they had both acknowledged well into their last year at Hogwarts, that something was there. Then jobs got in the way, and what could have been flirty coffee dates turned into quick letters back and forth, maybe staying over at Oliverʻs flat only to fall asleep before any love declarations could be made. 

But when Percy disappeared, it felt like Oliver had missed something important in his life. Like heʻd been asleep on all the good parts of life. So, he took the time off that had been piling up from Puddlemore and decided to cash in some favors to track down his favorite ginger. He found himself scouring America of all places, going from state to state for three long years. And whenever he could, sending out owls filled with replies to Percyʻs letter, telling him explicitly how he felt about Percy up and leaving. Near the beginning, they were howlers. Oliverʻs not ashamed to admit that.

But near the end of year three of his search, somewhere in Alaska and looking into military outposts, he had sat himself down to write the monthly letter. And felt something tugging at his heart. He couldnʻt quite pin it down, until he started sobbing, curling up outside of the US Navy recruitment center. That letter to Percy was the longest one sent, and also the longest thing Oliver had ever written. Line by line, Oliver dissected how much he missed Percy. How much the “what-ifs” weighed on him. 

Then, not even a week later, his owl comes back with an envelope. Heavy-duty cardstock with a muggle ʻfotograffʻ inside, and smiling back in a button-up printed with flowers and khaki pants, was Percy himself. No less pale, despite the tropic background, with a square shaped hat and something rectangular in his hand. On the cardstock was a date, a time, and an address, in Hawaiʻi . 

Now, Oliver was never known for his patience. But war had changed him, made him know the dire need that came with waiting, with perfecting, and making sure that when something was done, it was done on the first try. 

But the war was done. And so was Oliver with Percyʻs bullshit. Within minutes, he apparated to the Honolulu branch of magic, then used every single string and award to his name to his advantage, getting driven to UH Mānoa within the hour (with the offer for an island tour at a later date, which Oliver would drag Percy to once they had the screaming match of the century). 

“Thank you!” Oliver says, waving off the driver. The driver holds up his thumb and pinkie at him, pointer, middle, and ring finger down. Weird. 

Oliver, not dressed for tropics in any sense of the word, sticks out like a sore thumb—-his heavy coat and ski pants weighing him down. He ducks into a library (he assumes), gets taken aback by the naked women painted on the wall, then finds the bathroom. Transfiguring his clothes to match Percyʻs in his ʻfotograffʻ (but the shirt was red and gold because Oliver needed to rep Gryffindor). His head spins a little bit, briefly winded from the transfiguration magic he did, but that was just the tradeoff he got for being too lazy to dig out his wand. Now, to find his dumbass redhead. 

For one brief second, Oliver considered that he was in a library, and that if he shouted loud enough, Percy would be able to hear him in here. He considered it again. Then after the fifth minute of debating whether or not screaming, “Weasley you daft moron where are you,” He heard a very familiar gasp.

Percy continues to dream, moving closer in his sleep to Oliver, as their little cottage in a meadow melts away to Hamilton LIbrary. 

At the time, he needed to get away from his family, from seeing Fredʻs dead face in Georgeʻs. From magic itself. So Percy, doing the most illogical thing in a logical fashion, wrote down each state on a little piece of parchment, tossed them all in a hat, then picked out the one that said “Hawaii”. Applying as a non-traditional and international student, he was able to get almost all of his tuition waived. He went under a pseudonym so their magical branch wouldnʻt make a fuss out of hosting one of the “war heroes” (Percy had never considered himself one of those. He couldnʻt be a hero of something that had taken so much, he couldnʻt be a winner). 

Heʻd always liked numbers, so he enrolled as an accounting student. Quickly picking up how a laptop worked, what “pidgin” was, and that there were just as many jokes for gingers in muggle culture than there were in wizard culture. 

In his first week, Atlas, Oliverʻs owl, has somehow found its way to his dorm. Which was a problem, since these were some of the fancier dorms that held the international students. So a brown barn owl usually found in Britain attracted a good majority of passersby interest in Mānoa. Atlas was welcomed in, and Percy made sure to feed him and make sure he was in good health before sending him off. There was no way he would be reading that letter anytime soon. Because from the war, Percy had learned that no good things came without another shoe that would drop and destroy everything Percy held dear. 

Of course, this wasnʻt war times. The letter was read within the hour. A reply written before the end of the day. And so it continued, Atlas somehow flying from the continent—because Oliver was looking for him, Oliver wanted to find him (Oliver wanted to gut him and flay him like a fish when he found him, too, but that's besides the point). And with each letter, there was a reply. The replies were so numerous that Percy started putting all of them in a little box, with broomstick themed washi tape around the edge of it. Because he didn’t send any of them, just watched as they piled up in numbers and dust. 

His studies were fun, Percy building a community that he had never known he needed. The people in his classes, while not like him in terms of wizard, had the same drive for knowledge. He learned, too, about Americaʻs really complicated relationship with slavery. He grimaced, maybe muggle history was something that should be looked into more often, seeing as how some of their wars line up alarmingly well with some of the Wizarding Worldʻs. 

Then, on a sweltering Tuesday afternoon, Atlas comes gracefully waltzing into the lobby, waiting for Percy. After Percy explained it was part of his culture and that the owl was really well behaved, Atlas became a favorite among Lincoln Dorm, and UH Mānoa as a whole. Turns out owls were really popular within Hawaiian culture, too. 

“Hi Atlas, letʻs get you some treats.” Percy says, letting Atlas hop onto his shoulder as they ride the elevator to his roomʻs floor. In the metal box, Percy takes the thicker-than-normal envelope and starts to read. 

Perce, it starts out. Oliverʻs never called Percy that in any of the letters. Itʻs always been “You bastard”, or “Weasley”, and most recently “Princess Percy”. But never the old nickname. 

Perce, I want to spend the rest of my life together with you. The letter continues. Percy almost forgets to step outside of the elevator. 

When I find you, letʻs do the entire dating thing. Well, first weʻre going to fight. Verbally and maybe even physically (I hope youʻve gotten stronger because Iʻm talking about with fists and not with wands). But after that, I know weʻll make up. We always do. Percy settles Atlas with some food, and closes his window. This letter was different, it seemed. 

Oliver then listed out each date he wanted to take Percy on, some were the regular wizarding ones of Quidditch matches and magical creature emporiums. But the majority were muggle activities. Going to the movies, trying different muggle foods from different states— They're called beignets, Perce, and they taste like love, which is why I thought of you. 

Then, near the end, on the backside of page eight, Oliver lists out what their wedding would be like. From who would be on the guest list, to the food, to who would be the one dressed in the white robes, and even whoʻd officiate, Krum, just to make him sweat . 

And when Percy was done with the letter, heʻd never wanted something so bad in his life. Atlas returned to Oliver with Percyʻs graduation announcement. He was able to graduate a semester early due to scheduling and a few summer courses. 

Spiritually and emotionally drained, Percy decided to unwind and do some studying at the library. Putting him in his current situation, a very real three-year-older Oliver Wood in a Gryffindor-themed aloha shirt standing right in front of him with the stupidest expression on his face. 

“Perce?” Oliver asks, and. And itʻs a library. Even though it gets pretty loud during midterm season, itʻs still a library. But that doesnʻt stop Percy. 

“OLIVER!” The ginger tackles the other to the floor, wrapping him in a hug. Heʻs pretty sure heʻs crying. Heʻs pretty sure Oliver is crying, too. 

“PERCY!” Oliver replies, picking up the ginger. 

A few months later, Percy graduates with his bachelors in Accounting, a shiny gold ring on his left hand. And showering him in lei after lei are his mum, his siblings, even Ronʻs newest addition to the Weasley family, and his loving husband. 

After quitting his job a year into the search for Percy, they both decide to move back to Britain, Percy getting his Masterʻs at a muggle university based in London, then temporarily moving with Oliver back to Oʻahu for his PhD. Post graduation, they settle in Godric Hollow. Oliver spends that first year simply getting back in shape, constant practices with Percyʻs sibling, his old teammates, and Harry Potter himself. In another life, Potter really could have made a prodigious Beater. When Percy received his Master’s of Accounting, Oliver was accepted back into the team as a fulltime player. 

Sometimes it was rough, Percyʻs long hours in front of spreadsheets combined with Oliverʻs long hours on the pitch led to more than one fight about chores and food and other things people needed to sustain themselves, thrown to the wayside because of both of their workaholic streaks. Especially when Oliver was commuting near daily from Europe to a little island out in the Pacific near daily.

Then, as all things were with Percy and Oliver, it was sorted out, and they were better for it. And thatʻs how marital bliss seemed to take over their life for twenty odd years. Percy finished up his PhD, thinking about taking up a teaching position at the University. Oliver thought about maybe doing a bachelorʻs programme, if only to have something to fall back on when he was too injured to play Quidditch. 

Which was probably fast approaching whether he liked it or not, his injuries had even begun to take a hold on his magical reserves. 

Overall, it was that type of bliss that didnʻt announce itself in its happiness, choosing instead to crawl its way through their everyday ministrations. And, for Percy, it was worth the war to climb into bed after a long day, knowing that Oliver would already be there or soon join him. 

Percy wakes up lazily from his dream, the sound of a gunshot still ringing in his ears. Instead of a 48 year old man, with whitening temples and a possibly permanent hunch in his back from studying so hard, he had woken up in an all too familiar dorm room. Oliver is under him, sawing at logs in his sleep—which makes sense since moon light still comes down in droves. Percy should sit upright, find his glasses and start making a plan to figure out what heʻs doing here—heʻd been workin on autopilot for most of yesterday. 

And, actually Percy canʻt really remember if him and Oliver ever shared a bed in their last year of Hogwarts—but itʻs been so long, and the war definitely messed with his memories, that Percyʻs just been going off of what Oliverʻs been doing. Oliver in his bed? Then who is Percy to say no to that. 

Yesterday, when Percy fucking died he sat upright in one of his studying spots, Snapeʻs stupid essay sprawled out before him. No bullet hole through his heart, but the same scars from his near fifty years of life. And, for all of the times that Percy could have time jumped to, heʻd rather it not be this one. Because he remembers that essay vividly, viscerally. No amount of death eaters could make him forget the assignment that almost cost him his entry-level job into the Ministry. And Percy sure as bloody hell used the bloodlust to fell some of the corrupted ministry workers in the “bad-half” of the war. 

Then, Oliver put him out of his bad mood by finding him. Because thatʻs what Oliver did, looked for Percy, and wouldnʻt stop till they met again. Warmth flooded his chest. Even in school, it seemed like Oliver had his own way of expressing his love, huh. 

But back to the entire, ‘I died and got transported back to my high school body’, Percy was generally against messing around with the timeline. But. 

But. 

But Fred was still here. And it was so early in Harryʻs schooling, that Voldemort didnʻt even come back. The bulk of the corruption that felled the ministry wouldnʻt occur for another three years. Percy could do a lot in three years. He got a muggle college education in three years. He could save the world. And, maybe, Percy mused as he slowly let sleep claim him again, maybe he could jump start those two decades together with Oliver a few years earlier. 

Chapter Text

Like everyday, Oliver woke up with the sun.

 It was a habit heʻd gotten into from childhood, before he turned eleven. Ma had a homestead, with a few livestock but mostly farmland. Da, born a wizard, but with parents that had no magic, taught Oliver how to harvest wheat and potatoes before riding a broom. Though Oliver preferred the broom lessons over the scythe. At eight, heʻd beat the sun by a hair and helped Ma with turning over the soil, or feeding the chickens. Then, when afternoon struck, heʻd go out and do laps with Da over their property. 

He never really talked about his quasi-muggle upbringing because they were still disconnected from a good majority of the muggle populace, choosing instead to get their goods from wizarding shops or their neighbors. Plus, it was funny watching Percy build up a fit over how he pronounces electricity. Of course he knew how to say it! One of his favorite movies, to the testament of his patronus, was the Sorcerer’s Apprentice after all.

 But there were always fond memories of helping Ma with cooking or Da with the repairs to their house, manual or magical. And it was these memories that were able to be passed down when he and Perce bought their house, Oliver doing most of the regrouting and electric-work by hand. He missed his parents in the latter days, Da falling ill of a weak heart, and Ma passing shortly after from a broken heart. Since Oliver was their only kid and was living permanently in the Magical World, he gave the land to the neighbors, volunteering his time in the summer to help with the harvesting. 

Oliver shakes his head a bit. He was getting off track, and the bed was still so warm with Percy huddled close to him. Sleepiness began to tug at him, but he needed to start his day or heʻd never get out of bed. 

“Perce, Perce wake up.” Oliver whispers, lighting shaking the ginger. Percy doesnʻt move, or even acknowledge him. “Lazy sod,” He says fondly, fully shoving the ginger off of him so he can piss and figure out how they're sneaking off campus. 

Yeah, so Oliver woke with the sun. And yesterday, after getting sniped through the heart, he still woke up to the sun. Except he was on a broom, which was only a plus for him. So he corralled his husband, who was also still a teen—trippy—and got the stupid genius food. 

Finding his toothbrush, Oliver stares back at a face almost 30 years younger. Then he looked a little closer. Pulling down his shirt over his left side, he was met with the scar Dolohov gave him in the last battle. He took a shaky breath, righting his shirt and smoothing out the wrinkles. It looked odd, the healed over scar on a young body. On his young body. He spits, then goes out to find acceptable clothes to break school rules. 

It was like stepping into a memory, with how nostalgic the room was. Their leftovers were out on Percyʻs desk, prim and tidy. With books and Quidditch magazines spread out over Oliverʻs—the magazines with the bends and creases that came with overuse and the books barely cracked at the spine. Some quills were sprawled out over his side of the desk, too. He grimaces at the offending writing utensil, he missed the muggle ball point pens that had been adopted by a majority of the Wizard World, especially in the 2000s. Good thing Percy wants to go and buy some, by sneaking out no less!

Wrinkling his brows, something doesnʻt fit. Usually, Percy isnʻt the one to break the rules. Right? But, the stress of finals must be getting to him, and Percy ‘I didn’t want therapy so I ran away to get my accounting degree in the Hawaiian islands’ Weasley was not really known as the most rational person in Oliver’s eyes. So Papermate pens he would have!

Yeah, Oliverʻs time with the Order didnʻt help any of his mental health troubles. Even from his Hogwarts time, he had some sort of anxiety and paranoia thing that he didnʻt bother going to a Medi-witch for. Not like Pomfrey—Poppy in the later years he knew her, wouldn’t have given a rat’s arse about his health. Then, when he had to do honest-to-Merlin spy work and learn how to do all of the little evasive and invasive fibs? Oliverʻs long term and short term memory was fucking fried unless he had a real investment in keeping it. And his high school times, though precious, were so damaging that he eventually locked most of it up in little vials, kept in the basement of their hovel about thirty years in the future. 

So heʻs just been following Percyʻs lead. Percy says ‘I love you’? Well, who is Oliver to not keep a good thing going? Percy goes into bed with him? Sure, Oliver can roll with the punches. Percy wants pens? Yeah, letʻs go get some pens!

Oliver finally finds a clean black turtleneck and some old muggle jeans. Alright, wardrobe secure, time to wake up the ginger. With clothes in one hand, Oliver grabs one of the pillows from his bed then chucks it at Percy. Lovingly, of course. 

“OI WAKE UP!” And oh boy does it work, Percy snapping to attention, taking stock of the room and the pillow that just got launched in his face, then throwing said pillow right back, also shouting. 

“BLOODY HELL WHY ARE YOU YELLING?” 

Ah, the Weasley temper. Reminds Oliver of home. Laughing, but still yelling, Oliver responds, “BECAUSE WE NEED TO GO BREAK SCHOOL RULES NOW!” 

“Ughh.” Percy says, falling back onto his bed. “My pens.” 

“Your pens. Now go get ready.” Percy glares at him, but rolls off the bed nonetheless. 

After leaving the common room, they venture out to the courtyard where McGonagall usually meets up with the students to take them to Hogsmeade. But Hogsmeade definitely didnʻt have the very muggle creation that Percyʻs osteoporosis-riddled hands craved.

“If we aparate to Diagon Alley from Hogsmeade, we could probably catch the Knight Bus to one of the stores in London.” Percy offers, and Oliver nods along. 

“Yeah, thatʻs probably the safest bet. And I donʻt think thatʻs even against school rules. We should probably stop off at Gringotts to get some muggle money, too.” 

Percy hums in agreement, and they go hand in hand down to Hogsmeade. 

They go hand in hand. 

Percy looks down as they walk, to their interlocked fingers. Shit, did he reach for Oliverʻs hand? Or did Oliver reach for his? Did they even date in seventh year?? Fuck, Percy canʻt remember and they also went straight to get his pens, so his poor caffeine addiction was not fed. Theyʻre just passing the Shrieking Shack, walking in near-asleep silence. Oliver was trying to stay awake, Percy was trying to remember if he should be freaking out over something as stupid as hand holding, that they both miss the two alarmed sets of eyes. Meanwhile, Percy was thinking about how warm Oliverʻs hand was, the early morning chill was something that Percy forgot to factor in so he forgot his gloves. As long as no one saw, right?

“OI WOOD, GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY BROTHER!” Oh for fuckʻs sake, Percy was about to fight whatever higher being kicked him back to this timeline. They both turn around, hands still intertwined, to see a much younger Hermione and Ron. Percy was taken aback at how tiny they were. And how sweet they looked. Aw. 

“Ronald, stop being stupid!” Hermione says, hitting him on the head. Percy tries his best to hide his laugh, Oliver does not. Guffawing in great bellowing chuckles as Ron manages to go even redder. “Just because you canʻt control Ginnyʻs dating life doesnʻt mean you can control Percyʻs.”

“Ginnyʻs what ?” Hermione shuts her mouth with a click, Ron looking really smug. 

“Ginnyʻs got a boyfriend, we saw them down at—” Oliver cuts him off, rolling his eyes. 

“Ginnyʻs scary enough to fend for herself. So is Percy, Ron.” Oliver pins Ron with a look, and Ron has just enough decency to look ashamed. “Cʻmon Percy, letʻs go.” 

“Where are you two going then?” Ron asks as Percy and Oliver make their way to the apparition zone. 

“Weʻre gonna FUC—” Oliver gets cut off real fast by Percy, who bodily slams into him while cupping a hand over his mouth. 

“BYE.” Percy yells, hopefully loud enough so they donʻt hear what Oliver was trying to say. Ron, however, has good ears, and starts running at them, shouting at Oliver. Oliver laughs, he and Percy breaking into a sprint for the apparition zone. Percy stumbles a bit, Oliver catching him. Then, while looking right at Ron, Oliver draws Percy close and kisses him on the cheek, apparating away. 

When they get to Diagon Alley, they both end up falling to the floor, laughing. 

“YOU DUMBASS,” Percy howls, near clutching his side. 

“Itʻs going to be all over Hogwarts by the time lunch rolls around.” Oliver says, trying to catch his breath. 

“Forget about lunch, the students and staff will probably know before the breakfast comes rolling out.” Percy accuses, starting up a new laughing fit. 

“Ok, come on, Loverboy ,” Percy says, pulling Oliver up, “We have to go and get my pens.” Percy makes off for The Leaky Cauldron, but Oliver pulls him away. 

“Wait! We need to go to Gringotts first, canʻt be walking into an ABC store and paying with knuts.” Oliver says, grabbing Percy by his forearm and dragging him in the opposite direction.

Diagon Alley was busy as always, stocked with the various witches and wizards doing their shopping or meeting up with friends for an early breakfast. Gone were the signs of war, whether active or three years past, instead it was the Diagon Alley from their childhood. Rustic and loving, the entire space having a feeling of permanency, no matter how false such unspoken promises would be a sparse three years from now. 

Percy lets himself be dragged along. ABC stores? 

“ABC Store? They have those in London?” 

Oliver shrugs, “There were more than enough of them in Waikīkī to make up for London if not.” 

Percy snorts, “Yeah, oh do you remember those stupid tiki magnets?” 

“How could I forget! Made with the ‘magic of the island’, I was so surprised the actual magical committee didnʻt suspend them from muggle stores just because they could.” 

“They should have!” Percy exclaimed, smiling. Oliver smiled back. 

“Youʻre pretty when youʻre smiling.” Oliver says, not really noticing he said it aloud. Percy smiles wider, drawing close to the other. 

“Just when Iʻm smiling?” 

“No, but when you smile the rest of the world seems to take a backseat.” 

“So poetic.” Percy mumbles, his blush spreading from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. Oliver smiles back, opening the door to Gringotts for him. 

They're both hit with the cold chill of Gringotts bank. Just as grand as always, the tall walls built from limestone and marble serving as a direct contrast with the goblins that ran the entire bank. It doesnʻt take too long to get the £ 200 from Oliverʻs account (because now that Oliver knows the full scope of the Weasleyʻs financials, thereʻs no way heʻs ever going to make Percy pay for anything in life again). Was 200 a bit of an overkill? Maybe, but Oliver knew it would be good to have some muggle money set aside. Percy is already waving his wand to signal the Knight Bus. A lanky adult opens the door, Oliver telling him the closest muggle shopping center. If he remembers right, this would be the one with the really good chicken bowls. Maybe they could get lunch after this? 

The ride is just as nauseating as Percy remembers, holding the handle above the chairs with one hand and clinging tight to Oliverʻs arm. Oliver being so tiny again also threw Percy for a loop. His Quidditch practices post-graduation had him almost twice the size of Percy in just bulk. And Percy also filled out in the later 30s. So seeing itty bitty Oliver like this, who was just below Percyʻs height and didnʻt get his last growth spurt, was a bit endearing. 

“Want to go to that chicken bowl place after this?” Oliver asks, knocking his head lightly against Percyʻs. 

“Sure, maybe we could go to that milkshake place Rosie likes too?” Oliver snickers. 

“I have no idea how she was the only one to get your sweet tooth.” 

“Because sheʻs just a genetically better Weasley, sheʻs got Hermioneʻs smarts after all.” Percy says. Oliver rolls his eyes. With most of the Weasleyʻs married off, there had been a very clear division of “Genius” and “Jock”, with Percy and Oliver firmly marking the groupings as their head. And the “Genius” category was very, very limited. At one point there had been an argument that lasted most of Saturday dinner on whether or not Ron should be in the “Genius” category. 

The Knight Bus stops just outside of the mall, the lanky wizard tipping his hat to them but not pulling away from his conversation with the shrunken head. 

Not that the couple minded, already heading towards the stationary shop. Oliver was a bit more careful out here, though, hands firmly in his pockets as they went up the escalator. Percy was talking about the history of the mall because of course he knew the history of this mall, and Oliver was content to listen, admiring the way the otherʻs eyes lit up as he talked about the protests around the construction of the building. He just couldnʻt get over how young this Percy was. His Percy, just in a little bitty package—with a full head of orange hair, too. 

“—And thatʻs when the Aurors had to come in and obliviate the entire muggle population!” Percy finishes with a flourish, then looks around nervously to make sure aforementioned muggles didnʻt hear that. 

“They had it coming after trying to release a djinn in a Tesco’s, what did they think was going to happen?” 

“You wouldʻve done the same thing, Wood.” 

“Yeah, and?” Oliver smiles, Percy smacks him on his shoulder. 

They enter the shop still bickering playfully, Percy making a beeline for the Papermate section. Oliver didnʻt quite know how to explain it, but this place smelled like a muggle place. With magic, there was excitement in the air, especially at Hogwarts where something astounding, dangerous, or fun was waiting around the corner. Especially with the enrollment of Harry ʻI killed a full grown Mountain Troll in my first year and it only got worse from thereʻ Potter. But with this place, it felt still. Like a quiet library, or an out of the way cafe. It was a small store, little shelves of colorful stationery sets dotting the wall, with sample paper crafts near the front. On the right, where Percy had migrated to, were little containers full of pens, pieces of paper in front of most of the jars to test the ink. 

Oliver waves at the lady behind the counter, going to look at the post-it notes. If he wasnʻt mistaken, Percyʻs birthday was coming up and Oliver should probably get a head start on that. So a handful of post-its, some of that Japanese washi tape he liked at Uni (maybe he would start that addiction early). Meanwhile, Percy was trying to decide on the multi-color pack or a full black set. He put the multi-color set back, remembering how absolutely shit the yellow one was. 

And, hey, only £ 5!? Percy decided to look the fuck around, Merlin he loved the UK in the 90s, everything so mindblowingly cheap . Oliver is in the post-it section, but Percy has his eyes on the lined folder paper. And the composition notebooks. Percy almost drooled at the site of college-ruled pressed paper. He missed not having to just hope he wrote in straight lines. Then, when he got the dotted paper ?? Fuck London, he and Oliver might have to look into international passports so Percy could raid the stationary there.

“Could I help you two young men with anything?” The lady over the counter asks. Oliver beats him to a reply, putting on a dashing smile and playing up his accent (as he always did to impress the older ladies). 

“Thank you maʻam, but I think we're good. Need to do some final exam shopping is all.” The lady waves him off. 

“Oh, I know what you mean. My Gilligan is always running low on lead for those new pencils nowaday. Struggling in history, that one is.” 

“What grade is he in?” Percy joins in, going through their notebook selection. Would McGonagall even care if he turned in folder paper instead of the usual scroll? Probably not, she was one of the teachers in charge of going to help the muggleborn students. So she was probably more aware of muggle stationary than other professors. Snape wouldnʻt even grade his paper, Percy could already tell. 

“Just entered his last year, bless him heʻs already looking at colleges.” 

“Oh, me and Perce are in our last year, too!” The lady gasps, delighted. 

“What are the odds! Do you have anything lined up?” 

“Iʻve been looking for entry level positions in the Ministry, or maybe a nice Uni.” 

Oliver nods, Percy going right into a college after Hogwarts? What a strange thought. “I play Qui-uh.” He looks at Percy who mouths the muggle equivalent. “Football! I play Football, Iʻve been looking at some teams that might need a reserve player.” Oliver grabs a few more post-its before taking it to the counter, Percy following suit. 

“Oh, Gilligan was never much for sports, but heʻs in his schoolʻs chess team. Smart boy, heʻs bringing the school up to the Nationals next weekend. Is this all dearies?” 

“Yup!” She pulls out a few pieces of paper from behind the desk as she talks. 

“Since you're two bright young lads, I have a few store coupons just for you,” She scans the barcodes, then pulls out another flier. “And if youʻre interested, his match is at the community center, just a few ways away from here. Iʻm pretty sure thereʻs a bus stop close by—by the dog park, I think? Thereʻs free food for those that want to come, and I've never met a school student who wouldnʻt pass up a nice buffet.” Oliver grins, taking the flier and producing the (now discounted) payment.

“Wouldnʻt miss it for the world, thank you maʻam.” 

She takes the cash, then waves him off. “Maʻam makes me feel old, please, just Mary is fine.” Her little nametag proudly also declares Mary M., Percy idly wonders what the “M” stands for. Packaging their supplies, she puts it in a bag for them too. 

“Thank you Mary, we really appreciate the flier—and the discount!” Percy says, accepting the wares. She waves them off, wondering a bit at the oddity of the studentsʻ schedule, according to Gilligan, finals week wasnʻt for another three weeks. Mary shrugs, she guessed that some students were just studious like that. 

The table at the mallʻs food court was a little sticky. Looking around and finding no one in their close vicinity, Oliver cast a wandless and silent scourgify. Percy went off to fetch their food, Oliver in charge of finding a table before it got too crowded.

Soon enough, Oliver sees his ginger with a few plates in one hand and two drink cups held against his body. Oliver runs over to help Percy. 

“Geez Perce, I thought you were just going to get one of the chicken bowls to split.” Percy shoots him a dirty look. 

“Iʻm not fooled by your charm, Oliver Wood, I know firsthand that you would eat all the meat and leave just the rice.” Oliver tries to look ashamed, he really does. But it doesnʻt quite land. 

“Whatʻs in this one then?” Oliver asks, setting the plates down and fiddling with the top most dish. 

“They had this custard thing? I thought we could share that . Maybe your black hole of a stomach will be filled with the chicken and I can take the rest.”  “Hah! Never.” Oliver proclaims, dishing out the take out boxes and forks. Percy sets one of the drinks in front of Oliver, popping the lid of his own open. The smell of strong coffee hits Oliver. 

“What is that, battery acid?” 

“Five shots of espresso.” 

“Absolutely mad. Thereʻs less caffeine in cocaine.” 

Percy sniffs haughtily, putting sugar and cream into his coffee, “And thatʻs why crack addicts arenʻt honor students.” They both try and maintain seriousness, but end up cracking up, Percy nearly spilling his coffee. 

Heʻs halfway through his coffee, neurons just beginning to fire, when Percy remembers their little romance on the way to the Diagon Alley. 

“Wait, Oliver, what are we?” 

Oliver pokes at his own left hand. “Human, I think. Although with the way Ron eats, you lot might be part Giant.” Percy rolls his eyes. 

“Ron is obviously adopted from Giants. Iʻm talking about this.” He points between himself and Oliver, face starting to redden. “You. Well. We. I.” Percy fidgets with his hands, trying to find his words. 

Percy canʻt really remember his life without Oliver in it. It was. Well, it wasn't particularly sad, his life. Just alone. It was being lonely a lot of the time, the odd one out when he was a parent to the younger kids, and one of the only ones still left at home. Then the twins just always had each other, so it was Percy. Then when Oliver came, it was Percy and Oliver, too. 

And, above all, Percyʻs old . Maybe not in this teenage body, but his heart is still heavy with the grief of death that has not happened yet, war that has not struck. And Oliver always seemed to make the ache go away. 

“I like you. A lot. Uh. Romantically.” Well shit, maybe his mouth didnʻt hear that Percy was old because what the fuck just came out of it. “L-letʻs date.” Percy squeaked. Oh Merlin, he squeaked . 

It should be said, they were sat at one of those food court tables that were small, most of their food barely fitting on its circular surface. Their knees were practically knocking into each since Percy and Oliver were both towering giants. 

Which means it's less impressive when Oliver reaches out to Percyʻs coat and pulls him close, kissing him squarely on the mouth. But still pretty impressive on the notion that Oliver was pretty sure he casted a Notice-Me-Not charm on both of them before he showed Percy just how much he wanted to date the ginger. 

He did not! In response, Oliver actually said, “Letʻs date.” Then made out with Percy, sloppy style. Percy was the first one to break from the kiss. Because he needed to breathe, but also because he heard someone gasp on his left. 

“Oh, right, homophobia.” Oliver comments, catching his breath and glaring at the women. Mary would have never gasped at them. 

“Muggles. So weird.” Percy responds, euphoria filling him as he looks back at Oliver—his boyfriend. “Letʻs head out. The milkshake store can wait for another time.” 

“Yeah, but.” Percy takes one of his napkins, silently transfiguring it into a timepiece. “It's barely even half past ten, want to stay and look around muggle London for a bit? We can pop into the shops.” Oliver nods, gathering up their trash. Oh shoots, their custard. 

“Eat this on the run?” He holds it up, the ginger nods. 

There were a few more shops by the mall, mostly just for the tourists. But Percy and Oliver both felt a little like tourists. Neither had really explored muggle London until a few years into the 2000, both already grown up and with a pretty good set of background knowledge on what to expect from the non magical side of England. But now?? Michael Jackson played on the loudspeakers, the teens that passed by had frizzy hair and neon clothes and makeup—even the men! 

As Oliver discards the empty box their custard had come in, he spots a little shop along the way. Dragging Percy along with him, they enter the animal shelter. It was run down, weird stains in the corner of the walls that might have been mold. A creaky fan sat on the cash register desk idly rotated. 

“Perce, look at the little guy!” Oliver was already gone, sticking his hand into the cages to pet the dogs. Little was a straight up lie. Oliver had migrated to the biggest cage of the bunch, just barely shorter than Percy’s height. Inside was a big brown dog, black fur running down his mouth and along his side in thick stripes. 

“Ah, that’s Brutus,'' the store owner says, coming out from the back. He was old, fraying silver hair and thick black-rimmed glasses. He wore a nice button up and pants, wiping his hands on a dirty rag, placing the rag on the counter to reveal four fingers on his left hand and no thumb. Percy must have stared a little too long because the storekeep looked down at his hand, back up to Percy, then left. 

“Laddy, it won’t grow back if you stare at it long enough.” 

Percy goes beet red, “I apologize, I didn’t mean—”

“No offense taken, not everyday you see a four-fingered fine specimen of a man like meself.” He puffs out his chest, gesturing to himself, “I’m John, this here’s my shelter. Are you two looking for an animal in particular?” 

“Could you tell us more about Brutus?” Oliver asks, petting the brow of the dog between the bars. 

“Certainly, do you want me to let him out? I don’t mind a bit. One of the best behaved dogs I ever had.” Oliver nods eagerly, John bending down to unhook the cage. 

Brutus, just as John had said, was very well behaved. Sniffing Oliver’s hand, then Percy’s when the ginger drew closer. Then pushing his head into Oliver’s hand for more pets. John laughs at the dog’s action.  “He’s been here the longest out of this new bunch of rescues, just about half a year. Believe it or not, he’s still a puppy, maybe a year if I’m being generous.” If Percy squinted, he could kind of see the resemblance Brutus had to Fang, Hagrid’s dog. 

“Someone just dropped him off here?” John nodded. 

“We work with volunteers who drop off any strays they see in their neighborhood. Brutus came to us thin for a puppy, but me and the wife got him all sorted out. Though, he’s not really so welcoming with strangers.” Brutus was on his back, tail hitting Percy’s thigh as both he and Oliver pet his belly. 

“But he’s so cute.” Percy says, petting the soft fur. Damn, Percy wanted to do something impulsive. 

He was kind of on a roll, wasn’t he? I mean, the pens, asking out Oliver (Oliver saying yes!), didn’t all good things come in three? 

“Should we get a dog?” Percy asks, turning to Oliver. 

And the way Oliver looked at him. It was like that was his Oliver . With wrinkles around his eyes, who complained about back aches just so he’d have an excuse for Percy to feel up his muscles. It was his Oliver , looking at him with nothing but love in his eyes. His Oliver had always wanted a dog, and Percy fucking died before they could. 

Maybe this was his chance. 

And Oliver smiles, turning to John and asking how much Brutus was. 

They leave the store a few hours later, catching the Knight Bus with a host of new dog treats, toys, food, and Brutus in a bright orange collar and leash.

Chapter Text

Technically speaking, Brutus was against school policy. Technically speaking in the sense that, Hagrid had snuck a dragon onto school grounds two years ago and he was very much still here. So Percy was going to capitalize on that. 

They reached Hogwarts ground at around noon, managing to avoid the students milling about in Hogsmeade. Diagon Alley was a loss cause, Percy just hoped none of the teachers were there buying last minute lesson supplies. Mainly he was worried about Flitwick. And Oliver was too over the moon to care. Dog! He and Percy finally got a dog! Dog! And Percy! He was dating Percy! Percy! 

This was a pretty great day to be Oliver motherfucking Wood. 

Their first stop was Hagrid's so they could have someone to watch over Brutus as they went to classes. Finals really were coming up, the panic of it welling up in Percy. Post nut clarity hitting, Merlin, he has a dog . How is he going to care for it during finals week!? DURING JOB HUNTING?? Would Mum even want to take care of the dog?? Or would he live on the farm with Oliver’s parents? But Oliver lived far away from Percy, and in a muggle-populated place no less. Would Percy get visitation to see Brutus? Oh no, what did he do, this was a mistake, this was—

“Percy your anxiety needs to shut up, I can hear it from here.” The ginger almost drops the bag of stuff to shake Oliver’s shoulders. 

“Where’s Brutus going to live after we graduate? Oh, Oliver, we graduate in less than a month, I think I’m going to be sick.” Oliver pulls him close, Brutus going over to Percy and sniffing his shoe. 

“It’s going to be fine. Brutus can stay with my parents, we have a floo connection so don’t be a stranger. Plus, look at him, he’ll love it on the farm. And finals are going to be a piece of cake for you, don’t you have the charms textbook memorized?” Then, just for good measure, Oliver kisses him. Because they’re dating , wow Oliver is having a great day. “There’s no way the Percy Weasley is going to be felled by a couple of stupid tests.” 

“Right. Right.” Percy says, then lurches forward to kiss Oliver again. “Luck, right?” Percy whispers against Oliver, then takes the remaining couple of steps to knock on Hagrid’s door. The door swings open moments later, Percy clearing his throat. 

“Hello Hagrid, sorry to bother you on such short notice, but we need a favor.” 

The inside of Hargrid’s house was warm compared to the outside, cozy too. Strong wood, probably from some magical tree, could barely be seen from the amount of equipment the gamekeeper had strung up. Something was bubbling in the fireplace, fresh rock cakes being placed on the table by the man himself. 

“Percy! And Oliver, too. What can I do for you two lovebirds? Here, take some rock cakes, just out the fire.” Percy groans, Oliver eagerly grabbing one of the rock cakes. He liked throwing them during Quidditch practice for an extra hard version of a bludger. 

“I knew the rumors would spread, but you already heard about it?” Hagrid chuckles, waving Oliver to come in. 

“‘Course I did! Yer brother stopped by with ‘Ermione and ‘Arry to tell me all about the way Oliver ‘deflowered’ you in front of him. He’s traumatized, that one.” 

“More like demented.” 

“More like dead when I get my hands on him.” Percy says, anger flaring. How was Ron that fucking dumb? 

“Oh! And who’s this handsome little fellow?” Hagrid asks. Oliver grins, letting Brutus off his leash. The “little” puppy charges at the half-giant, licking his fingers.

“This is Brutus, we just got him today from muggle London. He’s almost a year.” 

“A year? Oh, just barely a grown up, ain’t he. Fang!” Fang raises his head from his spot on the couch, taking note of the other great dane. He jumps off, barking at the other dog. “Bark” is a loose term, Fang booms at the other dog. And Brutus, bless his heart, barks right back with a squeaky “boof”. 

“It seems like they like each other!” Percy exclaims, moving to the floor to continue petting Brutus. Oliver takes a seat at the table right across from Hagrid. 

“‘Course they are, yer Brutus is a friendly one. Y’know, I’m not too entirely sure, but isn’t it not allowed fer student to have dogs with them?” Hagrid says, quirking an eyebrow at the students. 

“Well, that’s true. But, we’re not going to be students in a few weeks. Perce and I graduate this semester.” 

“Oh, I forgot! Congratulations you two!” 

“Thank you, Hagrid. But, in the meantime while we’re doing finals and Oliver kills the Gryffindor Quidditch team with practices,” 

“Hey!” 

Percy ignores him, “Would you be able to watch Brutus? We’ll still be here everyday to feed him and walk him, but he won’t be too happy locked up in our dorm for most of the daytime. And, you’ve got Fang, and I’m sure my brothers would love to help once I threaten to sicc mum on them if they don’t, plus—” 

Hagrid cuts him off, waving him off, “‘O course I’ll look after yer pup, he and Fang are getting along great!” Fang lets out a little “hmmph” at his name, going away from Brutus to Hagrid’s side. Hagrid laughs, letting a heavy hand fall on Fang’s head as he scratches him behind his ear. “And I have no problem watching the little one, but!” Hagrid waves a finger at them, “I ain’t keeping nothin’ from Dumbledore, the moment he asks about it I’m telling him it’s yer dog.” 

“So, if Dumbledore sees Brutus…” Hagrid cracks a smile. 

“ If Dumbledore sees Brutus.” 

“Oh, thank you, Hagrid!” Percy exclaims. 

“‘O course, it’ll be good for Fang to have company anyhow. It’s going to get a bit sad around here, after all.” Percy and Oliver look at each, confused at Hagrid’s drop in energy. 

“Why? What’s happening?” 

“Oh, I’m surprised none of third-years tol’ you two yet. Buckbeak got a lil too excited the other week, ended up scratching the Malfoy boy.” Percy’s stomach drops. Oh right, this was Ron’s third year. Harry’s third year, when Sirius broke out. 

Hagrid continues his story, “It was just a cut, but Malfoy Senior’s mad, calling for an…” Hagrid sniffled, then bawls. His sobs almost as loud as Fang’s howling, “He’s calling for an execution of my Buckbeak. But Buckbeak didn’t do nothing wrong,” He takes out a handkerchief from the sleeve of his jacket, blowing his nose noisily, “They’ve got a date set to, to.” Hagrid couldnʻt muster up the words to describe how Buckbeak would be executed, “in a couple ‘o days. It don’t look too good for me or for Buckbeak.” 

“What?! Aren’t Hippogriffs endangered species? You can’t just kill one because it scratched a student!” Oliver exclaims. He remembers Buckbeak fondly, he was one of the main forms of transportation during war times. And, after all the dust had settled, Buckbeak was still with them, retiring with Hagrid and a few other treasured animals deep in the Forbidden Forest. He always came round to the big holiday events at The Burrow, though. 

Hagrid fixed him with an odd look, “Wood, I didn’t know you paid attention in yer Care of Magical Creatures class. Yeah, they are ‘n endangered species, but nothing can be done if a species puts the life of a wizard at risk.” 

Percy huffs, “That’s ludicrous! Malfoy is probably just using this injury for attention.” 

Hagrid makes a noise of agreement, “Seems like it. But Fang’s been pretty upset about the whole thing.” Percy and Oliver made a point not to say that Fang was not the only occupant of the house who was upset, especially when Hargrid noisily blew into his handkerchief again. 

Percy, Oliver, and Hagrid spent the rest of the daylight hours catching up. Or, Percy and Oliver didnʻt talk that much since Hagrid has a lot to say about his last couple of years. Sometimes, Oliver forgets that, out of all of the Professors, Hagrid has probably had the most interesting life. Especially considering that for most of Harry’s second year, Hagrid was in their maximum security prison for a crime he did not commit. 

But it seemed like Hagrid’s jovial disposition must have been a deterrent for a lot of the dementors at the time. Not that Hagrid knew, or even guessed.

“Was ‘o simple matter of not letting them ghouls touch my face. Easy enough when there were bars in my cell. And the rats that came by must have been some sort of magical, they could sing!” A good majority of Percy and Oliver talking was spent on Percy trying to figure out how the magical rats could sing. 

Then, with Hagrid’s new teaching position. Where Oliver was able to figure out where exactly in third year they were at in terms of Harry “One of my godfather’s is a criminal for a crime he did not commit and the other one is a werewolf” Potter. Hagrid does talk about Lupin, too. 

“Oh, Professor Lupin is a gift. I only hear good things about him, and it seems like a lot of my third years have taken quite a shine to him.” 

Man, maybe Oliver should do some, like, intervening with the timeline? Because he genuinely did like Lupin as a professor, he was probably the best one. Maybe Moody would have been too, if he hadn’t been body snatched. Truthfully, Oliver didn’t have the first clue on how to mess with the timeline in an ethical way. Like, how would what he does now affect what happened in the future? Has he already changed time permanently by dating Percy early and adopting a dog with him? 

Those thoughts were too hard, and the tea that Hagrid put in front of him and Percy was telling him not to worry too much about the future. Yeah. Oliver is good on a broom and he’s got a Percy with him, if he wants to change the timeline for the better, he probably could do so easily. But not right now, right now the tea is warm and Brutus’ fur is soft. 

So the hours continue to tick by, and Percy is just sharing a funny story about Ron getting locked out of the house when there’s knocking at the door. 

“Blimey, where has the sun gone! Maybe you two ought to be getting back and grab dinner.” Hagrid gets up to open the door. Percy and Oliver follow suit, saying their goodbyes to Fang and Brutus. Then they hear Hagrid exclamations, of “‘Ermione, ‘Arry, Ron!” 

The three make their way into the room, Ron immediately noticing Percy and pointing his finger at the other ginger. 

“What are you doing here!?” 

“What are you doing here!?” Percy fires right back, slipping into older brother mode. Before Ron can pick a fight, he notices the second dog. 

“Oh, Hagrid, you got another dog?” 

“No, that’s mine and Percy’s,” Oliver says from the floor next to Percy. Sometime during their talk, both he and Percy moved to the floor with their backs against the couch. “His name’s Brutus.” Hermione and Harry came deeper into the room to say hi to the new dog. 

“Oh, he’s adorable, is he a mastiff?” Hermione says, holding out her hand for the dog to sniff.

“I’m not sure, I think he’s a great dane? The man at the shelter didn’t really say.” 

“Is Fang really big, or is Brutus just really small?” Harry asks, letting Brutus lick his hand. 

"Fang is really big, but Brutus is still a puppy, he’s going to get way bigger.” 

“Look at his spots, he’s almost like a dalmatian,” Ron says, smiling a little at the dog. Then quickly snaps out of it, yelling at Oliver, “WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY BROTHER?” 

Oliver, for his part, looks serious for all of five seconds before he busts out laughing. “What didn’t I do to your—” He gets elbowed in the ribs for that, hard. Ron grows a brighter red. 

“Oliver’s just joking. A really dumb joke.” Percy glares at him, Oliver blows a kiss, “But yes, we are dating now. We uh. Made it official today.” Oh Merlin, Percy can feel his face practically on fire. Ron is a matching red, too. Meanwhile, Hermione and Harry seem immune to the Weasley embarrassment. 

“Congratulations you two!” 

“Did you guys get the dog to celebrate getting together?” 

“A good way to celebrate if I ever heard so myself!” Hagrid says, pulling out a few more teacups for his newly arrived guests. My, if this many people were going to visit, Hagrid should look into expanding his house! 

A few more hours pass by, talking about the little meet-cutes of Percy and Oliver, Brutus, even how Hagrid got Fang in the first place. 

“He was a little thing, shivering in the rain. On Hogwarts property, too! Got him all cleaned up and fed. Then he decided that he wanted to stay with me.” Fang whines, putting his head in Hagrid’s lap on the couch. Despite the large size of the furniture, only Hagrid and Fang sat on the couch, the rest of the students sprawled out on the floor.

At one point, even Harry comes in with his own stories, though a bit sad. “I’ve always wanted a dog, not something small and yappy, but like Fang.” Percy smiled at that. “Maybe golden retrievers? They love running around, would probably spend hours just following you on your broom.” Harry’s eyes lit up at that. Ron groans at the look in his eyes. 

“You’d probably name him something stupid, like Stick .” Harry laughs. 

“I’m not original! And Stick sounds like an awesome name.” Oliver mentally cringed, yeah. Harry wasn’t the best with names, and to this day he’ll never understand how “Albus” was a good name for any child. Percy, on the other hand, was having a mental laughing fit over how Harry managed to finesse the name of his actual golden retriever a good twenty years from now. And Stick really did love sticks. But also stones, grass, anything outside, really. 

It’s when Hermione starts falling asleep that Percy realizes just how late it is. Checking the muggle timepieces, he’s surprised to see 9:24 staring right back at him. Curfew would be soon! And, oh fuck. Was he still a head boy? Did he have rounds? Who was head girl? Wait, yes. Yes he was. And. And. Was it Alicia? Angelina? Shit, was Hermione head girl? No. No she’s in third year. Right. 

“Well, it’s about time I escort you three back to the dorms so we don’t get house points taken away.” 

“That’s rich, coming from someone that snuck a dog on school grounds,” Ron says, yawning a little as he stands up to stretch. 

“It’s better than an entire dragon .” Surprise flits across Ron’s face. 

“Who told you!?” And Percy pauses in his step. Ron told him. But Ron told him absolutely shit faced on the day before his marriage to Hermione. 

Percy recovers quickly, “I’m Charlie’s favorite, of course he’d tell me.” 

“No, I’m Charlie’s favorite!” Well, Krum was probably Charlie’s favorite. But not yet. 

The Weasley brothers have their fight as the others help clean up the errant mugs. Oliver goes out to take Brutus and Fang for a walk. Everything gets done pretty fast, Oliver coming back in to drag Percy out by his arms while Hermione and Harry hold Ron back by his jumper to prevent a fight. 

“Do you two get your anger from your hair color or from your lack of soul?” Oliver wonders out loud as they start their way back to the common rooms. 

“Ron gets it from his lack of brain cells.” Percy says, entwining his hand with Oliver. Ron is taken aback, that comeback was fast . 

“Why would there be prisons in my head?” Ron asks, looking at Percy like he’d grown a second head. 

“Ron, don’t you know what brain cells are?” Ron shakes his head. 

Oliver was kind of in the same boat. Hogwarts and his farm-life-living from before didn’t really give him the background knowledge in basic biology or science in general. He ended up picking up what a brain cell, mitochondria, nucleus, and cell wall were from Percy’s little moving videos that he had a slight addiction to in their 30s. 

“It’s what a brain is made out of.” Hermione tries to explain. 

“A brain is just made out of brain.” 

“Do you know what cells are?” Harry asks, and Ron looks at him with confusion on his face. 

“Of course I know what cells are mate, Hagrid was locked up in one last year.” Now it’s Harry’s turn to look confused. Percy, on the other hand, looks horrified. 

“Merlin, I forgot no one taught you science. Ron, do you know what a mammal is?” 

Ron thinks for a bit, then goes, “Yeah, they’re those fat sea creatures Harry showed me from his time at the aquarium.” Harry goes a bit speechless. 

“Ron, those were manatees. Mammals are animals that give live birth.” 

“Live birth? Compared to what, dead birth .” 

“No, like. To eggs. So chickens aren’t mammals because they lay eggs. But sharks are mammals because they give live births.” 

“Wait, what does that have to do with cells?” And so the rest of the trip back to their dorm is spent trying to catch Ron (and to an extent, Oliver) on basic muggle science. 

“So you’re telling me, that elektricity just happens. In the wild!?” Oliver exclaims, stepping through the portrait door. Percy rolls his eyes. Hard. How his boyfriend so dumb. Then another wave of happiness scoops over him. His boyfriend. 

“That’s wicked. Do you think it can power magic the same way it can power muggle telefones.” 

“ Phones , Ronald.” Hermione emphasizes the beginning of the word, “Phones with the ‘ph’, not with an ‘f’.” 

Harry groans, plopping on the couch and stretching. 

“Mate, you better not be tired just from a little bit of walking. We have our last match pretty soon, need to have you in peak physical position.” 

“I’m just tired. All of this grim stuff has me stressed out. In class, Professor Trewlaney predicted that it would come to get me.” 

Percy snorts, “She does that a lot, it never comes true though. Last year she predicted that I would end up alone and kill myself.” 

“ She predicted what? ” Came the reply from both Ron and Oliver. Percy looks surprised. He might not have remembered much from his time at school—ok, he might not have remembered pretty much anything from his time at school but he remembered that much. 

“Yeah, it happened in my fourth year, I think? Tried to hold off on taking Divination as long as I could. Then she predicted that I would hang myself so I just dropped the class and did double Arithmatics.” 

There was a beat of silence, then Oliver was up and going to the portrait wall. “ Iʻm going to hang her.” It takes the Golden Trio and Percy pouncing on Oliver to get him to calm down. By the time they're all situated on the couch and Oliver is calm enough to not consider physical assault as action plan number one, it's peaceful. 

“Oh, this was your first time visiting Hogsmeade right?” Oliver asks, which earns him three confused looks. 

“Mate, are you feeling alright? It's almost finals week.” Oliver inwardly balks. Fuck. He even confirmed his timelines with Hagrid. He covers for his misstep, rubbing his temple. 

“I donʻt know mate, maybe one too many bludgers.” Ron gives a hearty chuckle. 

“Figured out of all of us you'd be the most brain damaged! Cʻmon, we should probably be getting to bed anyways.” Ron says. Hermione shoots him a strange look. 

“Ron, it’s almost like you’re being responsible.” Hermione observes, both her and Harry looking concerned. He goes red, shoving the closest person to him (Harry). 

“Shut up! I’ll have you know that sometimes I like a good night's sleep.” Something dawns on Harry. 

“Oh! You didn’t finish McGonagall’s assignment did you?” He gets a pillow thrown at his face, Harry making a run for it and Ron continues pelting him with the downy items. Altogether forgetting that he could use magic. Hermione chuckles, going up to the girl’s dormitory. 

“Goodnight you two! And congratulations for finally getting together. I think Neville wins the betting pool.” 

“Of course there was a betting pool.” Percy grumbles under his breath, snuffing out the flames in the furnace and following Oliver back up to their dorm room. 

They got ready for bed in companionable silence, idle talk as they rummaged through their respective drawers and entered and exited the bathroom. The night came to a close with both of them still in Percyʻs bed, covers drawn up tight. Small “goodnights” exchanged, and with the replacing of candle flame for moonlight, both saw sleep through dreary eyes.

Chapter Text

Sunday arrived with four sets of hands knocking on the door. Knocking? Well, more like unlocking the door then sneaking up on Oliverʻs bed. One set of hands swept back the covers to find a perfectly made bed—odd for the Quidditch captain. 

“Say Forge, where do you say the two lovebirds are?” Gred questions. Forge pretends to think about it. 

“Well, Gred, there're two beds in the room.” They go to either side of Percyʻs bed, the canopy wide open to reveal the two occupants of the room still deep in the dredges of sleep. 

“My, my. Barely a day into dating and theyʻre already sharing a bed?” 

“What would Mum say?” This is when Percy starts coming to consciousness. 

“Letʻs write a letter to Mum and see!” Gred says. 

“OH PERCYYYY, we’re baaaaack~” Which definitely wakes Percy up, snapping up in bed to the sight of his two brothers. His two brothers, in one piece. 

Fred right in front of him. 

And suddenly, Percy is in a different part of Hogwarts, in a different time.

His mouth was ash. Filled with, made from, only soot as teeth, with the remains of charcoal as tongue. His lips could not form meaningful words as knees met ash, too. Made from the remains of battle, war-torn and bloodshed. There could have been the noise of a thousand armies and a thousand wars, but Percyʻs ears could only hear the inhale and exhales of the one beneath him. Because those last breaths were too precious to go unheard. His hands cradled another, similar in freckles and skin. The hands shook with exhaustion, with fear, with loss. Lips formed words, took its shape as a joke that settled as ash along Fredʻs cheek. 

And he laughed. 

It was good, for the last things to be heard by his ears to be jokes, to be family. To have the gruesomeness that comes with loss buffed with the gentleness of family, through holding hands, through telling jokes. Percy tasted ash on a tongue made of iron. Fred always jokes about his skin made of steel, like the tin-man from Dad’s stories. On the worst of fights, the twins had levied that his heart must have been made of metal, just as cold as the alloys. They had apologized, they had made up, but Percy always held that fear, that his organs were nothing but muggle machinery chugging along to compute the best course of action for himself, and himself alone. But now? Percy wishes in that moment, for the burning heat of fear to spike and spread throughout everything he touches, to set the enemies ablaze in the boldness of his emotions, felt so profoundly. But, the moment had passed, and Percy, although not alone, could not hope to pass that spark of life. 

And his hands turned cold. 

Percy had never heard George make such a noise. But, he supposes, it was an appropriate noise to make as a part of your soul was turned to ash. Guttural, nothing close to human-like, Ron, Bill, Charlie, tried to hold George back from his twin. But they could not. And wrapped in George’s arms, Fred grew cold. And colder. And George continued to scream, until nothing of his voice was left but dust. Percy could not bear to stop George, or even find the will to move away from Fred. His little brother. Perhaps not the littlest, but these were the brothers that Percy had held first, that he had been tasked with to take care of first. 

Percy failed. 

Percy felt the ash return, the grime of sweat, of blood from so many different people caked on his hand. Weaved throughout his fingers, set alight with the fires that burned till only the refuse was left. He could still hear George’s screams, his sobs. The blood needed to come off, nails raking across the tops of his hands, through the bumps and divots of knuckles. Again and again, till it flaked off as red-tinted ash. But there was more. There was always more, why wouldn’t it stop . Percy scratched deeper, turning over his hands to his palms, to his wrists, his forearms. 

“-et off, get off, GET OFF. WHY WON”T IT COME OFF?” Percy screams from the top of his lungs, which wakes Oliver the fuck up. 

“Percy?” He mumbles out, squinting at the light from the opened curtains. Shit, they forgot to close those last night? Fred and George look, for lack of a better word, terrified. Oliver is confused, until he notices the shaking on his left. Muscle memory takes over, Oliver sitting up properly and comes up behind Percy, his chest flush to Percy’s back. 

He murmurs something to Percy, the usual things to Percy when he has panic attacks, hands gently prying Percy’s hands away from each other. Percy’s hands were cold to the touch, blood slick and dripping on Oliver’s hands, on their bed spread below. But slowly, they begin to warm up, and Percy’s breathing evens out. 

“Should we get Madam Pomfrey?” George asks, going to Fred’s side. Gone was the humor, both were pale, Fred looping an arm through George’s.  Oliver shakes his hand, pulling Percy tight to his chest. 

“Nah, he just gets like this sometimes, it’s been happening a lot for finals.

“ This is what happens during finals?” Both of them ask at the same time. Oliver nods. 

“He’s stressed.” Oliver is succinct with his answer, “What’d you guys need anyway?” They look at each other, one of them shakes their head, and the other follows suit, smiling and doing a bow. 

“We just wanted to check on the love birds. But there seems to be more than enough love in paradise. So we’ll be taking our leave.” Fred stands back up properly, looking at Percy, then right at Oliver.

“Call us when Percy feels better, we’ll grab lunch at Hagrid’s.” Then he smiles, “I want to meet Brutus! And hear the tales of Percy-the-Abiding breaking all the Hogwarts rules.” He winks, takes George’s arms, then leaves. 

Oliver watches them go, the door closing softly behind them. As it shuts, he sticks out his arm to the dresser, his wand flying into his hand. 

“Could I see your hands, love?” Oliver asks, Percy relents, still silent. His eyes are still glazed over, and Oliver does not ask, not yet. For now, he works on Percy’s left hand, or arm in general. 

In all wars, the greatest resource was bodies, and the people who could repair them. It seemed like Hogwarts couldn’t find enough people to repair those bodies. So, after slicing an immobilized Dolohov’s head clean off his shoulder (his wand wouldn’t cut the ligaments that held fast, he used an ax from a felled inanimate knight), Madame Pomfrey found him and made him learn fifty basic spells for healing. Then another fifty advanced spells. And another ten spells, that were more like chants, of dark magic for reanimating. 

He still had the ax, too. Took it home with him, shined it up. It was a gory memory, sure, but it was also the first person Oliver and Percy killed together, Percy making sure Dolohov couldn’t move while Oliver did the fatal strike. When he traveled to Percy, he took the ax with him, too. He wondered if he could find it in these halls, if it would remember him (even if it had not met him yet). Because with the amount of loss, pure shell-shocked tragedy that happened on that day, it seemed like the very walls of Hogwarts had been imbued with the loss. And when Oliver went to clean his ax, it seemed almost conscious in its gruesome refracting of lights.

Nevertheless, at Madam Pomfrey’s side, Oliver learned every single spell and perfected it within the first try—not because he was particularly good at healing magic. But because if he didn’t, the person at the end of his wand would die a horrible and painful death. He tested those effects too, on Death Eaters. Oliver remembers, not fondly, but he remembers draining half of the blood from a Death Eater’s body, cleaving him in half (the long way), then drowning another death eater in a suspended puddle of the other’s blood. Those kinds of memories come and go, but he’ll never forget the way Angelina stared at him in the aftermath. Like he wasn’t human.

And at that moment, Oliver didn’t feel like a human either. 

Back to the present, Oliver couldn’t remember if patching Percy up like this was normal. If the words that fell from his mouth fit the Oliver Wood of his time, or even the Percy Weasley of this time. And he didn’t particularly care either, just that Percy stopped, that they found out what made him want to skin himself with his own hands. All the survivors in the Battle of Hogwarts had some level of PTSD. For Percy, it was the constant paranoia which caused the nightmares, the self-mutiliation, and at one point really bad suicide ideation. And at the end of the war, when everyone was counting their dead loved ones, who wouldn’t be contemplating ending it all? Oliver heard George’s screams at one point, too. 

But now it slipped through his mind as sand. At his nearly old age, Oliverʻs entire being was just an hourglass, content to let his memories slip from one bulb to the other, only for it to be turned over and start again. In the early days of a burgeoning new Wizarding World, where all the “heroes” were still picking themselves up, Oliver couldnʻt quite find all of his pieces. They tried going to a muggle mind healer who had been filled in on the magical world (recruited especially to help with Harry, who couldnʻt sleep without Hermione or Ron in the same room) but she said it was something along the lines of “dissociation” and “repression”. 

It has gotten better over time. But seeing Percy, seeing Fred , like that. The only thing Oliver could do to keep control over himself was to just. Forget. To compartmentalize the here and now, help Percy with his hands. Maybe do some actual studying. Then go down to lunch and play with Brutus, George, and a dead man. 

Heʻd gone and asked Madame Pomfrey about his side effects too, when they had reached a wall with the muggle therapist. Two years out from the war, because everything in his mind was measured from how far away it was from the battle. She said it could be such ailments. Or it could be the dark magic theyʻd used as a magical replenisher. Magic has a price, she said, downing whiskey after whiskey. Iʻm so sorry Mr.Wood, I fear that your soul may not be entirely yours now . 

It was the trade off, see. Because in war time, with everything surrounded by the ashes of the fallen, the only real thing around them was death. In its fine black cloak and awaiting hands. So Oliver clung close to his wand, said the incantation Madam Pomfrey had taught him, then shook his hand. 

And his hands were as ice. But Oliver refused to shiver. To show weakness that made him human. 

And Oliver saved life after life with boosted reserves that were not his own. And after all was said and done, could not remember the face of those he saved. Only the ones he killed. Truly, the only person he could really remember in that fight was Percy, and maybe little blurs of Harry, maybe Ron, maybe Hermione. And George’s screams. 

There were other things that he could not hope to remember in the then-and-now. But, he supposed, as little grains of sand trickled downwards, that’s why he should be focused on his wonderful life as it now, and not as it was then. 

“Back with me, love?” Oliver asks, when he notices Percy looking up at him.

“Are you?” 

Oliver shakes his head, “I’ll be soon, maybe.” And it’s enough for Percy. Looking around with new eyes, older than the body it currently resides in, he looks at the four-poster bed. The banners were beautiful, he never really got a chance to appreciate Hogwarts’ luxury for what they were when they were whole. 

Logically, Percy knows that he should not tell the Oliver from this time about what he saw when he looked at the faces of his twins. Logically, no one should really know about his time traveling adventures, that he needs to keep a tight lid on his future knowledge. But staring up at the red banners that flowed without any wind, in the arms of someone who loved him, Percy couldn’t find it in himself to be logical. Could barely find his footing in the here-and-now, if he was being honest. 

“I held his hand when he died. One of the last things he ever heard was my voice.” His voice now was hoarse, maybe from the screaming, or from how tight it felt. He held Oliver’s hands tight. 

“He passed with his family around him. It’s one of the loveliest ways to go.” Percy leans back into the other’s embrace. 

“I suppose so.” 

Meanwhile, in the Great Hall, McGonagall is trying her best to enjoy her oatmeal. She eats it plain, with some strawberries on the top. Trying being the key word, she rubs her temples. This entire school year of a migraine would be the death of her. Albus then sits on her immediate left, and for a brief second, she contemplates murder. 

“Minerva, good morning!” He sits down then takes some toast and the jam he’s been favoring this week, mixing in the usual creatine in his pumpkin juice.  “What a lovely Sunday morning it is, too. The weather’s looking up this week, I’d say.” 

She hmms non committedly, debating on leaving at the very second. Dumbledore doesn’t seem to mind her mood, or at least doesn’t comment on it. 

“It seems like Hogwarts has increased their dog population.” And Minerva nearly fucking spits out her oatmeal. Was he really going to just. Say that. About Sirius motherfucking Black in the middle of breakfast. She stares at him incredulously. What a fucking idiot. 

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean by that, Albus.” She gives him an out. Fuck when he gets arrested for knowingly keeping from the ministry how Sirius got out they’re probably going to use this memory in the trial. Goddammit Albus. 

“Oh, you haven’t heard the news about Messirs Weasley and Wood?” McGonagall lets out an audible groan, dropping the spoon in her oatmeal with a wet plop . If she had to hear anymore about those two she’s retiring early. 

That was the only thing the school has been talking about for the past day. And it’s only been a day but she’s so sick of it. Truly, she’s happy they finally got together, and she’s also happy that people have found some sort of happiness in the midst of all the gloom that’s enveloped Hogwarts because of Sirius Black’s presence on campus. But holy shit Mr.Weasley and Mr.Wood are people too, and McGonagall has heard the most heinous disgusting comments about their relationship. 

“What haven’t I heard about those two.” 

“Perhaps their new dog?” 

“THEIR NEW WHAT?” McGonagall says, calmly. Her stomach drops. Because while Percy is her star academic and Oliver her star athlete, both of them have some of the shittiest luck she’s ever seen. Just to confirm, she asks Dumbledore. 

“What does the dog look like?” And Dumbledore smiles. 

“A big, black dog. Very friendly.” She wipes her mouth primly with the napkin, thanking Albus kindly for the information, then stands up to go and skin Sirius goddamn Black. 

She just exits the Great Hall when she sees some of the most troublesome children she’s ever had the misfortune of having gathered up in a little group. At the head are Fred and George, looking almost sick with fear. Then gathered around them are Harry, Hermione, and Ron. Some of the other Gryffindors are there too and—for fuck’s sake it’s the Quidditch team. Fuck, shit, maybe she should retire now. 

“Might I ask why you’re causing congestion in the hallway this morning.” Ron makes a cutting motion with his hands, mouthing no to his brother like McGonagall doesn’t understand him. 

“It’s about Percy.” One of the twins, probably Fred, he’s the more impulsive one of the twins, says. He and George wring their fingers in unison. 

“We barged into their dorms to wish them—” 

“Well wishes on their recent nuptials—” 

“They’re not married,” McGonagall says. But they continued like they hadn’t heard her—which they probably hadn’t. 

“And then as soon as Percy wakes up—” 

“He’s clawing at his arms—”

“Like some sort of animal—”

“And there was blood all over the sheets—”

“It’s like he couldn’t even see us—”

“And he was looking right at me—”

“Like he had seen—”

“Some kind of ghost.” Well, fuck. McGonagall gathers herself up, putting her own concern to the side to ask the relevant questions that needed to be asked. 

“Is he with Madame Pomfrey right now?” The twins shake their heads. 

“Oliver calmed him down, said—”

“That Percy ‘just gets like this during finals.’”

“Has Mr.Weasley ever done this before?” McGonagall asks. The twins shrug. 

Ron speaks up, “During finals we don’t see Percy. He just disappears into the library or his dorm.” 

McGonagall nods, processing the information, “I’ll go up to their dorm and make sure Mr.Weasley gets the medical attention he needs.” 

“We’ll go with you!” The twins say, Harry, Ron, and Hermione also stepping forward. 

“Us too.” Ron says. 

Before Alicia could speak up for the Quidditch team (McGonagall saw her making her way to the front of the small mob of Gryffindors at this point), McGonagall held up her hand. 

“Just the five of you, then. But if Mr.Weasley wants his space we will respect this and,” She looks dead-on at the twins, “I would advise to keep this within Gryffindor ears. Let’s go.” They depart swiftly as McGonagall tallies up the things that have gone wrong this morning. 

Oh, dear. It was quite a lot. 

McGonagall was ahead of the small party, but only by a hair, Fred and George on either side of her. Well, now her concern was significantly higher. While it was true that the Weasley family was a close family, the twins had never shown outright concern for their siblings, until Ron and Ginny had entered the school. Then again, McGonagall thought cynically, Ron and Ginny entered Hogwarts at a particularly bad time. Ronald especially. 

When the twins first entered Hogwarts, Percy was one of their main subjects of pranking. They weren’t outright cruel, save for a few instances including public humiliation, but there’d never been any usual displays of affection held by the twins for their older brother. 

How bad of a state was Percy in that Fred and George reacted to such lengths? 

Well, they would find out. McGonagall said the password then knocked on the 7th year boys’ dormitory. 

“Mr.Weasley, Mr.Wood, may I come in?” 

The door is yanked open by a confused looking Oliver, even more confused when he spots the twins and the “Golden trio”. 

“Professor? Guys? What’s going on?” Oliver moved his body to block the sight of the room from the party at the front but McGonagall could see someone moving underneath the blankets in the bed nearest the door. 

“Good morning Mr.Wood. About one-third of the Weasley clan has brought to my attention a matter concerning Mr.Weasley,” McGonagall gestures to the inside of the dorm to show which Weasley she was talking about, “ And if he’s ready, I’d like to talk with him about this matter. If he’s comfortable with it, then his brothers…and friends are welcome to join.” Aforementioned brothers and friends all try to squeeze into Oliverʻs eyesight, waving. 

“Uhh, Perce did you get that?” Oliver says instead, turning his head into the room. The lump underneath the bed moves once more and disheveled ginger hair pops out. 

“Yeah, let them in Olly.” McGonagall nods, strolling into the room. Percy sits up straighter on the bed, and the professor is taken aback at just how pasty he looks. Most of the Weasleys in general were faired skin, but Percy looked like all of the color was drained out of his face. His arms were perched lightly on top of the layers of blankets, bandages tied tight around them. 

“My dear boy, what happened?” McGonagall asked, holding back a gasp at how weak Percy looked. 

“Finals are not the best time for me, Professor.” He says instead, voice rough. Oliver runs to the bathroom to get him water. 

“My my, I understand your academic rigor but for you to be bedridden.” McGonagall nods to herself. If she remembers correctly, Percy was taking all of his high level classes and electives for his last year. “I’ll make sure that your teachers understand your workload and give you extensions to your papers and final projects.” 

Percy goes to protest, using his hand to perch himself up, almost falling on his right side when his arm collapses under the weight. Oliver is at his side, returning him back to leaning against his pillow. Quietly, he hands over a souvenir Quidditch cup. McGonagall notices, then adds, “And I’ll make sure Mr.Wood has the same extensions so he’s able to look after you.” Oliver also tries to protest, but stops himself. 

“Thanks, Professor.” 

“It’s come to my attention that Mr.Weasley refused to go to Madam Pomfrey, who put the bandages on his hand?” Oliver raises his hand. 

“That was me, Professor, got really good at it after Quidditch practice.” Harry nods his head enthusiastically. 

“I should’ve just had him bandage my hand last year instead of having Lockhart delete all of my arm bones.” McGonagall felt her migraine returning. Thank Merlin they had Remus. Despite being in a gang of hooligans, he was still alive and not in jail. 

“Be that as it may, I still want Mr.Weasley to go to Madam Pomfrey to make sure there’s no lasting damage.” The ginger hesitates, but nods. 

“Good. Now that that’s out of that way.” McGonagall clears her throat, “Would you mind regaling me with the story of how you found your dog?” McGonagall knew that, above everything else, she had to tread with care over this topic. Because if it turns out that “Brutus” was Black in disguise…

Well. Truly, she didn’t know what she would do. She looks back on those memories, although burnt at the edges with the bitter remnants of war (as war does), she adored the little Marauders as her students. Sad to say, she still had a soft spot in her heart for Sirius. Or at least, the Sirius not tainted by Voldemort’s image. She shook her head a bit to rid herself of the bitter taste that had crawled its way up her throat. 

“Oh, actually Professor,” Percy pulled back the covers to reveal pin striped pajamas, leaning a bit on Oliver to scoot his legs off the edge of the mattress, “Oliver and I were going to head down to Hagrid’s to feed Brutus. And. well.” His ears are tinged pink, “It’s not a very long story, and I don’t think there’s necessarily anything against Hogwarts’ bylaws with the Gamekeeper simply watching over a dog that just so happens to be owned by a student. Be that as it may—” The professor holds up a hand for Percy to shut up so he can catch his breath. In the corner of her eye, she sees Ron nudging Hermione and pointing at Percy. He gets shoved by both Harry and Hermione. 

“Alright then, are you alright to walk?” 

“Yes Professor, I’m just a bit lightheaded but the main damage was, was my arms.” He and Oliver stand up together, and the group makes their way down to the Gamekeeper’s hut.

“Well, Oliver and I were in the area shopping for muggle ballpoint pens.” Hermione’s eyes light up. 

“I didn’t know we were allowed to leave school grounds to go shopping!” She says, mind going wild with the stationary she missed out by going to Hogwarts. Truly, her multi-colored binder folder pockets she had before Hogwarts is one of her greatest sorrows. Percy goes red in the face, Oliver doesn’t make eye contact with McGonagall, and McGonagall herself wishes sorely for alcohol. 

“Well said, Ms.Granger, 5 points to Gryffindor. And five points away from Gryffindor for going off campus and to a muggle-occupied zone without the express permission of a teacher.” Oliver’s shame has worn off while Percy stutters through an apology, so he picks up the story. 

“After we went shopping, Percy asked me out then made out with me—” 

“I did not!” 

“Who’s gonna corroborate your story?” Percy shoves Oliver lovingly into a stone column. “ANYWAY. We go walking around and find an adoption center, where we met Brutus. So we took him to Hagrid’s. But he’s about one, and he’s already got all of his shots!” 

Well. That was definitely. It was definitely something. McGonagall zones out a little bit as she focuses on the Sirius Black sightings. He was nowhere near London. 

“What does Brutus look like?” Oliver, a bit thrown off at the question, answers it regardless, “Uh. He’s brown. Short hair, has some black fur too.” McGonagall nods. Dumbledore, that meddling fiend. He probably knew their dog wasn’t Sirius all along, he was just trying to see how far he could get her blood pressure to rise!

They reach the stone pathway to Hagrid’s hut, their shoes squeaking from the residing dew along the grass. The sun was once more covered, the previous night’s rain unable to evaporate in morning light. McGonagall knocks, and a small boof sounds from inside the house. 

“Come in!” Shouts Hargrid, “I’m holding back the little one.” 

Throughout the course of the trek, the twins were eerily silent. If McGonagall didn’t have her attention occupied with analyzing Percy and trying to ascertain his mental state, she would have been significantly more focused on the way the twins were hanging at the back of the group. 

Nevertheless, the group enters and crowds into Hagrid’s very cramped hunt. 

As soon as Fred shuts the door, Hagrid releases Brutus, who runs into Oliver’s waiting arms. He laughs, carrying the dog in his arms. Because of the sheer size of Brutus, despite being a puppy, Oliver could only hold just underneath the dog’s front legs. He wiggles Brutus in front of McGonagall. 

“Professor, meet Brutus!” Then lets go of the dog. Brutus tries to charge McGonagall but one severe look from her has the poor dog cowed, instead tackling George, then Fred, to the ground. On top of a pile of gingers, Brutus settles and lets his tongue roll out of his mouth. 

“Good boy!” Oliver cheers. The Golden Trio takes to the couch, Ron settling near Fang while Hermione and Harry ask if there’s been any updates with Buckbeak. Hagrid is very brave, but still breaks down in tears. 

“Oh, it’s terrible!” Hagrid wails, blowing into his handkerchief. “They chose tomorrow for the execution! Malfoy is gonna bring down his own executioner too!” His handkerchief becomes drenched in snot. Hermione casts a cleaning spell and lightly pats his shoulder. 

McGonagall looks from the various activities of her Gryffindors. The twins are struggling under Brutus’ weight while Percy and Oliver are at the dining table, trying to figure out which spell to cast on the abnormally heavy tea pot for tea (Percy wants to use the warming spell, Oliver is adamant that they could get the same result with Bombarda. Percy calls him an idiot, McGonagall ignores the language because of how justified it is). There truly never is a dull day with these students, was there? 

She decides to completely ignore the twins and the couple, instead picking one of the seats and transfiguring an errant button into a new handkerchief, offering it out to Hagrid. 

“I’m sorry Hagrid, I know how much Buckbeak meant to you.” 

“I raised him for a little egg, you know. Just out ‘o Hogwarts, with my wand snapped. Was with my brother, I was. Running through the woods with me Mum’s family, I found a trampled nest. That side of the family, not good. But there was one little one left, and I took him in, used me own shirt and a fire to keep ‘im warm.” Hagrid sniffles. “Oh, him and Aragog, they were siblings they were.” McGonagall can feel her eyes twitch. She remembers Aragog, the thrice-damned man-eating spider. 

“I'm sure Aragog misses him." Harry tries to console. Hagrid sobs louder. 

As Percy and Oliver continue to argue over why exploding Hagrid’s teapot is a bad thing and the  Golden Trio plus McGonagall try to comfort Hagrid, Fred and George begin plotting. 

Because Percy, though that dunce tried to hide it, was still very much leaning on Oliver any chance he’d get. Pausing in between his sentences to catch his breath, filling up his silences with playful glares at Brutus’ energy or Oliver’s stupidity. But the twins could very clearly see that he should not have made such a long walk in such cold weather, still winded from whatever came over him when they woke him up. And. Fred looked at George, who looked back at Fred. 

Not once had Percy stopped looking at them. Every spare glance, every caught breath. A glance to Fred’s shoulder, or a short peer at George’s leg. The twins made sure to hang at the back of the group to see if Percy would continue looking at them. But if anything, his glances were even more frequent! 

And not once did Percy look them in the eyes. 

“Well, this was nice and all, but I think me and Forge need to bask in the sunshine before we get taken in once again by our evil master.” Gred says, mock dusting off his pants, Forge follows suit. 

“Absolutely right Gred, he’s an evil one our master. Made us almost collapse on our brooms Friday. Horrible, horrible slave driver.” Forge replies, tipping an invisible hat and opening the door for Gred. It looks like they had a lot to talk about, then. 

“Good riddance!” Oliver calls after them in between laughs, picking up one of the tea saucers to throw at them. When the twins saw his arm winding back, they scrambled out the door, crying for mercy. 

McGonagall shot him a glare, and Oliver put his hands up in mock offense. “I wasn’t actually going to throw it at them.” Percy looked at him this time, and Oliver had the sense to fully put down the saucer, “That hard, anyways.” 

“My goodness,” McGonagall murmurs under her breath, then gets up herself. “Mr.Weasley please do not forget to go the hospital wing, I will be checking in with Madam Pomfrey tonight to see about your health.” And also to go drinking, but she wasn’t about to tell her little lions that. Her expression lightens a little, grasping Percy’s shoulder, “And, please, do not hesitate to come to me or your peers about any of your anxieties that you may be feeling. The transition from student to adult is one of the biggest ones you’ll face, and you have people to help you with it.” She tightens her grip for just a second before releasing it, bidding a farewell to Oliver and the trio before going back to the Great Hall to finish her breakfast. 

“She’s a good Head of House, McGonagall is.” Hagrid says, folding up the tissue and pocketing it to wash later. 

“Did you go to school together?” Hermione asks, shooting a confused look at Percy and Oliver as Oliver almost casts the bombarda spell.

Hagrid nods, his dread momentarily forgotten as he reminisces on a young Minvera McGonagall, “Not school, school. But I was the Gamekeeper here when she was doing her Hogwarts schooling.” 

The students looks at Hagrid in shock, horror, some even awe.

“What?” Hagrid asks, confused at their confusion. 

“But. But.” Ron tries to piece together, in a not so rude way, but that’s what Harry is for. 

“But isn’t McGonagall older than you?” Harry finishes. Percy wheezes. Oh to be socially unaware. He finally decides to make Oliver carry the empty teapot over to the fire. When he has the stupidly big thing on the stove top, Oliver moves water from the well to inside of the kettle to boil. 

Percy sniffs, “Much easier than a bombarda.” 

“You didn’t have to carry the damned thing.” Oliver mumbles. 

Hagrid looks at Harry, then to the other students who are looking back at him, then laughs. 

“Fer goodness sake, Minnie ? Good heavens no! Oh, her and little Pomona are years younger than me, Snape and little Remus the young’uns in the teaching staff.” 

More shock, horror, a healthy amount of confusion. But Hagrid keeps on going. First he stands up, stretching his legs and opening the door so the dogs can go outside to do their business if need be, before telling his favorite stories about Minnie the Brave.

Chapter Text

“She started a few years right after I got expelled. But she was a tough one! One of the best duelers in her year, might have even created a new spell by graduation time, now that I think about it.” Hagrid looks lost in thought. 

“Fiery thing she was, so full of courage.” As Hagrid starts his story, Percy lets the tea leaves flutter into the kettle, joining his boyfriend (his boyfriend!) on the floor. 

Minerva “Minnie” McGonagal. Minnie to absolutely no one except little Pomona, the first year Hufflepuff that punched a Slytherin to “defend Minnie’s honor”. Now in her third year, Minerva was tired. Her dumbfuck brother, Malcolm, just got sorted into Hufflepuff and she was so sick of his constant buffoonery! How does one get their head stuck in the banisters of the moving stairs, then try to get out while it was moving . 

Oliver cracks up at that, nudging Percy and pointing at Ron, saying, “That’s you!” 

It was on a November day, fresh out of the Halloween feast, that Minerva went down to accompany Malcom’s Herbology class. It was for first years, but the teacher at the time let Minerva and a few other third years come along since their Herbology class had been canceled for the week. 

“Come along, Minnie!” Malcom says, pulling on Minerva’s long, sensible coat. His own coat abandoned in a messy heap in his dorm room. Minerva rolls her eyes, shoving her little brother. 

“For goodness sake, Mal! The group is right there, they won’t get away from you.” Despite her shoving, she made sure that Malcom never fell to the floor. An older sister, Minerva was. And a protective one, too. 

The rest of the Herbology group was a few paces ahead, and McGonagall took this nice walk to look at the niceness of the Forbidden Forest. It wasn’t often that students could travel into these woods, with dangerous animals and creatures lurking about. Her class was canceled because of a rare beast being spotted by the headmaster himself. 

“Robbie, stay close!” Minerva calls out, flicking her wand and pulling the young boy back. 

“Minnieeee.” 

“Don’t ‘Minnie’ me, what if something eats you out there? What am I supposed to tell Ma and Pa?” Mal sniffs.

“That I died a hero’s death!” Minerva thunks him on the head. 

“Hufflepuffs! Aren’t you supposed to be cowards?!” 

“Ow! Hey, You’re a Gryfinndor, aren’t you supposed to be stupid?!” 

“But I could’ve been a Ravenclaw.” Mal sticks out her tongue. In a fit of childness, she sticks her tongue out right back. Both of them devolved into giggles. They shove each other playfully, the main group becoming father and father away. 

“Hey.” Malcom says, looking up. “Where’d all this mist come from?” Minerva is immediately on guard, grabbing Malcom and physically shoving him behind her. 

“Stay there.” She tries to dispel the mist with a wind charm, the gale blowing away a majority of the mist and a good bit of the leaves. She goes to repeat the charm until she notices a hulking figure. 

A gruesome maw, with red-tinted spittle hanging off sharpened teeth. Something flesh-like caught in between each canine as it roared at the pair. The mouth was the first thing Minerva saw, then the mane. Huge and a dirty blond color, matching the fur beneath. In stunned horror, the only thing Minerva could possibly compare it to was a horrible mismatch of one of the lions they had seen at the zoo. It roared once more, then reared back showing a horrible purple scorpion tail, sharpened at the very end with a stinger. The tail flung itself till flush with the floor then launched back up. 

“MALCOLM DOWN!” Minerva shouted, grabbing her younger brother by the scruff then jumped to the right, landing hard on the floor. Malcolm screamed, but it wasn’t loud enough to cover the sound of the barb releasing from the animal’s tail, landing in the dirt right where Malcolm’s head was. 

“A manticore?” Hermione asks, clutching Ron’s sleeves. 

“A manticore.” Hagrid affirms. Percy makes the tea kettle pour itself into the little cups, Oliver looking at him in thinly-veiled disgruntlement. This whole time, he could have made the tea himself. Yet Oliver had to carry the teapot? Priss. 

“Those sound rare.” Harry says, looking at Ron. The ginger, gone pale, nods. 

“They’re technically sentient beings. But never got the classification because no bugger has ever been close enough to talk with them and lived to tell the tale. ‘Cept Minerva, that is.” 

The barb that was stuck in the ground came up to Minerva’s shoulder, and that was half-submerged in the dirt. With a disgusting shlccck , another barb readied itself in the creature’s tail, still aimed for Malcolm. Minerva calls up a giant wall of dirt, reinforces it, then turns to her little brother. Tears pour down his ruddy face, and McGonagall tries her best to clear them, but gets mud on his cheek. 

“Run. Run until your find the Professor. Only let the Professor come back.” She speaks fast, but demanding. The creature’s barb goes through the dirt wall, the tip striking almost completely through the wall, a hearty third of it sticking out. Something acidic drips off the end, burning the ground. Malcolm lets out another wail that is quickly hushed by Minerva. At this point, her neat bun is in disarray, hair falling out from the hair tie she secured tight at the base of her skull. Mud all over her nice coat and her uniform. Despite the mess, she couldn’t find it in herself to care about the grime, doing another once-over of Malcolm. He wasn’t hurt. That was all that mattered. 

“Run. Do not talk, run.” He nods, and she pulls him into a hug, kissing the top of his head. Minerva’s coloring took after her Ma, a brunette and fair skin. But Malcolm and Robert had Da’s coloring, bright ass orange with faint freckles. The only thing that even linked the three of them as siblings were their voices, Minerva and Robert with the Da’s temper. But Malcolm. Sweet Malcolm, somehow got their Ma’s generous disposition. Minerva couldn’t have that right now. 

She shoves him into the glade, pushing her magical abilities to her max as wall after wall of compacted dirt covers her little brother. 

Another roar, the wall fully comes down to reveal the manticore. Minerva turns, then screams back, pushing cutting spell after exploding spell onto the creature. 

But the spells flow off its back as liquid, the beast slinking barb after barb that Minerva barely dodges each time. But dodge she does, well aware that one shot of it will mean her doom. 

“At the time, she didn’t know what it was. Just that it wanted her dead.” Hagrid says, taking a sip from the tea that was on his side. 

“Why was there a manticore on the grounds?” Oliver asks. 

Hagrid grumbles, “One of the rich. At the time, there was a belief that manticore’s, newly discovered to some parts of the world, could be handled. And so all the well-to-do needed one in their stables. But, this little beaut’ got loose. Maimed a man something fierce, too. I reckon she went to the Forbidden Forest because of how warm it was. November, awfully cold over here. But the Forest has those hotspots from the volcanoes.” 

“Volcanoes!?” 

“Volcanoes!” Hagrid says, then does not elaborate. “She was one of the beauties that helped me create the Blast-Ended Skrewts.” 

After realizing magic wouldn’t work on it, Minerva looked around her surroundings. Then, in a fit of true Ravenclaw fashion, realized that if magic wouldn’t hurt it, then perhaps force would. First, Minerva lured the creature into the left side of the clearing, aiming a cutting spell at a tree on the opposite side of the area. The spell tore down a branch that was just as tall as her, and half as wide. As the creature released its stinger, she ran to the right side, reinforcing the branch as she went, then flung her wand away and hauled the branch over her shoulder. 

“Y’see, she didn’t just reinforce the branch, she also sharpened it.” 

This next action was done in a fit of true Gryffindor courage. As the creature released another barb, Minerva gave her own roar, throwing the stake into its chest, driving it deeper until the manticore stopped moving, even stopped growling. Instead, it cooed at her, paws beckoning her forward. She was almost lulled, if it wasn’t for the shouts coming from the other side of the glade. 

“MINNNIEEEEE.” Pomona shouted, tugging her professor in one hand and Malcolm in the other. 

“In the end, the manticore was barely damaged, just a little scared at Minnie’s roar. The Professor didn’t even need to restrain the poor lass, just lead it to me. She was a nice one after that, raising little Jerry well into her golden ages.” 

“Jerry?” Ron asks. 

“That was the name of the first Blast-Ended Skrewt.” 

“Oh.” Ron wished he didn’t ask. 

Minerva, grateful that she was alive, exhausted because of how much magic she used, was also angry. So, terribly angry. She wagged her finger at Malcolm, and screamed at the top of her lungs. 

“I SAID TO BRING THE PROFESSOR ONLY. YOU COULD’VE GOTTEN KILLED YOU—” Then she whirled on Pomona, “AND YOU. WHAT IF THE CREATURE HAD GOTTEN YOU?!” Affronted, and so terribly angry, she pulled both of them into her arms and sobbed. Her legs gave out, and she dragged the two little first years—the two almost-dead first years, down with her to the floor. 

“Little Minerva, so fierce, had to stay in the hospital wing for almost a month. But didn’t, she snuck out so she could compete in the Quidditch match against Ravenclaw!” Hagrid said. The Golden Trio were starry-eyed as Hagrid described their strict, stick-in-the-mud teacher as a rule-breaking brother-defending warrior. Percy also couldn’t help but feel some weird sort of patriotic confidence in Gryffindor. Yeah, that was his house, and he had a bad ass in charge of it. 

During the story, Fang and Brutus had gone outside to relieve themselves and play within the pumpkin patch. Fang was teaching Brutus how to be housebroken, and it was going pretty well so far. They were cozying up to be Buckbeak, the Hippogriff using a pumpkin as a little perch. It was cold, colder in the areas with the dementors. Which is why they stayed by Buckbeak, who would growl at the wraiths until they went away. 

Out from the underbrush, another dog slowly emerged. This one, very emaciated, went slowly up to the three of them. Brutus was the first one to notice him. Maybe connecting some sort of kinship with the way he was treated, Brutus went over to the big black dog and nudged him into their little group. The black dog, weary and very, very tired, readily agreed. 

Back at the hut, Hagrid chats with them, then shoos all of them off to enjoy their Sunday off (and to work on their assignments, significantly looking at Ron). Percy and Oliver are left, helping Hagrid wash the mugs strewn about and chatting about the logistics for Brutus. 

“Well, I leave out the food for Fang and Brutus outside, and Fang has been teaching Brutus the ins and outs of it. Usually I just feed them whatever I be eating. Chickens and the like.” Percy nods. When Brutus goes to live with Oliver’s parents, they’ll probably start feeding him kibble, or at least something more balanced. But, well, Fang’s turned out alright so he supposed that Brutus should be too. 

“Thanks for this again, Hagrid.” Oliver says, slinging the dish towel over his shoulder as he scrubs at the mugs. “We’ll pop by again for lunch.” but Hagrid waves them off. 

“I wasn’t just talking to the kids, you both need to relax. Especially you, Percy! My goodness, I’ve never seen Professor McGonagall so concerned for a student since her brothers!” 

Percy looks at Oliver then back at Hagrid. “Then we’ll be back tomorrow.” Hagrid looks away. 

“I don’t know if something so visceral should be seen by students.” Hagrid starts getting teary-eyed but Oliver and Percy do not back down. 

“Hagrid, you should not have to go through this by yourself! Especially for a needless death,” Hagrid chokes back a sob at the word ‘death’ and Percy winces at his poor choice in wording, Oliver continues. 

“Especially for someone as important in your life as Buckbeak.” Hagrid nods. 

“Thank you boys, oh.” He hugs them both, Percy squeaking with the air just pushed out of his lungs. Soon enough, they depart, both of them calling out for Brutus. An answering boof , directs them towards Buckbeak. 

“There you are, Brutus.” Percy says, then stops in his steps as he sees the other canine companion. A black dog, with matted and soggy fur. It almost hangs off his body, implying its starved nature. The black dog is curled up in between Brutus and Fang, with Buckbeak looking over all three. 

“Ah shit.” Percy mutters under his breath. It would be his fucking dog that’s cuddled up with a serial killer, wouldn’t it be? 

“Oh, Brutus made a friend.” Oliver said, leaning to place his head on Percy’s shoulder. 

“Yeah. C’mon, let’s get something to eat.” Percy grabs Oliver’s hand, going out to the Great Hall. He leaves the animals unbothered. But still, the gears in his head turn as they hike their way up the grounds. 

“So,” Oliver’s words are softer now that it’s the two of them. “This morning was intense.” Percy stiffened, looking at his feet instead of Oliver. 

“It was.” And that was all Percy needed to say on the matter. 

“Then let’s take it easy for the rest of the day. No studying, maybe no Quidditch.” Oliver says, crowding Percy’s personal space. Percy smiles, a little twitch of his lips, but it was a smile enough. The twins weren’t the only ones watching Percy, after all. And Oliver was also growing concerned at just how different Percy seemed when the twins were in his vicinity, glad they bowed out the earliest out of their group. Some color had come back into Percy’s face, but not much. 

The Great Hall was filled with a gentler hustle-and-bustle, breakfast time almost over. A handful of each student from the houses and a smattering of teachers with newspapers and errant assignments spread out among their morning spread. The people that were there, however, were very keen to watch the newest couple stroll in, very close together, too. 

Among the Gryffindor table, half of the Quidditch team came up to tell their congratulations while also not-so-subtly checking up on Percy to make sure he was ok. Oliver shooed them away so they could enjoy their morning in relative peace. 

Meanwhile, up at the teacher’s table, McGonagall was still ripping Dumbledore a new one. Dumbledore, in kind, smiled, and gestured to the newly entered couple. 

“Look at how beautiful young love is.” 

“UGH.” McGonagall exclaimed, loud enough for the teacher and all the students to hear. 

“Perhaps it’s better we take this back to my office, Albus?” McGonagall said calmly, anything but calm. Albus nodded his gentle nod and got up, gesturing for McGonagall to lead the way. McGonagall also wanted to gesture to Albus, but in a very rude way. 

The walk back to her office is anything but calm, Dumbledore barely able to keep up with McGonagall’s brisk walk. Which was saying something since Dumbledore really tried not to miss leg day. But he can understand why McGonagall was outpacing him, today he decided to do chest AND legs. Occasionally, McGonagall fired non-verbal tripping spells just to see if the old fool was agile enough to still dodge. 

As soon as her door was shut and the wards up, she rounds on Dumbledore, “Cut the crap, Albus. You have some stupid, terribly dangerous plan with my students and I refuse for them to be a part of it!” She shouts. Dumbledore holds his hand to signal peace but she bats away his palms. 

“No! It has been like this from the very start. First Potter, then his friends. But now Weasley and Wood? What have they got to do with any of this! There is no “great prophecy” about either of them.” Mcgonagall rampages on Dumbledore, so sick of his manipulation on her poor students. 

“Even from the very beginning. Don’t you dare look at me like that, Albus. You know very well what I’m talking about. With Lily, with James, and Remus, and poor Peter, and, and.” She slams her fist down on the table, “And with Sirius!”

“You know just as well as I that Sirius made his own choice, and no matter what we could do—”

“But without a fair trial, Albus? Without a chance for any justice. ” She grips the table now, catching her breath. Albus is at her side. 

“Minnerva, truly, what is weighing so heavily on your mind?” A sigh leaves her, along with a good majority of her anger. Albus and his manipulations! While it was a wonderful thing for the first Wizarding War, against some of the most heinous people Minerva had ever fought, she did not appreciate them now. Especially when the people at the center of it were nothing but children. Nothing but her children.

Straightening her robes out to appear more imposing as she feels, to stimulate some sort of confidence that she doesn’t much feel now, she confesses, “I’ve never wanted kids. Mal and Robby’s little runts the most I could handle. But Albus, those foolish, foolish boys and sweet, sweet Lily. They were truly my own. And to see them as this , horribly in pain, dead, or a killer? Albus, my heart aches. And now, with Harry, and the Weasleys, even Granger. I can’t lose anyone else, Albus. Truly, I cannot.” Albus closes the distance between them, hugging her softly and fully. 

“I’m sorry that this has caused you so much pain, Minerva. Loss. Loss.” Each time he says the word, it seems to gain a heavier weight. They separate and he looks down at his hands, twirling a small yellow hard candy between each one. 

“Loss is something that is not meant to be wished on anyone. For it’s something that everyone will soon know. I’m sorry that you had to become so well-acquainted, and that it continues to call on you. Truly, I do not have something in plan for the dear Weasley and Wood couple. I was simply. Recollecting my own loss.” She fixes her gaze at Albus, understanding striking her. 

“Oh, Albus.” 

He nods, “Such young love. It was known to me once, too.” 

“You and. And Grindelwald, yes?” Minerva bit back the flinch that threatened to twitch her entire body. Grindelwald was dead. Albus could not hide the sorrow that reached his own face when Minerva said his name. 

“Yes. Gellert and I.” He looks towards Minerva. 

“Would you care to entertain an old fool and his stories?” 

Minerva smiles at him, “I would very much like to.” 

Albus Dumbledore. The Gryffindor prodigy of Hogwarts, a young upstart with talent for wandless and non-verbal spells. With his shoes completely covered in mud. He tsks at them. They weren’t particularly good boots, but they were his and they were the newest boots he had. His other shoes, his good J.W. running shoes, met the unfortunate end when one of Aberforth’s goats decided it preferred the taste of rubber to grass. And Dumbledore really tried to not miss his leg days, so while the muggle post took its time, the leather boots would have to do (he hoped the boots came before his hill day). 

It rained the night prior, and perhaps Albus should have taken into account that where rain comes, mud will soon follow. Aberforth snorts at his misfortune. Because of course Aberforth would. Albus shoots him a long suffering glance. But Aberforth raises the newspaper higher. 

The morning prior, with heavy clouds filled with rain, Albus ran into his neighbor, Bathilda Bagshot, at the market. Truly lovely, but could not stop talking about her book for the life of her. When they ran into each other, Albus was looking for any excuse to get out of talking with her. But with a surprisingly strong grip, Bathilda grabbed his arm and insisted that she must meet her nephew. 

He was visiting from another country—Germany, and oh how positively different and dark Germany’s magic was compared to Britain's—and didn’t have many companions in little old Godric Hollows. She was so earnest, and her grip was near painful, so what else was Albus to do but agree? Now here he was, a dirty shoe and a snickering brother. 

“I’ll be leaving now for tea with Madame Bagshot and her nephew.” 

“Good riddance, hope you don’t come back.” Aberforth says, flipping him off. Albus rolls his eyes. 

They were neighbors, yes, but halfway slogging through the deeper and deeper mud puddles, Albus got a bit sick of it. So he apparated right outside of the wards, looking around to make sure there were no muggles, then flicked the mud off his shoes. The dirt and grime flew to his left. Where someone lightly coughed. 

And that is how Albus Dumbledore met one of the darkest wizards in all of Europe. 

“Oh you’re joking!” Minerva gasped aloud, covering her hand with her mouth. 

“I wish I was.” Dumbledore, a smile on his face. He waves his hand, a house elf popping into the office. 

“Could you please bring some tea and sandwiches?” The house elf nods, popping back not a minute later with a small spread of tea sandwiches, biscuits, and tea. 

“To sooth my poor ego.” Albus says, picking up one of the little sandwiches while Minerva pours tea for the both of them. 

Albus stares in abject horror at the man covered head to toe in muck. The moments of gaping were too slow for the other, who takes out his own wand and disposes of the mud, slicking back his hair. Albus takes in the features of the other, from the sharp cheekbones to the near white blonde hair. Then when he looks up at Albus, with mismatched irises, well. Albus’ fate had been sealed. 

“I’m so, so—” Albus begins, locking eyes with the other, then quickly finding the sight of his shoes a much better sight—if only so his tongue wouldn’t get caught between his teeth at the view. “You have my full apologies. And, and more. Incredibly more. My goodness, I’m usually much more aware of my surroundings.” 

The other doesn’t reply, simply extends out a hand, gloved in some type of black fabric that Albus would’ve bet to be dragonhide. 

“Gellert Grindelwald. And no apologies needed for such a memorable meeting. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever had someone sneak up on me to flick mud all over my new vest. “

“O-oh, it’s new? A very nice vest indeed.” Albus stumbles, then remembers his own manners, accepting the handshake, “Albus Dumbldore, at your service.” 

Instead of shaking his hand, as Albus thought he would, Gellert brings his hand up to his face, kissing the knuckle softly. 

“A pleasure.” 

“Oh, Albus!” Minerva said, shocked at how flirtatious a young dark wizard was. Albus laughs heartily. 

“Gellert was wily in our younger days, I should have known his…amorous ways wouldn’t last forever, but.” 

Albus and Gellert grew close in the upcoming weeks, using the poor weather as an excuse to meet outside under waterproofed disillusionment charms in the parks, or in the Bagshot study room. At one point, Albus even took Gellert on one of his runs—poor boy nearly matched the weather in his disposition after. And, though Albus was the oldest and the head of the Dumbledore family, his responsibilities fell to Aberforth. 

It seemed like it was Albus and Gellert against the world, caught up in each other’s time. They would always be together, in mock-duels, weight-lifting (one of Albus’ treasured hobbies), researching for Gellert’s hobbies, simply looking up at the stars. Gellert knew each constellation Albus pointed at by heart. Their relationship, though fast, was boosted by both of their tenuous relationships with their family concerning their gifts. 

“When I was with him, my own duties to Ariana and Aberforth fell away. All of the stress from our parents’ misfortune was whisked away by his sweet words of this magical paradise where muggles would not mean the loss of future wizard blood.” A much older, weighed down Albus says to Minerva. He put his own cup down. “All of his ideals were like that. Us or them, the pure versus the banal—the magic-less.” 

For this younger Albus, just beginning to come into his own power, it was easy to fall hard for Gellert’s words, and Gellert himself. Even if some of his phrasing around muggle things, or muggles in general were a little suspicious, it was nothing but words. And words could not hurt as much as the tangible could. 

Just the two of them, in a bubble that bounced back both of their rhetorics till it was nothing but one united way of thinking. 

“Dirty, vile little things. With no magic, no purity in themselves.” Gellert said, muttering under his breath at the muggle couple that looked at his and Albus’ interlocked hands with disdain, the muggle man muttering something himself to his girlfriend. They walked away quickly, something like disgust in both of their eyes. 

“Gellert, if you know only anger, it will only make forgiveness all the more bitter.” Albus says, squeezing his boyfriend’s hand. Immediately, Gellert’s own expression softens. 

“What have I for bitter forgiveness when your sweetness is all I need?” He says, leaning his weight against Albus and drawing close to the other. 

“In another life, perhaps we would have been wed.” Albus says, like he was commenting on the weather. “We were young and foolish enough, our love was strong enough. But the circumstances. Oh, Minerva. If only the circumstances had been different.” 

Minerva smiles back, taking Albus’ hand that was perched on the table. “I know what you mean.” Her own thoughts go back to a muggle farmer, charming in his smile. Charming in his words. But his own world too different from Minerva’s own for their love to be anything but cut short.

Just Albus and Gellert inside of their little bubble, till Aberforth came and popped it. Pulling Albus headfirst from his near-self isolation. And not just momentarily suspending the bubble, but dismantling the bubble-making machine, too. The fight that followed, filled with shouting and spells thrown on each side. Oh. No one knew, not for sure, which one struck little Arianna squarely in the heart. 

None knew, but all left with that wedge of loss lodged in their stomach. 

“Lunch already.” Albus notices, eyes cast out the window of Minerva’s office. 

“It’s 5 o’ clock somewhere,” Minerva says, getting up and taking out a very nice bottle of sherry from one of her locked drawers. Albus claps his hands together. 

“Perhaps this is why the hat almost put you in Ravenclaw, for these bright ideas.” 

Both pour themselves a mean helping of the alcohol. 

“No, my dear Albus, I think this is why he wanted to put me in Gryffindor.” 

They cheer, their glasses clinking.

Chapter Text

“I really do feel like alcohol is the right gift to bring to a funeral.” Oliver asserts, in between bites of the leftover food from his and Percy’s time in the kitchens. 

Percy rolls his eyes, straightening out the flowers he made Neville get from the greenhouse. It was compensation for betting on his and Oliver’s relationship (and winning). “It’ll also be our last gift we give to any of the teachers while still students at Hogwarts.” 

“Stick in the mud.” 

“Soon to be ex-Hogwarts student.” 

“Why? I’m not going to give Hagrid any alcohol.” Oliver says, fixing Percy’s crooked collar. For being so uptight about his appearance, there was always something that wouldn’t lay just so before they went out. 

“Thanks, I can never get the collar quite right. Because I’m going to wrangle you if you bring up the alcohol thing again.” Percy says, opening the door. 

“I thought your kinks were supposed to stay inside of the bed—” 

There was quite a bit of younger students who heard what Oliver was saying, and who observed when he got abruptly cut off by Percy WWE-ing Oliver over the bannister, face completely red. Oliver was quick enough to cast a cushioning charm in between his fits of laughter. Their trek to Hagrid’s hut was filled with Oliver teasing Percy about his horrible ginger temper. 

“For you, Hagrid. Oh, hi Harry, Hermione, Gremlin.” Percy outstretches the flowers. Blue powder came off one of the larger roses, causing whatever it touched to emit a soft glow. Hagrid grins broadly at them, stepping aside to let Brutus tackle Percy to the floor this time. 

“My, it seems they finally bloomed! I know Professor Sprout was trying all month for these little ones to get enough sunlight.” 

“Since Neville was one of the students to help with rotating the plants, he was able to give us some of the blooms.” Oliver says, heading over to tell Brutus hello. 

“He says that if you collect the powder and crush up the dried petals it can be used as apple flavoring.” Hagrid nods. 

“These grow wild out by the volcanoes in the forest—” 

“There is it again, are there actually volcanoes in the Forbidden Forest—” Ron gets cut off by Hagrid talking over him. 

“---And are a nice snack all on their own.” Hagrid eats one of the blooms. 

Oliver nudges Percy. “See, do you really think that was better than alcohol?” Percy swats Oliver. 

The five of them were early to Buckbeak’s funeral, Buckbeak was stomping outside with Fang. Oliver looked at the creature, trying to figure out how Buckbeak would get out of his execution. Hagrid lets out one of those deep sighs, running a hand through his combed beard. He was in his best clothes, hair nicely brushed and out of his face, too. 

“Oh, Hagrid what happened to your vase?” Percy asks, noticing the spilt over sand. Hagrid shrugs, looking uneasy. Percy repairs it, then Hagrid clears his throat. 

“I appreciate all of you coming down here, but I’m afraid you can’t stay. I ran into Dumbledore yesterday—good man was on one of his runs ‘round the castle—and he told me that one of the higher ups would be coming over too, making sure my Buckbeak gets. Get.” He sniffles, “Anyway. It wouldn’t look too good if you were here. Good kids, all of you. But you shouldn’t be here for something like this.” Percy goes to interject, but Oliver grabs his hand, nodding. Although whatever Oliver was going to say got drowned out by the Golden Trio’s shouts of friendship and sticking together with Hagrid through tough and thin. 

“ANYWAY,” But Oliver had the louder voice, “Perce and I are going to dip.” 

“Wait what, why are we going to—” 

“Good luck, Hagrid! We’ll stop by tomorrow—” 

“Let me down Oliver Wood, you brute! Put me down!” Oliver also whistles, patting his side for Brutus to follow them. 

“Bye kiddies, go home or else!” With Percy over his shoulder like a bag of rice and their dog following them, the other trio leaves. 

Left in the silence of whatever the fuck that was, Ron turns to Harry, “Professor Dumbledore runs?” 

“OLIVER WOOD.” Percy shouts, banging his bandaged hands on the other’s back. Come on, this Oliver was smaller than the one in his old time but how was he able to just pick Percy up like that.

As Oliver was manhandling poor Percy, they both failed to notice Albus Dumbledore and two others trailing behind him. One of them, a very portly man with a bowler hat, looked at the couple in disdain. The last fellow in the group, dressed in leather with a large ax, looked disinterested in being there. 

“Albus, can’t you control your students?” 

“Ah, young love.” Albus says in return, grateful for the sobriety potion he took that morning. 

Oliver and Percy traveled quite a ways into the forest, Oliver finally putting Percy down when they reached a clearing. There were smaller trees, the whole place looked almost ethereal with its blue glow. Percy would have been admiring the sight, even the sweet scent of apples in the air if he wasn’t so pissed at Oliver. 

“Percy!” Oliver said, finding a stick and sitting down on a rock. He begins drawing in the dirt. “Percy, I have a plan. We’re going to steal Buckbeak before Lucius and his goon kills him.” 

And the ginger’s a little floored.

“Are you out of your mind?” 

“No!” Oliver thinks about it, “Maybe a little bit?” 

“How would you—this is a ministry-ordained execution!” 

“But it can’t be an execution, if there’s nothing to execute.”

“What.” Percy deadpans. 

Oliver spends the next hour sketching out how they would lure away Buckbeak with treats into the Forbidden Forest until Lucius and his goon go away, then have Buckbeak fly away to somewhere safe. 

“Charlie wouldn’t have the means to shelter someone as big as Buckbeak. And I don’t think we could miniaturize him without any significant consequences.” 

Oliver hums and haws at it, then snaps, “What about that little cottage that Fleur and Bill settle in? It’s really remote. They wouldn’t mind.” 

“Shell cottage?” Percy clarifies. Oliver nods. 

“My aunt is currently in charge of it. It is under the fidelius charm. But I’m not the secret keeper. What about your parents’ place?” Oliver shakes his head. 

“Buckbeak is too much of a magical creature and they still live in a muggle community. Maybe we just…keep him in the Forbidden Forest?” 

“But if he seeks out Hagrid, then Lucius will just resume the execution.” 

“Maybe we could threaten Draco to tell his Daddy not to kill one of the best creatures in the world?” 

“Then Lucius would probably kill us .” 

Their plans were reduced to nothing more than petty squabbles at that point. Oliver groans in frustration, scuffing at his plans with his shoe. 

“I don’t want him to die, Perce. Not when I can stop it.” Oliver seeks out the darkness of his palms, putting his hands to his head. 

The defeat of Voldemort. It was supposed to be sweet. Supposed to have people cheering and celebrating just like that first war. But this second time? When the warriors were lanky teens and little kids? It was silent and bitter. Heaviness in the bones of those that remained, from the weight of the dead splayed across the floor. And Oliver was no different, he could barely walk. 

What did set him apart were the stares. Because when the war finished, it was very clear that he did not kill. He slaughtered, maimed. Blood worn more like cloth on his body than its true use. But Buckbeak, in those moments that mattered, came up to him. Bowed. Let him pet the ruffled and same blood-soaked feathers. Let him ride to Percy, Percy’s sobs. 

“Not anymore Percy,” The twig breaks under his grip. He feels hot all over, something bubbling up within him. “I’ve killed so much Percy. But Buckbeak still trusted me. Let me find my way to you. Flew over all the destruction, all the death. Just so I could,” Oliver can barely breathe, sweat dripping down his brow, soaking through the nice dress shirt. It was the colder months, but Oliver was burning up. Panting, he loosened his tie, trying to focus on something other than the extreme burning that came over him. 

“Oliver, Oliver what’s wrong?” Percy says, touching Oliver’s forehead then reeling back as if he was burned. He was burned. 

“Oliver?” 

“It’s, it’s so hot. But I cannot. Percy I cannot.” Oliver says in between wheezing breaths. Brutus starts growling, barking at Oliver. Percy whirls around, looking for any source of water, before mentally saying fuck it. 

“Aguamenti!” Percy shouts, summoning a burst of water to dump over Oliver’s head. The hiss of smoke comes off his body, the water near evaporating. Percy repeats the spell twice more before he’s able to touch Oliver, pulling him away from the rock. 

And just as he thought, the stone melts away, the very ground around them shaking. And with Oliver firmly behind him, burning and sopping wet, Percy watches in expectant awe as a volcano pops up from the ground. 

A what. 

Percy does a double take. And sure as the nighttime settles above them, a small volcano emerges from where Oliver was seated. 

A small mound, just coming up to Percy’s hip, with rock the same brown as the mud around it. At its main vent, slow streams of lava slowly but surely flowed down. This little lava stream turned the mud around it to some type of obsidian, sparks flying off whenever it met anything with liquid. 

“What.” Is all Percy can really say. 

“What is that?” Oliver slurs, fully leaning himself against Percy and soaking the back of Percy’s nice dress shirt and pants. Oliver goddamned Wood. 

“I’ve read about them in class, they’re volcanoes that can be used as sources of magical power. They’re rare because wizards would hunt them to extinction.” 

“Wow, Percy.” Oliver says, genuinely amazed at the depth of his boyfriend’s (his boyfriend!) knowledge of the magical world. “How in the world does your mind have the capacity to hold so much knowledge.” 

“That was a fucking lie Wood, I don’t know what the shit that is. We’re running NOW. BRUTUS, GO.” Percy fucking shoves him in the general direction of Hagrid’s hut and the school before booking it himself. Brutus is at the end, nudging Percy every so often when he starts losing steam. 

“What do you mean you just made that up?!” 

Somewhere in the near distance, they hear a wolf howl. They try to run faster. 

“I thought Hagrid was joking, I didn’t know there were actual volcanoes in the Forbidden fucking Forest!” Their feet were getting caught in grabbing underbrush as they almost reached the exit of the Forbidden Forest. But it all goes to shit when one of the grubby branches yank at Oliver’s pants, sending him tumbling down an abrupt dell. Percy reaches out to steady him, but is no use and goes tumbling down. Brutus barks after them, following. 

“OW, FUCK!”  Oliver exclaims, head landing square on a very blunt rock. Percy comes tumbling after, unceremoniously landing on his poor legs. Then their wonderful dog, literally piling on top of Percy’s back. 

“Everybody ok?” Percy asks, voice strained. He can feel a sharp twinge of pain every time he tries to move his arm, and knows that it’s probably strained, if not sprained. Or some other word for just-barely-broken. 

“No.” Oliver says, grabbing Percy and rolling over on his side so they’re face to face. They landed in some type of glade. Trees big enough to fit small houses surround them, a little lake in the center. With the mist and full moon, it would have made an ideal picnic spot. 

“Your breath stinks, Wood.” 

“You suck.” Oliver says in kind, kissing him just to make sure he’s in one piece. 

“SIRIUS!” Their tender moment is broken by Potter’s call. They both turn their head and notice a lump on the other side of the large puddle they were splayed across. Oh. 

“Is that a rock?” Percy whispers, straining his eyes. His glasses got lost somewhere in the squirmish, so really Percy can’t see shit. 

“I think it’s a body.” 

“Sirius, oh no.” Harry says, turning over the body of his godfather to see the mars and scars across the man’s torn clothes. 

“Sirius!”

“Shit, we should go to help.” Percy says, idly aware that the slick thing on his hands is probably his blood. But fuck it, we ball. His mental state is not the greatest, but in situations like these—the dangerous kind, it’s probably better that the mental state is in disarray. Never let them know your next move. 

Just as Percy helps Oliver stand up, the little pond that separates them and Potter starts freezing over with ice. 

“It’s not that cold, is it?” Oliver says, but does notice a distinct chill that overcomes him. Then the entire lake freezes over. 

Now Percy may be blind, but he’s not stupid. That stupid. He remembers, vividly, when Harry told them about facing off with the dementors in his third year. 

It was Harry’s third year, and as if on cue, a dementor swoops down to Sirius and Harry. 

“Oliver.” Percy gasps out. Because nah. Oliver holds tight to Percy’s hand, very aware of the open wounds that the ginger sports now. 

“Dementors.” The ginger manages to get out, before an aforementioned dementor swoops down to Percy, too. Shrouded in black, its skeletal ‘fingers’ stretch out to Percy’s face, holding onto each cheek as it captures a piece of his misery, bringing the memories up to the forefront. Knees hit the rough quasi-shoreline, sobbing as the memories that had been buried not too long ago resurface. Fresh as the blood that drips down his hands. 

“Sirius!” Harry screams out.

“Expecto patronum. EXPECTO PATRONUM.” Oliver watches for a few moments as Harry desperately tries to cast the spell. Large flashes of that signature blue light, but just the flashes. Not the stag that he was known for in the latter half of the school year. Not the solidness of Prongs, as he later called his patronus while in the field. 

And Oliver tries to, to call his own patronus to arm. But with Percy conked out, injured and better. With his own mental and physical injuries rising up to the forefront, Oliver can’t find it in himself to be happy. Can’t find any of those fuzzy feel good memories that he spent so long cultivating with all of his loved ones. Now it was only despair, looking out into the near sea of cloaked figures that waited to take a bite out of Oliver. 

Why didn’t they take a bite out of Oliver? 

“EXPECTO PATRONUM.” Oliver hears, snapping his head to the left side of the lake. Oh shit, wasn’t this the year Harry and Hermione did time travel. 

Twinning, lmao. 

A huge burst of blue light crowds that side of the lake, the past Harry covers his eyes as Prongs, in all his wonderful glory prances out, then scares away the dementors. Brutus boofs at the corporeal patronus, sticking out his tongue to try and lick it when it pranced Oliver’s way. Oliver outstretched his own hand, trying to pet it, too. Then decided that sleep was a nice idea. So hand firmly in Brutus’ collar to drag him down to him and Percy, Oliver lied down and also passed the fuck out. 

The next time Oliver comes to, he’s in the Hospital Wing, with the curtains drawn around him. Groggy, and a little disorientated, Oliver tries to stand up. A hand pushes down on his chest to stop him from getting up. 

“Oh no you don’t.” 

“Percy?” Olive croaks out. Something presses against his lips, and Percy lets Oliver sit up a bit so he can chug the glass of water. 

“What happened?” He looks around. “Where’s our dog?” Percy rolls his eyes. 

“Hagrid took Brutus back. After the dementors attacked us, Dumbledore found all of us. I woke up a couple hours ago, but it looks like we slept through most of the action. I don’t remember it fully, but I’m pretty sure he carried both of us over his shoulder. On one shoulder .”

“What happened with Sirius? Refill?” Oliver puts on his best puppy eyes as he holds out his cup. Percy gets the pitcher, explaining as he fills up Oliver’s cup. 

“He broke out of the holding cell. Dumbledore thinks it was his accomplice that helped him.” 

“He has an accomplice?” Shock colors Oliver’s words. Was it Remus? 

“Yeah, Buckbeak. He also managed to escape his execution, Hagrid thinks he undid the chains and ran off. He’s being called a creature of the dark arts.” 

Oliver can’t help it, he starts laughing. Percy holds his cup as he grips his side. Buckbeak was alive! And so was Sirius! 

“Glad to see a mass murderer on the loose is funny to you.” Percy remarks, no real venom in his voice. He puts down the cup, then has Oliver budge over so they can share the bed. 

“You know, I could’ve sworn you took more damage than me. How come you woke up earlier than me.” Oliver said, turning so one of his bandaged arms (who, when did that happen) rests over Percy’s midsection. 

Percy sniffs, crowding close to Oliver. “That damned volcano.” 

This time, they both collapse in a fit of giggles. 

It’s somewhere close to noon when Oliver woke up, and a few hours zoom by with just him and Percy talking about that damned volcano and Percy’s stupid brother and his equally stupid friend. In the afternoon, when classes get out, they get an entire squadron of visitors. Of course, when Angelina pulled back Oliver’s curtains, Percy jumped out from the bed in surprise, scaring all three of them. 

Alicia promised Wood that even though he was on his deathbed, they would still do their practice today. And, with the small mental affirmations Percy made himself go through, he was able to be in the same room as both of the twins without breaking down into a sobbing mess. So when the Quidditch team visited, it went relatively well! 

Fred and Geroge stick behind as the rest of the Quidditch team leave. Fred leans against the nightstand, George leaning against Fred. 

“So, brother dearest,” George starts, Fred continuing. 

“We’ve been reflecting on—”

“Your recent stresses with school—” 

“And the like. And we’ve—” He points to the both of them. 

“Settled on a—”

“Stupendous” 

“Magical” 

“Extraordinary” 

“Romantic” He waggled his eyebrows. 

“GETAWAY TRIP!” They say in unison, each doing small jazz hands. 

“What.” Percy says. 

Fred pulls out a little brochure that is very obviously a folded piece of parchment that they doodled all over. The front of the parchment, done in over elaborate chicken scratch says “Percy and Oliver sitting in a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G” with a big heart surrounding it. The picture is even animated, so that every five seconds, little bits of drawn confetti explode out from the heart. 

“What.” Oliver says. 

“As soon as school ends, you two love birds will be transported to the vast, breathtaking beauty of all muggle Britain's forest has to offer.” 

This time, Percy turns to Oliver. “Is this an assassination attempt by my own siblings?” Oliver nods his head solemnly.  

“No way to call for help, no one around us for miles. We’re dead meat.” The twins cackle. 

“We’ve already cleared it with Mum and Dad!” 

“They’re over the moon that Percy’s dating.” 

“And dating someone so upstanding” 

“As that nice young lad, Oliver.” That twin tries to impersonate Molly to an almost scarily accurate degree. 

“And we have done the upmost—” 

“Brotherly thing—” Both stand, with arms linked. 

“And packed your bags!” They bow, then scram as Percy pulls out his wand. 

Yeah, his PTSD with a dead brother is certainly sealed for now. In fact, in this current place and time Percy wants to kill both brothers out of sheer embarrassment! 

“Knowing them, they probably put condoms in those luggages.” 

“And pranks.” Oliver chuckles, pawing Percy close. 

“So many pranks.” 

When Ron and the rest of the Golden Trio stop by to see them, he just has to physically restrain Wood from, in Ron’s own words “deflowering his brother”. 

Oliver rolls his eyes, “We were just kissing.” 

“YOUR HAND WAS—” Percy cuts him off really fast. Hermione is blushing, both her and Harry unable to look at Percy or Oliver in the eyes. 

“THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR VISITING US IN THIS TIME WHERE WE ARE BOTH INJURED.” Percy cuts in, hugging his brother, very, very tightly. Ron mocks him, but does hug him back. He tottered into their area of the Hospital Wing, his leg still a little tender. 

Hermione and Harry were also battered, Oliver spies a cut along one of Harry’s arms and Hermione favoring her right leg. Despite this, all of them seemed a lot lighter than when they met up for Buckbeak’s funeral. 

“I- I brought Exploding Snaps!” Hermione cuts in, holding up the box. Harry, following her lead, pulls out a small box from his pocket, casting a charm to return it to its regular size. 

“And I brought some chess. We figured you two could use the company. Er. Of course. It seems like you were. Uh. Occupied.” The tips of Harry’s ears go red, looking at the very interesting ceiling. Ron’s anger seems to reignite at that, so Percy smacks him on the head so he’ll calm down. 

“Nonsense. Going up against someone like Ron for Wizarding Chess? No wonder all of you were sorted into Gryffindor.” Percy’s comment seems to dissolve a bunch of the tension. They gather other chairs, Hermione transfiguring hers out of one of the sweets Oliver doesn’t like, and set up the exploding snap and wizard chess. 

Ron and Oliver go head to head with Wizard Chess, Percy content to heckle both of them. Hermione and Harry play Exploding Snaps. 

One of Oliver’s pawns gets shot in the fucking skull point blank by Ron’s overpowered knight (A/N: I don’t know how to play chess). Oliver bangs the little table Percy transfigured, the sleeves of his robe revealing how far his bandages went up. 

“Yikes, mate.” Ron says, pointing at Oliver’s injuries. Percy smacks away his hand, muttering how rude it is to point at people’s injuries, “You got all of that from the fall?” 

“Huh, this?” Oliver scrunches up his face in confusion. Did he? So to Hermione and Percy’s strong insistence that he stop unfurling his bandages, Oliver unwraps his bandages to find healing burn wounds. 

“Merlin.” Oliver breathes out, running his other bandaged hands over the healing wounds. It was almost scaly under his skin, a small network of red over tanned skin. “I got this from falling down?” He asks Percy. 

Percy goes closer to Oliver’s wound, fully ignoring Ron’s protests that they should respect each other’s personal space. 

“No, I think that was from the volcano.” 

Ron throws his hands up, then points at Oliver, then to Percy. 

“That’s it! Are there actually volcanoes in the Forbidden Forest!?” The couple look at each other. 

“Anyway.” Oliver turns to Harry, “I saw your patronus. Impressive, it was a deer, right?” 

Harry pulls back his hand just in time to avoid getting his finger bitten off by one of the cards. “Yeah! Wow, I’m surprised you were conscious enough to see that.” Oliver shrugs.

“I was in and out, if I’m being honest. But a little head trauma never stopped me.” Ron murmurs some particularly nasty insults about Oliver ignoring his question, sending out his Rook to evaporate Oliver’s last horsey piece. 

“Hey!” Quickly, Oliver waves his hands to clear the smoke away from the board, Percy banishing the acid before it can eat through the wood of the chess board. Oliver moves his Queen, the chess piece taking out a sword and cleaving through one of Ron’s bishops. Little stone entrails drip out from the piece. 

“But yeah, it was my first time casting a fully corporeal patronus.” 

“That’s really impressive, Harry. Most full grown witches and wizards can only do non-corporeal.” Hermione says, about to pull about the entire statistics of what the patronus of each famous witch and wizard is. 

“Oliver’s is really funny.” Percy says, trying not to laugh at the thought of it. All eyes turn to him. 

“You can cast a corporeal patronus?” Harry questions. 

“Can we see it?” Hermione follows, nearly bowling over the exploding snap deck to slam her hands on her and Harry’s table. 

“Checkmate!” Ron exclaims, his Queen getting a chair and hitting Oliver’s bishop over and over until it's reduced to dust. 

“Uh. I don’t have any. Happy memories to think of right now. You know, injured at all.” He looks at Percy. “Maybe you could help me with that.” 

Ron gags. Harry gags. Hermione gags. 

Percy kisses Oliver. A very PG rated kiss. A Disney kiss (foreshadowing)!

“Fine.” He readies his wand, really hopes he can do a patronus in a body this damn young—he didn’t figure out how to fully make it corporeal till his thirties , Merlin, Potter was strong. Then he focuses on Percy. The happiness of holding him in the library after they got engaged. Their wedding day. Even the simple bliss of those peaceful days cozied up in their cottage, with the rain knocking against the window panels. 

“Expecto Patronum!” The same blue light that surrounded them in the glade pours out from Oliver’s wand, the silvery mist rippling as waves. From the center of the light, something begins to take shape, almost stick-like, as small arms on their side pick up what look to be buckets. 

“What kind of creature is that?” Ron asks, confused. Hermione’s eyes light up in recognition, humming something to the way the creature “walks”. 

“Is that a broom?” Harry asks, something familiar about it. 

And Harry’s guess strikes true. A broom with two little arms carrying buckets marches around their hands, putting down its buckets every now and then to dump them out. The same silvery blue mist flying out from the bucket with fluttering splash. 

“It’s from the Sorcerer's Apprentice. Oh! I love Fantasia.” Hermione says. 

“Fantasia? Is this a muggle thing?” Ron asks, Harry shrugs. 

“Yes! Oh, it’s this wonderful musical with all these lights. One of them is when Mickey Mouse—” 

“Who?” 

“When Mickey Mouse gets this hat from Merlin—” 

“The muggles know about Merlin?” Percy was trying his hardest not to laugh at Ron’s amazement at Disney. 

“And he animates all of these brooms.” Hermione stops abruptly. Realizing she was a little too invested in Fantasia. 

“How about we all watch it together if Oliver and I come back from whatever hell trip the twins planned for us?” Percy suggests. Hermione lights up, agreeing instantly. 

“You really like brooms.” Harry says. Oliver shrugs, chuckling a little bit. The pure cheer he was getting from the patronus, but just from having his family close was making him a little loopy. 

“Not as much as Ron likes the volcanoes in the Forbidden Forest.” 

“I KNEW IT.” 

Chapter Text

Saturday finds Percy and Oliver on a bench in the dog park somewhere in Muggle London. Brutus is panting at Percy’s feet, lapping up water from the dog bowl Hagrid gifted to them when he heard about their (approved!) excursion. Pretty trees with shady outstretched branches provided the idealistic picnic spots or areas to play fetch. For a Saturday, it was pretty slow at this particular park. There was another couple on the other side with a little chihuahua, while an older lady stood at the edge of the pond with breadcrumbs to feed the geese. 

Technically this was one of Percy’s finals, for his Muggle Studies. Since the professor had a soft spot for Percy, and all of the professors had heard about Oliver and Percy’s recent injuries (as well as the most recent adventures of the Golden Trio, poor Minerva. It was always the Gryffindors doing the stupidest shit), the Muggle Studies teacher approved the off-campus event to ‘go and be in the environment of the muggles. See what they see’. Percy would’ve rolled his eyes, but he was a respectable student! 

“Alrighty Brutus, you all set?” Percy leans down to ask the dog, petting his head. He lets out a boof . They start meandering down to the community center where the kind lady at the shop said her son would be competing. But more importantly, where the free food would be. Percy, with his mega mind level of pre-planning, already checked with the regulations that they allowed pets in the center. 

“Here, your collar’s a little crooked,” Oliver mumbles, both of them stopping so he can make Percy’s shirt collar lie just so along his neck.  “Thanks.” Percy says, smiling. His collar wasn’t crooked, Oliver just wanted an excuse to be closer to him. 

They check in as guests. The community center was a large building, with wide windows on three out of four of the walls. There was a stage at the other end of the main “gaming” room. Four long tables stretched across the room, students about Percy and Oliver’s age on either side. There was a chessboard for every two students, but that’s not what had either of the boy’s attention. Instead, they looked at all of the tables pushed up against these windowed walls. Outfitted with, as Mary promised, a buffet of free food for the players, parents, and errant wizards. 

“I’m still a little shocked you wanted to go to this.” Percy confesses, holding Brutus’ leash tightly so he didn’t table surf to get the wheel of cheese he was eyeing (even though Hagrid had assured them, multiple times, that Fang trained Brutus to not table surf). 

“Why wouldn’t I? With the last game on Friday, I don't have to stress about anything. Can just focus on the important things in my life.” Oliver eyes Percy meaningfully. Percy just rolls his eyes.

“Food?” 

“Food!” Oliver cheers, but kisses Percy on the cheek. Fast enough that (hopefully) people didn’t notice. “And you.” Percy reddens, pushing Oliver to the buffet table. 

“Go get your stupid buffet, Wood.” Oliver goes along, blowing Percy a kiss and a wink, which makes his face even more red. Percy, a bit awkwardly, wonders if he should’ve gone with Oliver and just risk Brutus eating whatever he gets his mangy little paws on. It’s a little weird for him to just watch people play muggle chess. 

Muggle chess was particularly boring as it was, non-animated and the like. Instead, when each piece was about to be taken by the other player, that player had to shout out how the piece was executed. A particularly loud blonde haired student, in a distinct irish accent, called for one of the pawns to be drawn and quartered. Percy was a little taken aback at how gory some of the executions were. He’s really fucking grossed out when one of the competitors breaks down a Salem witch trial death when someone behind him clears their throat, tapping him on the shoulder. 

Percy startles, hand going to his wand that was hidden in his sleeve. But relaxes when he sees a familiar face. 

“Mary!” Percy exclaims, hugging the older woman. Was a hug too soon, they had only met each other once. But she did extend this invitation to them? And she seemed like the hugging type. 

And the hugging type she was. She laughed and returned the gesture. 

“Oh my, I’m so happy you came! Did you bring your friend too?” 

“Yes, he’s off raiding the buffet area. Thank you for inviting us!” 

She waves her hand, “None of that inviting nonsense, this is a community event! I’m just happy you could make it with your finals schedules. And, oh dear me, I don’t think I caught you or your friends’ name.” 

Percy rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment. Of all the things his Mum etched into his head about manners and he forgets simple introductions. 

“I’m Percy, and the lumbering oaf is Oliver.” 

“Very nice to meet you, Percy. Oh, a brave name that one. Were you named after the knight?” 

“Yes, my father has a love of mug–” Percy fakes a cough, “of history. He had a knight phase.” Mary laughs. 

“Don’t we all! My Malcolm loved attending those medieval fairs with his brother.” Percy nods, he’s heard about those, where muggles reenact medieval times. 

“My dad was also very interested in those. But my Mum uhm. Wasn’t.” Which was an understatement. Mum was threatening divorce, and to show him what a real dragon’s fire felt like. 

“I think they’re quaint, the costume perhaps a bit stuffy. But oh, Malcolm’s sister was so against them.” Mary says, launching into a story about how Malcolm, who Percy is guessing is her husband, tried to trick his sister into attending a Renfaire and ended up in the dragon mascot instead. 

“A lively family!” Percy exclaims. Malcolm’s sister sounded batshit crazy. Oliver comes back with a plate overfilled, maybe half of the buffet taken with his serving. 

“Here Perce, I got some for you too. Oh, Mary!” Oliver notices the woman, Percy grabbing his plate before it can spill while Oliver goes in to embrace her. 

“Oliver, yes?”

“Yes. Wow, this center sure is a lively place. Which one is your kid?” Oliver accepts back the plate, which is a half-sandwich and a handful of blueberries lighter. Percy slips Brutus some of the blueberries. 

The duo follow Mary as she weaves in between the other parents. They come up the other end of the table they were just in front of. Still a little ways away, Mary points to the boy with the bright ginger hair. His hand is poised over one of the pawns with a little AK-47 slung across its back. He moves it in a zigzag motion to one of the horsey pieces (this horsey piece’s two arms are raised above its head holding a giant hammer). 

In a very Scottish accent, the ginger—now known as Gilligan, proclaims, “My pawn shoots your horsey piece through the chest three times, it’s a fatal shot. Checkmate.” His other player lowers his head, but both still stand to shake hands and declare a fair game. 

“Nice, did he just win?” Mary nods, pride shining in her eyes. 

“Good job Gilligan!” She cheers, he turns, smiling at her and waving before sitting down to battle another competitor. 

“He’s a very skilled player.” Oliver says. While not one for chess, he’s gone head to head with the entire Weasley family so he’s had to hold his own against literal beasts at the game. Gilligan’s tactics were funny with how familiar they were. Each move was one that either pushed his competitor into a corner, or one to protect his piece. Even the weaker ones. 

“Why does he keep on protecting his pawns?” Percy asks, also picking up on the strategy. 

“Because my boy is loyal. Just like his father, he plays chess with the intent not to win, but to make sure all of his pieces come out of it alive. Winning just seems to be a by-product for him.” 

“My brother is scarily good at chess, but I’ve never heard of a successful strategy like that.” 

“My Gilligan, capable of such extraordinary things.” Mary says, sounding a little sad for a moment. Then she notices someone in a crowd and she lights up again. 

“Malcolm!” She calls out, waving him down. Percy steels himself to meet the infamous Malcolm, but is a little floored by how familiar he looks. 

Bright ass orange hair, with sparse freckles dotted over the entirety of his skin. His blue eyes could have mistaken him for a Weasley if the gray in his hair was a little less noticeable. But still. There was something almost familiar. 

“Malcolm, these are the dearies I was talking about from the shop. Percy and Oliver.” 

They exchange their greeting, then, because Percy is blunt in times of social situations. “Are we related?” he asks, because the Weasley similarity was almost uncanny. Even little Gilligan. 

Oliver nudges him in the ribs. “Not all ginger are related, dude.” He says between gritted teeth.

“But this ginger looks really similar to me.” Percy responds in kind. Then steals more blueberries off of Oliver’s decimated plate to feed to Brutus. 

Malcolm grins broadly, laughing a hearty laugh. “Perhaps we are, laddy.” His accent was thick compared to Mary’s and Gilligan’s. “Should we retrace the family tree? How much of the bark can your brain recount?” 

“Maybe three generations back?” 

“That’ll do! I’ve got five of them on my Ma’s side, another 11 documented on my Da’s.” 

“Eleven!?” 

“Eleven! He was part of the clergy, had to keep a strict eye on those kinds of records.” He cheerily recounted. 

“My Rook poisons the Bishop’s tea. Checkmate!” Gilligan says, stopping the timer. An important looking man with a clipboard walks up to Gilligan and his competitor shaking hands, scribbling something down before directing Gilligan to a table closer to the stage. 

The group migrates with Gilligan, the boy accepting a quick hug from his Ma and a pat on the back from his Da before sitting down with his next competitor. 

“Wish I could say that I taught him everything I know, but the real strategist here is my Mary.” Malcolm says, hand lightly taking Mary’s. 

“You snake charmer.” Mary says, smiling all the same. Percy knows, as he watches Mary and Malcolm, that he wants what they have. And looking at Oliver, knows that he’s got it. 

“Ah, sorry about that.” The older man clears his throat, “Let’s start with two generations back, but I doubt we’re kin, laddie.” Percy shrugs. 

“Better to try than to never try at all.” 

“Ah! Percy, like Percival. I see the connection now. Let’s see. In my main family is me, my late brother, my sister and parents all under the McGonagall name, but Ma’s—” 

“McGonagall.” Oliver cuts in, feeling like the world slowed down to a startling halt. 

“McGonagall.” Percy repeats. 

“Queen tackles pawn to the floor and punches repeatedly. Checkmate!” Gilligan says. After a few murmured talks from important men and women with clipboards, one of them goes up to the stage. 

“Moving up, we have Sandra Smiths, Mickey Lowes, Amy Snow, and Gilligan McGonagall.” 

Mary and Malcolm cheer for their boy with the other proud parents as the students make their way to the closest table to the stage. But Percy and Oliver are too floored to speak. They know him, they just heard about his run in with a manticore for Merlin’s sake. 

“Oh, a family connection already?” Malcolm says. And both Gryffindors can now very clearly see the similar slope of eyebrows, even the way his chin is angled, all of it. A direct match for their Head of House. 

“Is your sister’s name Minerva McGonagall?” Percy asks. 

“Yes, oh.” His eyebrows draw close together as he thinks, “Are you her child? I’m almost certain she didn’t have a child around that time. But, hmm.” He starts half-muttering to himself and to Mary, “Well, old Elphinstone would still be alive during that time. No, no, no, she would have very obviously told one of us if she was pregnant.” 

“Oh! I’m not her kid. Well.” She called all of them her little lions, so technically weren’t all Gryffindors her kids? 

“What Percy means to say is she’s our teacher. And the head of our dorm room. We’re Gryffindors.” 

“ Oh.” Malcolm and Mary look at each other, and that look in Mary’s eyes, when she talked about how extraordinary Gilligan was, returns. She turns away, and Malcolm places a comforting hand on her shoulder. 

“So, wizards?” Malcolm lowers his voice, but the ambient noise of the community center was enough to cover their conversation. They nod, then Brutus paws at Oliver’s leg, a sign that he needs to go outside.

“Sorry, that’s his signal to go outside for a bit.” 

“Ah, of course. Maybe this conversation is one that’s better where certain ears can’t hear.” Mary says. The older couple follows them out of the community center, walking a little ways to the dog park. 

“I didn’t realize Hogwarts lets their kids out on weekend excursions now.” Malcolm says, breaking through the tension. The man seemed to go through a personality change. Where before he was unabashed with smiles and witty jokes. Now he seemed more reserved, on edge. Constantly shooting glances towards his wife. Percy felt the same, casting his own glaces at Oliver. 

“Not really, I was given a special exception for my uh. Muggle Studies class.” Malcolm nods. 

“You know, the Gameskeeper told us about Professor McGonagall’s run in with the manticore.” Malcolm sucked in a breath, little chuckles reverberating through his chest. 

“That beasty was something else. I thought it was the end of all of our lives, not as spry now though.” He pats his stomach, taking a seat on one of the nearby benches. 

Mary, still with that same glazed look, gets shaken out of it when Percy touches her wrist. 

“I’m sorry if we’ve upset you in some way. I understand the misdirection can be a little much.” But she shakes off her concern, squeezing the hand on her wrist in that gentle sort of way before letting go. 

“No, no lovey my wistfulness is not for you. My Gilligan, special he is, is.” She pauses, hesitating on not if she should say her next words, but how to say them in a kind way. “not special in the way that holds magic.” 

“He’s a squib?” Percy confirms, getting knocked again in the ribs by Oliver for his lack of tact. 

Mary nods her head, although something upsetting crosses her features, “Yes. Oh, he was so sad to never be a part of his Aunt Minnie or even his own father’s world like that.” Malcolm’s hand once more finds Mary’s. 

“I wouldn’t have my boy any other way.” 

“I know, dearheart.” She says, cupping his cheek, then directs her attention back to Percy and Oliver, “But I gave him what I have of my own world. Teaching him chess, the arts, even some cross-stitching, but he was never as great at the fiber arts. And look at him now.” She says, some of her happiness returning. “My extraordinary boy, magical or not.” Brutus comes trotting back, and on that note they head back into the center. 

Gilligan ends up winning the competition he was first pitted against for the finals, but losing the last one. With his second place ribbon and 50 pounds in cold hard cash, the McGonagall’s invite the Gryffindor couple out to eat, but they decline, citing that Brutus still needs his own dinner. His snack of blueberries could only tide him over for so long. 

Their journey back to Hogwarts is filled with them swapping ideas of what McGonagall’s parents would have looked like, with her dark hair and her brother’s very abrupt ginger. 

“But, Perce, what if she is related to you?” 

“If she is, I don’t know who would crack first. Her, or the twins!” 

They drop off Brutus at Hagrid’s hut and when they finally reach the castle’s wall, the first person they run into is, in fact, not McGonagall. 

“Mister Weasley, Mister Wood.” Snape says, cocking an eyebrow at their out-of-breath panting. “I take it your…off-campus excursion was brief?” Even an inane question like that makes Percy want to throw hands. But he doesn’t. Actually, he doesn’t answer at all, Oliver coming to his rescue. 

“Yup, learned all about the muggles and their love of chess.” Snape’s patent glare of indifference does nothing to Oliver Wood. When he doesn’t cow, Snape turns sharply. 

“Very well. Be sure to turn in your essays for my class. Tomorrow, 4 PM sharp.” He briskly walks down the hallway, the wind catching on his robe to billow dramatically. 

When he’s just out of earshot, Percy’s face morphs into an expression of disgust. “Fucking prat, moved up the goddamned deadline.” 

Oliver laughs, “Language, Weasley. A prefect might hear you and take away points.” Percy shoves him, tilting his head up in that patented precocious manner. 

“I ought to take points away from Gryffindor just for that, Wood.” 

“Oh no,” Oliver deadpans, slowing down to match pace with Percy, until he stops completely in front of the ginger. With no self-respecting personal space between them, he asks, “Whatever would I have to do to get those points back?” 

“Well, what about…” Percy trails off, their faces leaving (once again) no room for our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. They don’t finish their conversation with words. When they both emerge from the little alcove a few minutes later, clothes rumpled and both of them a little out of sorts, Oliver snorts to himself. 

“So do I get my points back?” Oliver asks smugly. 

“Yes.” Percy says, in a poor imitation of disgruntlement. 

The rest of their little stroll back to Gryffindor tower is peaceful, hands interlocked as they talk about the rest of their final exam schedule. 

“I really wish Snape hadn’t pushed up that deadline.” Oliver grouses, but Percy looks at him in mock astonishment. 

“Did you not start the paper? He assigned it a few weeks ago.” 

“I finished it! I just haven’t gone through it yet.” Percy relaxes, Oliver smacks him. 

“Oi! I have good time management.” The ginger just laughs at him. 

“Of course you can. I bet your schedule is looking a lot less busy with the last Quidditch game done.” It’s Oliver’s turn to relax. 

“Yeah. Geez, it was a nail beater.” Right after being excused from the hospital, Oliver was immediately put back into Madam Pomfrey’s care with two extremely rigged bludgers to his ribs. One bludger for each side. BUT THEY GOT THE WIN AND THAT’S WHAT COUNTS. “Thanks for the flowers, by the way.” Percy managed to lightly request Neville (threaten) for more of the blue flowers, visiting Oliver every day. 

Well, visiting was not the best way to put it. He was in the Hospital Wing more than anywhere else for those couple of days. Even sneaking back in after visiting hours to curl up in Oliver’s bed with the stupid Quidditch player. Madam Pomfrey, of course, yelled at them both. Even threatened to take Oliver’s broom if Percy did not get out of his sickbed. That was the only joke Oliver would make around Ron when the Golden Trio came to visit. Poor Ron. 

“You keep on thanking me for them, meanwhile they’re just sitting on your desk rotting away.” They make their way through the portrait, Percy politely thanking the Fat Lady while Oliver blushes. 

“They weren’t supposed to wilt. I tried casting a preserving charm on them, but instead it sped up decomposition.” 

“Oh,” Percy softens, hand finding Oliver’s cheek to pull him in for a kiss. “That’s sweet.” 

“Couldn’t help it, reminded me of our 10th anniversary. With the marigolds and roses?” Percy wrenches away his hands as both dissolve into little giggles. 

“Merlin! I can’t believe how corny that was.” 

“You sang to me, oh I wish someone recorded it.” 

“I’m just glad it wasn’t in a public place.” Percy jests. At his desk, he starts organizing his own study materials, cracking open a new ink well to start on the Muggle Studies write up of the chess event. 

“Starting the paper already?” 

“It’s due in a week, Wood. I’m just happy Professor Burbage was able to approve the event so last minute. Don’t you have a Potions essay to revise?” 

“Noooo,” Oliver whines, “Can you at last help me out with the preservation charm before sending me off to my death.” 

Percy pretends to think about it, before cracking a smile and heading over to Oliver’s desk, making quick work of preserving the blue flowers. 

“There you go, now off with you.” He makes a shooing motion, but Oliver captures both hands, placing a kiss on the closest one. 

“I think I owe you a proper thanks.” 

“And what would that be?” 

Neither Percy nor Oliver start their respective tasks until much later in the day. 

Chapter Text

“I’ll kill them. I’ll actually murder them with my own hands. If they’ve not already killed us!” Percy yelled, slamming down the bag the twins packed them. It was filled only with condoms and various Quidditch supplies. 

“They didn’t even pack a broom.” Oliver mourns, half-heartedly tossing a quaffle between his hands. Percy is ready to pull out his hair. 

“No food, no way of communicating back to them. Not even clothes!” Percy swears a little bit, kicks a rock, then goes back to complaining, “We don’t even know where we are!” 

With their last papers turned in, Percy and Oliver were officially graduated. There had been a ceremony, a place to meet up with parents. Both Mrs.Weasley and Mrs.Wood were so proud of their sons, and their son’s boyfriend. After that it was a solid week of adjusting Brutus to his new home, with the Woods falling in love with the dog at first sight. 

Then, without any warning, Percy wakes up in the tropics of Britain with Oliver Wood and a duffel bag full of prophylactics and sports equipment. He didn’t even know Britain had tropics! 

“Well, I guess we should go exploring? Maybe we’ll find a town.” 

“Or a tribe of cannibals.” Percy grouches, grabbing the stupid bag from his stupid brothers and following Oliver. 

In all honesty, the place they were unwittingly sent to was beautiful. It was still overcast, but sometime early enough in the morning where the ground was crisp and the air was cool. Sweet grass and flowers were floating by on the wind, and there was a well-made path that the duo were able to follow. Of course, they followed this path in nothing but their pajamas and slippers. At least the twins had the good sense to abandon them for their death with their respective wands. 

A stream somewhere close to them pitter-pattered its water on smooth pebbles, splashing happily down its own path. They followed both the path and the stream for an hour, until they realized that walking anywhere in house slippers was a resoundingly bad and stupid idea. 

So they took a break, Percy transfiguring their slippers into shoes, finding leaves to transfigure into socks, while Oliver rooted through the bag in hopes of finding something edible. 

“Oh!” Oliver pulls out a smaller knapsack with a note attached to it. He reads from it: “We saw what Fred and George were putting inside of the bag and only had enough time to put this. Sorry. See you next week. From Hermione, Harry and Ron.” Oliver reaches his hand, then his entire arm into the knapsack, going so far as his shoulder. 

“Reminds me of Hermione’s beaded bag.” 

“She really should’ve patented the spellwork she did on that thing, it was basically a new way of using magic. Oh, thank Merlin, one of your brothers has a brain.” He pulls out his hand with two still warm bread rolls, tossing one to Percy. 

“He must have filched them just as the twins sent us off.” Percy says in between bites. 

“Looks like there are about a dozen. But next week ? Are we going to have to hunt or something?” Oliver looks to the bag, then back to Percy, “Maybe they really are trying to kill us.” 

Percy sighs, then grabs another bread roll from the knapsack. “Maybe we could make some sort of platform and use it to float around and stake out any civilization. Like a budget magic carpet.” 

“But wouldn’t the muggles get tipped off?” 

“I really doubt any muggle would be here.” 

“There’s a well cleared path, though. I think if we don’t run into anyone or make any progress by late afternoon we should do that.” Percy shrugs. 

“Fine by me. What are we doing for food when the bread rolls run out?” Oliver sighs. 

“No clue. Maybe we could fish but,” Oliver walks a few steps to the stream to look at the size of the fish, if there are any. “We’d probably have better luck with birds.” 

“Well,” Percy stands, dusting off his pajama bottoms, “let’s continue our march to our death.” 

The other snorts, grabbing Percy’s hand as they walk down the path, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

And so their “march of death” continued, until the river widened out and the grass on either side morphed into a battered concrete trail. 

“I think this is where the cannibals come in,” Percy whispers, wiggling his fingers in Oliver’s face like he’s telling a particularly scary ghost story. 

Oliver, for the most part, rolls his eyes. 

“Let’s hope these cannibals have a restaurant that serves something other than humans, then.” They’d run out of the bread rolls about an hour in, but Oliver found a few water bottles in the expanded knapsack, too. 

The town was quaint. But it did look like a town suspiciously out of an old American Western, just if it took place somewhere green instead of the middle of the desert. The town in question was one long street, with establishments on either side. There were some people out and about, definitely muggles, that looked at Oliver and Percy strangely. Percy cleared his throat, straightening out his dressing down and trying to fix his hair. 

“Let’s find accommodations, then?” Oliver snorted. 

They walked through the street eyeing up all of the old signage, shoulder touching each other but nothing more. Each sign was not very creative with their advertising, “Grocery”, “Bank” and “Rainforest Cafe” were all as they said on the tin. But Oliver stopped just a little to peek inside of the Rainforest Cafe. 

“It actually does look like a rainforest in there, huh. Go figure.” Percy shoves him along. 

Near the end of the street, one of the signs says “Hotel” with big bold lettering. Going by the horseshoes and cowboy boots, maybe this town was themed after one of those American Westerns. They enter and are greeted with that sweet, nice muggle invention of air conditioning. 

The worker at the front clears her throat. She’s young, would probably be 5th year in Hogwarts, with blonde hair and smudgy eye makeup. “Howdy there, and welcome to Hotel. My name’s Holly, partners, what can I be doin’ for you.” Very disinterested, but the American drawl didn’t sound fake, she was genuinely a yank. 

“Oh fucking hell, are we actually in the Americas.” Percy says, gripping his chest. Did his brothers actually shell out the money to send them across the sea? Was this an illegal portkey? Fuck, they’re going to be in so much goddamned trouble when Percy gets a hold of them. 

“No, you’re in the good town of Faith in Wales, partner.” Holly drawls out, looking surreptitiously towards the door labeled “Employees Only” before taking out a packet of cigarettes. “Y’all smoke?” 

“We don’t.” Oliver says in response, nudging Percy gently. Holly shrugs. 

“Maybe y’all should start, then.” She lights up, then takes an exaggerated drawl and spits the smoke out in a lazy haze. “How many nights are you stayin’?”

“A week, if you have any availability” Holly chortles. 

“This place is as good as a ghost town, Brit. That’ll be £200.” 

“Yeah, of course, let me.” Oliver goes to reach for his wallet, but freezes when his hands meet the back pocket of his pajama pants. His wallet was still very much on his nightstand.

“I’m going to fucking kill them.” Oliver says instead, then looks back up at Holly who is staring at them in a sort of bored disinterest. She lets out a puff, smoke billowing out from her nostrils. Percy thinks she would get along very well with Charlie and Krum.

“Do you happen to know what kind of bank is at the front of the town?” 

Their footsteps are soft underneath the spongy grass. Orange rays blazes through the clouds as the sun makes its wavering descent, the sky prepping itself for night time. They make their way to the bank, before Oliver stops and groans loudly, grasping his head. Percy immediately stops, crowding his boyfriend (boyfriend!). 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Perce, I need an ID to access my muggle bank account. The ID that’s also in my wallet. Percy freezes, then also groans. 

“Would decapitation be too nice of a death for my brothers?” 

“Yes, it would be too fast.” 

Percy scrubs at his face, then looks around for muggles before casting a notice-me-not charm on both of them. 

“We can go about this two ways. One, we just camp out in the forest for the night, then work on finding some way to catch a ride from this town to somewhere closer to civilization so the Knight Bus can reach us.” They had already tried hailing for it, but it seems they were far out of range for the Knight Bus. Neither of them wanted to risk apparating either, since fucking Wales was way too far for either of them safely risk apparating. 

“What’s the second option?” 

“We rob the bank, buy the week at the hotel and just wait for Fred and George to take us back.” Percy said his words with such a deadpanned monotone that Oliver was almost taken aback. 

“Really? Robbing a bank? What are we, the Golden Trio?” Oliver looks at Percy incredulously, and they hold that stare for a few moments before devolving into laughter. 

“Well, it looks like it’s going to be a beautiful night. And with someone so beautiful by my side, it’ll be worth it to try out cowboy camping.” Oliver says, tangling their arms together and following the river back out to the rainforest they came from. 

Oliver was right, it is a beautiful night. The stars were on full display, their shelter nothing more than the hollow of a large tree that was off to the side of a small glade with wildflowers. 

“Maybe later we can recreate that god awful scene from Twilight?” 

“With the amount of condoms that your brothers gave us we could probably improve that scene,” Oliver says, to which Percy throws the aforementioned bag in his face. 

There’s a small fire in front of them, a thick blanket transfigured from some moss and young leaves wrapped around both of their shoulders. They ran out of food while in the town, but thanks to Oliver’s stupidly good athletics, a few birds were defeathered and roasting over the fire. In Percy’s hands were a few edible leaves and berries that he’d found along the pathway. He took turns plopping a few in his mouth, then tossing a few to his right to see if Oliver could catch them with his mouth. 

“I saw some caves on our way here, do you want to stake those out tomorrow for a possible shelter in case there’s rain?” 

“Sure. But it’s getting pretty late, we should probably start setting up if we want a chance to recreate that meadow scene.” 

The only reason they watched Twilight, then the rest of the series. And even the read the books, was Percy’s passionate declarations that the vampire they were watching was Cedric Diggory come back to life. 

“Perce, that guy sparkles.” 

“He looks exactly like him.” 

“He’s a yank!” 

“The actor is British!” 

Was how a good majority of their arguments went. But when the Golden Trio’s children were in their tweens, Percy and Oliver both had the time of their lives solemnly telling the tale of poor Cedric Diggory—forced to be the Dark Lord’s spare and come alive as a B-list celebrity. 

It truly took the cake when the actor was later cast as Batman. Ron almost killed them! 

But now, with the crackling fire and the calmings sounds of crickets getting ready for the night, sleep tugged deeply at both Percy and Oliver. It wasn’t too cold a night, and they’d already laid out some type of mattress transfigured from the same materials as their blanket. So, they ate their meal, extinguished the fire, then lay side by side to look up at the stars. Their stuff was crammed into the hollow part of the tree, but Percy and Oliver were more in the center of the glade, admittedly trying to recreate that flower field scene from Twilight. Except with a lot more wards and notice me not charms encompassing the entire area than was really needed. 

“Stooop, I’m trying to study for my English final.” Oliver says, trying to hold back his laugh as Percy attempted, once more, to get closer to him because it was getting fucking cold. 

“Why am I Bella?” Percy whines, Oliver finally relenting and allowing Perry to come closer. 

“Because I’m impossibly fast, and, and.” Oliver falters a bit, forgetting the exact monologue from the first movie, “ So white. And seventeen.” 

“Oh?” Percy invades Oliver’s personal space. “And how long have you been seventeen?” Percy doesn’t realize just how close he was to Oliver until he looks up, to find Oliver himself looking back down. He closes his eyes, and the distance between them. 

A few hours later, the stars are firmly in the sky shining brighter than ever. Percy is using Oliver’s chest as his own personal pillow, running spindly hands along Oliver’s own roughened one. Through the moon and starlight, he’s able to make out the crookedness of some of his knuckles. 

“Has Quidditch practice really been this nasty to you?” Percy comments, running his fingers over a particularly mangled knot. 

“Nah, those were just the ones that didn’t heal right.” Oliver didn’t have to say what caused them to break in the first place. Partly because it would reveal himself as a time traveler, but mostly because he didn’t know what person or what spell caused it. War had been a flurry of action, going so fast and never slowing down. But now, here was Oliver, with his arms full of Percy and a sky full of stars. He let out a breath, relaxing in a way he didn’t think was possible. 

Yeah, he wanted this for the rest of his life. 

Beams of soft light hit Percy in gentle ways, splashed across his cheekbones and the tips of his hair. He was distracted, glasses still on as part of his attention was stolen away by the stars, picking out the constellations that were out and retelling its story. Oliver had heard them all before, but the excitement Percy’s voice took on as he details the myth, then tangents to the time he had heard the story could keep Oliver on the edge of his seat for the 104th retelling, if need be. Oliver tried his best not to think too hard about the situation he found himself in since it seemed like it was working itself out. But one of the things that really bugged him at first was if this Percy was his Percy. Because his Percy, with an addiction to his phone and settled well into married life, his Percy was. Well, maybe it wasn’t this Pecy. 

At least, that’s what he thought at first. Then this Percy continued to hold his hand on their way to break the rules. This Percy insulted him right back, squabbling like they really had been married. This Percy cried in front of him and let Oliver help him through his troubles. It didn’t matter if this Percy wasn’t his Percy because his Percy was still inside of him. And, and Oliver knew that he could be Percy’s Oliver right back. 

Oliver looks around their little patch of flowers. They were small blooms, maybe purple, maybe pink. They looked ethereal in the moonlight. He grabbed a few of the stalks, making sure his handful also had blooms. Then got out his wand and started casting. Percy, a little taken aback when he couldn’t have full access to Oliver’s hands anymore, turned over and looked up at the blurry mess of Oliver Wood’s face (his glasses were already put away for the night since they were supposed to be sleeping). 

“What are you up to?” But Oliver doesn’t answer, continuing to cast spells on his little handfuls of flowers. Percy rolls his eyes, but leans across Oliver’s chest nonetheless, so happy to hear the heartbeat that drums solidly in Percy’s ear. 

It wasn’t a bad habit, per se, but it was definitely a habit Percy took to after the war, especially in the early years after their marriage. Oliver became detached and Percy became paranoid. But they each had their own ways of dealing with it. And for Percy, it was counting each time blood pumped through Oliver, and each time he breathed in and out. For Oliver, it was zoning out a little bit, but that was alright with Percy. 

“There!” Oliver exclaimed, then sat up. The blanket pooled around his thighs and Percy was just. Happy to be there. To look at this wonderful sight. Oliver cleared his throat, and Percy snapped his eyes up to Oliver’s blurry face. Which became not so blurry as his glasses floated onto his face.

“You know, if we’re really doing the meadow scene from Twilight, it only makes sense to do it right.” And Oliver takes Percy’s hand, fiddling with something in the other hand. 

“Percy Weasley, you are someone that is going to be in my life forever. You are someone that makes me so, so happy. So loved. Even now, in the middle of nowhere with very few options as to what to eat or where to sleep—you’re here. And I’m all the better for it.” Oliver says it kind of like he’s joking, but his humor slides off as he ends. Because it’s true, Percy is his forever, his other half, just. His. And he was Percy’s, too. 

“Oliver.” Percy says, eyeing the metal shine in his other hand. His own heartbeat speeding up, getting louder in his ears. 

“Marry me?” Percy is not ashamed to admit that he did gasp, his hands did fly up to his mouth as Oliver showed him the ring. 

“Maybe not today, or tomorrow, even next week. But, marry me?” The ring is brought up to Percy’s face so the moon can hit it. The little flowers in the field were crystallized, each petal reflecting a different type of light. And each dainty bud was held together in a silver fastening of leaves and vines, the stalk of the plant. 

Last time, they didn’t even have an engagement band, Percy wore one of the Weasley family rings, and Oliver his father’s. But now? 

Merlin, last time their wedding was so beautiful—out in the field of the Burrow with their closest friends and family. So many empty chairs for those that were no longer there. And this time those chairs would be full. 

“Oh Oliver, this is so beautiful. Yes, YES,” The ring is put on his finger, then Percy lunges forward to kiss Oliver, both of them toppling over on their mattress. 

Morning time hits slowly, the sun yawning to extend its light through the puffy clouds. A storm was approaching, but it couldn’t take away from the happiness of the couple tangled together in their little meadow. 

“Morning.” Oliver murmurs into Percy’s ear. Percy smacks him away, rolling over to get a few more minutes of shut eye. Oliver snorts. 

“How loving.” 

“Love this.” Percy flips off Oliver, laughing sleepily into his pillow. 

“But I did? You were there last night, right?” Immediately, Percy’s face turns a bright red, sitting up properly to berate Oliver. Instead, Oliver kisses him softly. 

“Good morning to you, too.” Pery grumbles under his breath, the smile not really leaving his face as his hands fiddle with his new ring. 

They hunker down, packing up their camp site and trying to guess which direction they saw the caves. 

“Maybe we should find a larger part of the river, it’s been a while since we showered.” Percy says, shoving the last bit of their cookware into the bag. Oliver sniffs his own sleepwear, then shrugs. 

“Sure, with the kind of luck we got, it’ll probably be connected to some kind of cavern system.”

“Oh, please Wood. With the kind of luck we have it’ll probably lead us straight to Sirius Black himself.” 

While they were traveling to the little town out of an American Western, there had been a split in the river. When they first approached the split, they decided to take the left stream. Now, they went back to that split and took the right path. It didn’t take long for the ground beneath their feet to become squishy with hydrated soil, moss covering every available surface. They began trekking downhill, their feet scrambling for purchase against pliant dirt. Sure enough, the river opened up to a little pool, water trickling over the edge into smaller pools. 

“Whoa, this is pretty.” Oliver says, sitting down on one of the rocks' edges, legs dangling inside of the cool water. They started their little hike just as the sun rose, so now it was beating down on them, the water was a relief. 

“C’mon, then.” Percy says, shrugging off his own shirt and wrinkling his nose as his sweat absolutely drenched the poor piece of clothing. “Merlin, this is just another reason to murder the twins.” 

“Tell me about it.” Oliver responds, breaking off a couple leaves of a plant he’s 90 percent sure is medicinal to transfigure into soap. He chucks a bar at Percy’s head, who just manages to catch it. 

“Wow, maybe we could’ve made a Quidditch star out of you!” Percy scoffs, rolling his eyes as he furiously starts scrubbing at every available inch of skin he can reach. 

Soon enough, both them and their clothes are as clean as they can get, Oliver and Percy transfiguring a few more leaves before both of them idly bob in the pool. 

“This is really nice.” Oliver says, eyes closed as he debates the pros and cons of turning their little pool into a hot tub by heating the water. 

“Mhh.” Percy says non committedly, whispered spells coming from his direction. 

“Perce? You still planning how to do your brother’s in?” 

“Always, but that’s not what I’m doing right now.” 

“Then what are you—” 

“Hey! Don’t peek, Wood.” 

“Come off it, Perce, I’m going to be a Weasley soon.” Oliver remarks, a cheeky little smile on his face. Oliver still has his eyes closed, but he doesn’t need to see Percy to know that the other’s face is beet red. “So, for the wedding, I was thinking your place? Brutus could be our ring bearer—Merlin knows he’d do a better job than one of your brothers.” He says, imagining their wedding. The one they had just as Percy was gearing up to graduate was breathtaking, and if Oliver thinks hard enough, he can remember each vow he said to the other—and each one was held true to the very end, Oliver thinks bitterly. But soon enough, his mood is lifted. 

“Ok, open your eyes now.” Percy says, his voice a lot closer than before. The other smiles, opening his eyes to Percy right in front of him, 

“Hi.” 

“Hi, Oliver.” Percy settles himself on Oliver’s side, picking up his left hand. 

“You don’t have a ring.” Percy brings up Oliver’s hand, a weight settling over his finger. 

Also in silver, Oliver’s ring was done up in leaves, but in the center was a small river stone with black and grey streak going through it—polished and cut as a diamond. 

“Oh, Percy.” Oliver says, bringing the ring closer for him to see. The stone was smooth to the touch, but with such fine detailing at first glance it could have been mistaken for a precious diamond. 

“You like it?” Percy asks, fiddling with his own fingers, still beet red. 

“I love it. I love you.” Oliver says, pulling the other close. 

“If you guys are going to shag I’m throwing up in the water then leaving.” A voice calls out from behind them. 

And listen, reflexes are reflexes. It doesn’t matter how sweet the moment was, Percy’s wand flies to his hand then disarms the man and pins him to the tree. Oliver, with wand also in hand, doubles down on Percy’s spellcasting and does another round of pinning him to the tree. 

“Hey! If you want me to watch that’s fine, but it’s really not up my alley!” The man shouts again, struggling against his invisible bonds. His shaggy black hair get into his mouth as he talks, spitting out clumps of them. 

“Ah shit.” Percy cusses, then goes to the other side of the little pond to find his clothes so he’s not buck naked in front of Sirius motherfucking Black.

Chapter Text

Oliver, as soon as his own senses come back to him, is bent over laughing his ass off. 

“YOU JINXED IT, PERCE!” 

“I THOUGHT WE WERE HAVING A MOMENT WOOD,” 

“A MOMENT IN FRONT OF SIRIUS GODDAMNED BLACK.” 

“HEY,” Sirius joins in, “MY FULL NAME’S SIRIUS BLACK III,” 

Oliver shrugs, “You heard the man, he’s Sirius goddamned Black III.” 

“Put some pants on Wood, you’re going to scare the escaped convict.” 

“Well, you didn’t seem so—” Percy WWE tackles Oliver to the bottom of the fucking lake before he can even hope to finish the sentence, fully clothed in his pajamas. 

When the newly engaged couple emerge from the lake, with drying spells galore, they undo the spells on Sirius. 

“Why’d you let me go?” He asks, rubbing at the places the rope held him against the tree. 

“You’re innocent, Pettigrew was the one who betrayed the Potters.” Percy says, rolling his shoulders and playing with his ring. Fuck, he loved this ring. 

As Percy’s thoughts wander to the best spells to preserve both his and Oliver’s rings, Sirius’ world is falling apart. 

“You know?” 

Oliver takes over, “We found out that night you and Harry were surrounded by the dementors. Pettigrew had been masquerading as the Weasley pet for the last thirteen years, he was the pet to Perce’s younger brother.” And. Oliver was a little confused, how did Percy know that Scabbers was rotten? He thought the rest of the Weasley clan didn’t find out until that year with Umbridge? Or, maybe because of their interference they just found out sooner? The Quidditch player really hopes that Percy doesn’t ask how Oliver knows that information. Luckily for Oliver, Percy is still caught up in the possible ring preservation spells. 

“Where is he now?” Sirius asks, voice calm but hands in a tight fist. The Quidditch player shakes his head. 

“We don’t know. We were caught in the dementor attack, too. We heard from Harry them that he escaped.” 

“FUCK.” Sirius cusses, kicking the dirt, then hexing the tree to vent his anger. “That little rat always ESCAPES!” He punches the tree, his knuckles turning red fast. 

This definitely draws Percy’s attention. 

“Hey! Only one of us here is good with any type of healing magic, don’t do that.” He scolds, transfiguring a leaf into a handkerchief to hand to Sirius. He accepts it, albeit a little embarrassedly. 

“So, what are you two doing out here anyways? Oh, congratulations by the way. Is this the honeymoon or something?” Sirius questions, applying pressure to his new hand. 

Percy laughs maniacally. “My loving brothers have decided that Oliver and I needed a romantic getaway. So they abandoned us in a rainforest, with the closest thing to civilization being a yank cowboy town.” Sirius looks surprised. 

“There’s a town here?” Then the rest of the sentence catches up to his, admittedly overworked, brain, “Wait, your brothers abandoned you two here? Which ones??” 

“Take a guess!” Percy is a bit mental right now. But he’s allowed to be, a lot of things have happened. Oliver takes his hand. 

“Yeah, someplace called Faith.” Oliver says, pointing in the rough direction they came from, “Pretty small, but it’s got the basics.” 

“Man, I didn’t even realize. Buckbeak and I have been camping out in some caves over there.” Oliver starts pointing at the cave system, mouthing to Percy something about luck and it’s relationship with Weasleys. Percy also starts mouthing back but it’s mean. They continue to argue back and forth, when Sirius gets a look in his eyes as he realizes something. 

“Wait, which one knows healing magic?” They both freeze. Right, they’re right out of Hogwarts. And healing magic is something only taught deep into a higher academics, usually under St. Mungo’s. So, Oliver bullshits. 

“Me. A lot of head trauma will get anyone interested in medicine.” Sirius nods, looking faraway into the distance as he plots. 

“Are you good at healing animals?” 

“What?” Oliver asks. 

“Who’s hurt?” Percy says, already kind of knowing the answer but dreading it nonetheless. 

Sirius groans, then takes a seat at the base of one of the trees that bracket their little pond. “When Buckbeak landed here, one of his legs got messed up. I don’t know if it’s broken, but he’s been unable to walk. So I’ve been getting food and water, but I’m not getting enough for the both of us.” 

“Oh, that’s not what I was expecting.” Percy replies, doing another once-over of Sirius just to make sure. Well, he still looked like shit, but Buckbeak must be in a worse state. 

“Yeah, we get that. The town has a couple of stores but the twins dumped us here without money.” 

“You’re kidding?” Sirius says, a small smile tugging at his lips at the stupidity of the situation. The twins would have made fine Marauders. 

“Nope,” Oliver says, popping the ‘p’, “Percy and I were considering robbing a bank before deciding on camping outside instead.” 

“Why rob a bank?” 

He shrugs, “Use the money to buy food.” Sirius becomes even more confused. 

“Wouldn’t they know the money was stolen. And that you two were the ones who stole it?” 

The couple looks at each other. They really should have caught that detail. 

“Well then, how would you get food from them?” Sirius shrugs, making himself more comfortable on the rock.  

“Magic. But I don’t have a wand.” Oliver barks out a laugh. 

“Why would you rob them with magic, you’re an escaped serial killer in the muggle world.” 

“Huh. I am, aren’t I.” Then, like a light clocked him over the head, Sirius beams at the other two, “I have a great idea!” 

The good town of Faith, located in an undisclosed place in Wales. It was a tourist trap, plain and simple. The local politician in charge chose western because he had a really bad obsession with those old black and white movies and a misplaced feeling of nostalgia. Misplaced nostalgia, as that politician would soon learn, is dangerous. Don’t worry, the local politician shouldn’t be mentioned other than this brief bit. 

So Faith. A wonderful little town, kept the University and high school kids employed and with a nice monetary fund during the summer months. It was pretentious, making all of the employers speak in a stereotypical Southern accent. Which led to a lot of weird scenarios with employers drawling those old Georgia slang words like “kip”, “hob” and “biscuit”. 

However, the Faith Bank, located in the near center of the town, was the apple of this politician’s eyes. It wasn’t any ordinary bank, but an old church! Get it, Faith?! Oh, those Americans and their obsession with religion. Thank goodness the British didn’t share any of that with their own grand churches. Anyway, the Faith Bank was a renovated church that was actually shipped from the Americas. It had those long glass stained windows with portrayals of the saints and Jesus Christ himself. But white washed and vaguely European looking. The pews were also shipped over, taken apart and reassembled as part of the teller, making it one of the most beautiful teller stations to exist in all of Wales. Which wasn’t particularly hard for Wales since all of their banks are fucking ugly (except for the one in Faith, of course). 

Working in Faith Bank right now were three people. The security guard, an old, old man who took up some part time work for a little bit of spare cash to spend on his hobbies. He’d just gotten into knitting and wanted to make a nice pair of socks. Next was one of those snot-nosed high schoolers who needed a part time job to ‘gain experience’ for her resume. She counts the money and mostly stays within the vault. Lastly, the teller is a middle-aged, depressed man who wanted to pursue music but couldn’t because Wales just doesn’t appreciate good old fashioned barbershop quartet with him and his three good friends. So this was plan B. 

It’s a pretty normal day, the security guard idly chatting with the depressed teller about his current knitting project. Every now and again the overeager teenager would come up from the vault for the snack table in the break room and talk story with the other two. They never got much business, other than the other employees across the shops popping in. With the residential areas of Wales located very far away, only tourists and other employees wanted to make the trek out to Faith, let alone to its isolated bank.  

“I’m tellin’ you, Gill, I don’t think it’ll work between the two of you.” The banker, Paul, says to the old security guard, Gill. Paul is trying his best to keep up the Southern accent, but it slips every now and again because realistically no one will check on them. 

“But we had a very wonderful relationship in our teens.” 

“ In your teens , it sounds like you both lived through the 1800s.” 

“The late 1800s.” Gill sounds affronted, but is still smiling as he leans against the doorframe. His strength has left him in his old age. Gill had a “summer dalliance” with another man in his teens and recently ran into a chance of reuniting with him. So the whole week has been filled with “Al used to do this.” and “Al did this”. 

“But we met in the early 1900s” Gill says, sighing like a lovesick teenager while looking like a particularly expressive skeleton. 

“Well.” Paul doesn’t really know what to say to that, shuffling around sheet music he was pouring over. Paul barbershop quartet, the Four Sickos, had a gig later that week! 

“I think it sounds like a wonderful idea.” A voice pipes up. The snot-nosed teenager, Lila chimes in. “How’d you two meet anyway.” 

“Oh, it was a wonderful summer’s day. I was staying with my great-aunt in this little village. Albus and his siblings lived together, their parents recently passing. When we first met, oh.” Gill takes a moment to remember the crinkle of Albus’ eyes when he smiles, “it was like magic.” 

Before Gill could continue on any longer, the door to the bank swings open, hardened criminal and muggle killer extraordinaire Sirius Black waltzing on, holding a rope that leads to his already prepared hostages. 

“Alright everyone, put the money in the bag and no one gets hurt.” Black says, a crazed look in his eye as he waves around a gun. Lila screams, Paul pushing her towards the backroom exit. Sirius screams at them not to move. The two unnamed hostages look pointedly at the floor, scared out of their mind at the scary escaped criminal capturing them. 

“You and you!” Sirius waves his gun at Paul and Lila. Paul flinches badly, putting his hands up, “Go to the vault and fill up this bag.” Sirius tosses a sack at him. They planned beforehand and made sure to give Sirius the bag without the bottomless charm, they didn’t want the entire vault—just enough to skip town and afford a nice hotel. 

Paul shakily nods, taking Lila and running off to the back where the vault was. 

“Huh. Never thought I’d see the day a Black child would know how to use a muggle weapon.” Sirius, confused, looks over to the old security guard, then pales. Dropping the rope and gun, stepping back unconsciously to gain some distance. The ropes, which weren’t tied very well in the first place, fall at Percy and Oliver’s feet.

“H-How. How are you here?” Sirius asks, faltering at the stutter in the beginning. He needs his wand. Merlin, he just needs a wand. 

The old man laughs, and what once would have been a gentle laugh, was very pointedly cruel. “Not even death, young man, could hold me. Now let’s see how you adorn its colors. Avada Kedavra!” Gellert motherfucking Grindelwald shouts, eyes and mouth sharp as a green blast of light aims straight for Sirius goddamned Black III. 

Remember, Percy and Oliver were both sorted into Gryffindor, but Percy has never been particularly brave while in school. He was smart, yes. And followed each rule down to the line. But bravery, the action of doing something with courage and with strength behind it, never really came in until the consequences of fear and fear-mongering stared back at him with glassy unseeing eyes, and a twin face hunched over the dead. 

So now, Percy was more than willing to be brave. To forsake death because death was so intimately entwined within his own life. Stepping into the spell’s path, Percy aims his wand at the ground immediately in front of him and causes the cement blocks below to break, raising them up to absorb the spell’s effect.

For those counting at home, that’s two separate spells—one to break apart and one to lift. And those spells were coming right at Percy. Of course he didn’t fucking lift the rock before the spell made contact. 

That’s what Oliver was for, shouting “Wingardium Leviosa!” as soon as the first cement block was ready to be lifted, completely absorbing the killing curse and becoming nothing more than ash. Because Percy became more brave but Oliver became significantly less patient. 

Then, the fight took off, Percy and Oliver both hurling their spells at Grindelwald. Sirius, on the other hand, went after the two other bank employees to evacuate them. Muggles. Grindelwald was probably going to kill them. What was he even doing here? 

Sirius jumps over the, frankly beautiful, teller station—where Paul and Lila are coming back from the vault. He grabs both of them by the shoulder, forcing them out the side employee exit. “C’mon, we have to leave!” 

“What’s going on!?” Lila asks, tears falling down her face. 

“Let her go!” Paul screams at him, struggling against Sirius’ death grip on his shoulder. 

“I was framed, alright!? They’re not even hostages, I just needed to look menacing.” Sirius says, kicking the door open and forcing the both of them through it. “But that man inside is responsible for all of his crimes!” 

“Wait, where’s Gill?! Gill!” Paul shouts. 

“Why are you calling a genocidal murderer Gill.” Sirius hisses through clenched teeth, letting Lila go and covering Paul’s mouth, scared that they’d attract Grindelwald’s attention. 

“What?” Paul deadpans. 

Meanwhile, back to the trio currently duking it out, Oliver and Percy wiped the fucking floor with Grindelwald. Yes, he is fast and was one of the worst dark wizards of his time. But he’s old. And muscles that were once powerful and boosted with dark magic have long since atrophied. Meanwhile, Oliver and Percy, while physically beaten up from the war, have the bodies of teens and the magical reserves of middle-aged wizards. 

Grindelwald focused on dark magic, activated with blood and chants. But Percy was far more agile, spouting out every single goddamned type of magic he had ever learned. From making plants grow underneath Grindelwald’s feet from the buttons on his shirt to the Jelly-legs jinx, he immediately made it so Grindelwald would always be on the offensive. And Oliver? 

Well. Oliver didn’t need his wand. So accustomed to Percy’s own magic and able to dodge all of those spells, he simply hurled every single heavy thing in that bank at Gellert. It was mostly those metal poles that were used to organize the lines and chairs. But, oh boy, there were a lot of chairs and Oliver could throw fucking hard. 

A few minutes into this absolutely ridiculous barrage of attacks, an opening appeared and Oliver oh so graciously slid into that opening and clocked Grindelwald across the jaw, landing the old man square on his ass. A little dazed with what happened, Grindelwald sat up, then spat out a tooth. 

Percy ties him up. Then casts wards on him to restrain power. Then does another set of wards because he’s not taking any fucking chances. Oliver does the same, pulling some dark magic that Pomferey had taught him in the context of healing (but Oliver used it less like “will replenish blood” and more like “will overfill you with blood taken from your liquified bones”). 

Grindelwald found great joy in seeing Oliver write in that particular line of ward, laughing, “My, my, a couple of dark lords here in this town of Faith? I’m honored.” 

“Don’t be. We’re not dark lords.” 

“Yeah, we’re just helping a friend rob a bank.” 

“Oliver, don’t tell the genocidal maniac that.”

“Percy, don’t tell the genocidal maniac our name.” 

“Well, Oliver, Percy, so nice to meet you. Call me Gellert. Or Gill, as my fellow employees have found fit to nickname me.” Grindelwald, Gellert, says. Still cheery. And oddly enough, not flinching or saying “fellow employees” with any hint of disgust. 

“Will the Aurors be taking me back to Nurmengard then?” Percy and Oliver look at each other, realizing that, well. The amount of magic—of dark magic—they just used would be really bad if the Ministry found them here. Especially with Sirius. But. 

“We’ve been using magic since we’ve gotten here. I don’t think this part of the UK is on their sensor.” 

“Hm. Pity.” They relapse into awkward silence as Grindelwald takes turns staring them both down. To be fair, they stare right back, only breaking eye contact to blink. Then, the final nail in the coffin. 

“Now, what’s a couple of time travelers like you two doing in a town like Faith?” 

At their silence, Gridelwald cackles at them, “It’s so obvious, the spells? The speed? The brute strength. The…wards.” A glint in his eyes that serves as a direct contrast and intense similarity to the twinkle in Dumbledore’s. “By your surprise to see me, I must be dead in your time. Perhaps that young upstart, Riddle? Ah, nevermind he goes by—Voldemore, was it? He was my killer, yes?” 

“What do you mean by ‘two’?” Is the only thing Percy can really say. Because yeah, Grindelwald was dead in the year 2024. But so was Dumbledore and most of the old people in this current year. That doesn’t explain the ‘two’ thing, though. Because this Oliver, while he was his Oliver, was not the Oliver from his own timeline. 

Right? 

“You both traveled back in time, isn’t that right? Or was it just you, Percy? I knew a Percy once. A Yank, horrid one at that, too.” Grindelwald tangents, unaware of the revelation that has been building up for ten chapters. 

“Percy…” This Oliver said. And Percy’s eyes went to his knuckles. That wasn’t from fucking Quidditch. Or at least, it wasn’t from playing Quidditch at Hogwarts alone. 

“Oliver.” Their talk in the kitchen, even at the food court. It was easy to slip into this different time because of how comfortable he was with Oliver. Of course he was comfortable with Oliver! It was his Oliver!

“What. What was the last thing you remembered—” Their wands are stowed, now just taking the chance to really look at each other. 

“I died and you weren’t there—” The scars across Oliver’s hands, the bones were disfigured, healed over, broken again, and put back together once more. 

I died, too, I was shot, I think I was shot—” Percy got that gash on his side at the height of the war, the darkest point in the ministry.

“Oliver!” They both had their second chance.

“Percy!” They pull each other together, closing the distance, the distance that was once thought to be across timelines, and kiss. Sloppy style, the whole nine yards. And Grindelwald is a little freak, he watches the whole thing. 

After a bit, like a couple minutes, Grindelwald sighs, “Ah, young love.” Just like that, they separated from each other, Percy wiping the spit he was swapping with Oliver onto his sleeve. 

“Yeah, fuck it.” Oliver says, sitting on the floor across from Grindelwald, “C’mon Perce, now that I know you’re so definitely my Perce ,” Oliver cracks a little on his wording, “I know that you charmed it so the moment he tries to fire a spell at us he evaporates.” Percy nods, sitting right next to Oliver and cuddling up to the other dude because that’s his Oliver!  

“Why didn’t you kill the muggle workers anyway?” Percy asks, “It’s been bothering me, but these would be the type of people you wouldn’t have bothered even acknowledging, let alone working with.”

Grindelwald hmms and haws, then says, “I’ll show you. And that Black child. Hopefully you haven’t scared away Paul and Lila, they might like to join as well.” 

“It sounds weird when you call him Black child.” Oliver says in response, Percy elbows him in the ribs. 

Grindelwald wrenches his shoulder as high as it can go, an awful cracking sound emanating from it, then the wards flicker, and suddenly he moves! Pushing his shoulder back into its socket, he holds his hands up to ease the worries of the two time travelers who have their wands pointed at him, “Don’t worry, they’re still there. But simply modified so I can move around.” 

“You can modify wards just by dislocating your shoulder?” Oliver asks. 

“I could have canceled out these wards just by spitting on them. But I like you two.” 

“Yeah, that’s fucking fair.” Percy once more feels that weight of impending doom on his shoulders. But this is more like when the volcanoes were happening in the Forbidden Forest and not when they were fighting the war. Insanity, maybe? Mania, probably? He shrugs, interlocking his and Oliver’s hands as they go outside of the bank. 

Sirius and the two employees, Paul and Lila, were sitting outside on the sidewalk eating churros. They were talking about Paul’s newest gig—Paul’s the bass of the group so he had one of the easier parts but the lead’s tenor part was a little difficult to follow. The both of them accepted Sirius being framed pretty fast. But were very insistent that “Gill” wouldn’t kill them anytime soon. Sirius also accepted that pretty fast when Lila showed him the employee group photos of the three wearing matching shirts for Halloween and Christmas. This easy acceptance doesn’t stop Sirius from shoving himself in front of the two employees when he sees Percy and Weasley trailing behind Grindelwald—some old types of wards hovering over his skin. 

“Guys, what is he doing still walking around?”

“Where’d you get the churros? Oh, he, uh. He’s going to show us why he’s not a genocidal maniac anymore.” Percy says. Paul snorts and Lila tries to hide her giggles. 

“Are we going to go to Rainforest Cafe?” Gellert brightens up. 

“Yes! We are going to Rainforest Cafe!” Gellert says in response, leading the group of six down the street to Rainforest Cafe. 

Chapter Text

“Wait, hold on, let me lock up.” Paul says, running quickly back to the bank’s front door. He jogs back up to the group, then nudges Sirius. “Gotta make sure no one breaks in, right?”  

“Ha ha. You’re a real laugh, you know that?” 

“You know it, pardner.” Paul says in return, laying the fake Southern accent on thick. 

Grindelwald leads the little misfit pack, Percy and Oliver trailing close behind him. Percy was closely monitoring the wards to make sure they stayed intact. He wasn’t taking that spitting one-off comment as lightly as Oliver was. Oliver was asking Grindelwald pretty stupid questions, with Grindelwald dotingly answering them.

“So have you ever played Quidditch?” 

“No, but I’ve gone to many a game in my time. I even got the chance to meet the animal that inspired the snitch.” 

“Cool! What were enchanted brooms like in the 1800s?” 

“Slower. I know in one town instead of brooms they used saddles and made horses out of clouds to ride on instead.” Oliver had stars in his eyes and a plan forming in his heart when he got that particular piece of information. 

“Percy, Quidditch cowboy edition. Percy, I could be a cowboy.” 

“Yes, you could be.” Percy says, a smile on his face just as stupid as Oliver’s question. 

This particular Rainforest Cafe was special, with each animatronic donning a little cowboy hat. Except for the snake, which proudly wore a sheriff badge on its scales. 

When Gellert stepped in, the hostess immediately recognized him and directed the party to a booth right in front of a stage. 

Percy and Oliver had never been to a Rainforest Cafe, but vaguely recognized it as an American fast food franchise that was fairly new in the 90s. Most were closing down in their original timeline due to the gimmicky nature of it. But this was a Rainforest Cafe in its prime. 

Aside from the fact that Percy and Oliver have been living out in the forest for the past couple of days, this was a much needed interpretation of that lifestyle. Cold AC bore down on them, with the sound of “jungle noises” playing throughout the speakers in the room. The walls were painted with murals of monkeys and snakes, the ceiling covered in fake foliage.  

A waiter came by wearing a safari-styled uniform, down to a fake badge patch and an ID that proudly said his name was Dave. 

“Hi y’all,” Dave drawled, “It’s nice ta see you again, Gill.” 

“It’s very nice to see you as well, Dave. We’ll have a round of the Cheeta Rita for everyone and the Safari Fries, please.” 

“Sounds good, it’ll be out in a bit.” When Percy also looked around, he noticed a distinct lack of people. 

“This place is kind of a ghost town, huh?” Oliver comments. 

Gellert is the one to nod, “This Rainforest Cafe is one of the draws of coming out to Faith—besides the rainforest right outside of it and the teller booth made from an American church’s pews. But recently, people have turned away from here, saying that this town is haunted. Ironically, that means the tourists will only come during the winter season, so this stretch of summer is very empty. Oh, I think I’ll get the Creole Mac and Cheese, it has been a while since I’ve had that.” 

Lila hums, already used to the weirdness of her day, “I’m going to get the Big Islander Caesar Salad, the shrimp one was pretty good last time.” 

“Yeah, should we get cheese sticks for the table too or are the safari fries enough?” 

“Yes, excellent idea Paul. We’ll get the cheese sticks, too.” Then, Gellert turns to the other three, “Do you know what you want? It’s on me, of course. All blood money from the family.” He says it very airily, but Oliver is guesses that Gellert probably isn’t lying. 

“The, uh. Python pasta looks pretty good.” Percy says, mentally updating his will (again). For fuck’s sake, he’s about to eat lunch with Gellert motherfucking Grindelwald.

“Is the Edge of the Forest good?” Oliver asks, kinda just going with it. That’s been working so far and he’s been pretty lucky with doing that—he got his husband back and a dog!

“Oh, that’s one of my favorites,” Lila pipes in, “It’s fried chicken with this really thick gravy over it.” 

“And you, Black child?” 

“Uh, Gill. That dude’s not black,” Paul awkwardly points out. 

“His last name is Black.” Percy clarifies, “His family is pretty famous from our uh. Neck of the woods.” 

“And my first name is Sirius.” Gellert laughs, clapping his hands. “The dog constellation! Oh, and they say that your family doesn’t have a sense of humor.” 

Dave comes back with bright red glasses of the Cheeta Rita, then takes everyone’s order. Not a moment later, he comes back with the cheese sticks and fries for the table. 

“It’s been a bit slow, so we’re able to make it a bit faster. Your food should be right out.” 

“Thank you, Dave,” they all say because we stan minimum wage waiters and waitresses. 

Percy takes a sip, then immediately regrets it. “Wow, this is.” 

“Alcoholic!” Oliver finishes Percy’s sentence, then his own drink. Wow! And the only way to know there was alcohol in the drink was to feel the burn in your throat and stomach. Because it tasted like straight sugar that was set on fire.  

“It’s good for the soul.” Gellert says in response, sipping at his drink. “But, to the important matter.” Gellert scoots closer to the table, putting some fries and cheese sticks as he talks. 

“Paul and Lila, perhaps you do not know this about me, but I was a bad person.” The three other wizards look shocked at Grindelwald’s confession, but he continues on anyway, “I have done some bad things to people across the world. And for it, I was imprisoned. But, I was patient. Bided my time. Then one day, when the guards had a sympathetic ear to my woes, they freed me.” Dave comes back with the food and refills Gellert’s drink. 

It’s the year 1994. And for the first time in over fifty years, Gellert is free. Of course, his freedoms came with restraints. As soon as night hit in Nurmengard, he had to be back in his cell. The sympathetic guard had given Gellert a portkey to return with and a watch to show what the time was in Germany. 

The portkey that took Grindelwald outside of his prison was an old one that the guard had to fix himself, so the locator might have been a bit broken. And broken was an understatement. Because instead of taking Grindelwald to the Ministry of Magic in the UK, he was sent to the Mall of America in Minneapolis. Popped right into an Aeropostale dressing room, empty thankfully. 

And there, Grindelwald was thrown into the muggle world of the 90s. 

“That was only five months ago.” Percy says, truly a master of math. 

“And it’s been quite an eventful five months.” Gellert says in response, pulling back his sleeve to reveal a sleek watch charmed to look like a Rolex (because Grindelwald apparently needs to have some ice on his wrist) showing 4:34 PM, a great contrast to Faith’s own 10:06 AM time.

“I have a quite a few hours until I need to leave.” Grindelwald off-handedly mentions before getting back into the story. 

Grindelwald walks through the mall, amazed with inventions and sights far too technologically advanced to be made by those violent muggles. Where were all of the guns, the anti-wizard  sentiments that should have surely leached into even the most suburban parts of muggle society?

But nope. Instead, Grindelwald found the lego store and was amazed at the recreation of an entire ship just by little building blocks. 

“And that’s when I stumbled upon it, in its grand opening. The Rainforest Cafe.” The first one to ever open, the Rainforest Cafe in the Mall of America was bustling with life, but made room for Grindelwald in a little table, ordering the waiter’s recommendation. 

“It was lovely. Nothing like the grand meals I’ve eaten before. But it was so. Amazing, to see what the muggles of this time could accomplish, all without the help of magic.” It was a moment where Grindelwald was able to pause and observe the life going on around him. And truly know that this life, too, was precious. 

Grindelwald would never say this part aloud, at least to those in his current company. But when the fake thunderstorm happened and the sprinklers got his cheek wet, he thought of muddy shoes. And the man who’d gotten his brand new vest dirty. Who smiled like the sun and emanated kindness like its rays. In this little booth meant for one, Grindelwald found love in the Rainforest Cafe because it soothed the loneliness of not having Albus across from him, beside him. 

In the beginning, Gellert wanted unstoppable power, pure and awe-inspiring. He wanted the world to fit nicely in the palm of his right hand, and Albus in the other. Then, Gellert tasted fear for the first time when a spell hit Arianna Dumbledore and closed her eyes for the last time. 

Power for the sake of control became power for the sake of protection, to safeguard from fear. Or to push down the look that Albus gave him as Gellert ran as far as he could. Maybe it wasn’t just fear, but regret that the words “I’m sorry” could never find its way out of his mouth, or at least not in front of Albus himself. 

“One day, and one day soon, I hope to bring Albus to this Rainforest Cafe.” 

Gellert himself was patient, but his thoughts? Not so much. Fifty very long years spent in a cell, looking at the same walls and the same hands growing wrinkled and aged. Fifty years to realize that the world would never fit so nicely in his hand as Albus’ did. Power couldn’t really compare, in all actuality, to the way that Albus looked at Grindelwald. 

“That’s. That’s really sweet, Gellert. And Professor Dumbledore would really like the ambiance here.” 

Lila perks up, “So Al is a professor?” Percy nods, “He’s the headmaster at our school. Oliver and I just graduated.” Paul snorts. 

“Well, if you’re looking for a job, Faith is always hiring. And the employees get free room and board since it’s so out of the way from everything else.” 

“Yes, that is why I took the job as a security guard. Now I can head back to Nurmengard and come back here within the hour to refresh the magic there.” 

“How do you plan to get Dumbledore here? Wasn’t he the one who locked you away?” Sirius asked, much more pleasant now that he’d devoured his meal and was working his way through another appetizer. 

“Knocking on his door and asking him, of course.” Oliver and Percy share a look. 

“What if we send him an owl and tell him to meet you here instead. He’s still at school looking for a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher since the last one got hate crimed by him,” Oliver points at Sirius. Who looks affronted, but then shrugs, stuffing another cheese stick into his mouth, “so he’ll definitely be at Hogwarts.” 

Gellert claps his hands together again, “Wonderful! Oh, wonderful.” Lila starts talking with Gellert about what he’ll wear, if he should get Albus something like a “Sorry I almost tried to enslave the muggle race” goodie bag. But Gellert was adamant that he would want something called “creatine” and “Asics running shoes”. 

“Where are we going to get the owl?” Percy asks.

“What are you going to use an owl for? Just deliver it through the post.” Paul says, shooting Percy a confused look. 

“The post for our school is only accessible through uh. Owl.” It kind of dawns on Percy that they probably broke the Magical Secrecy Act five times over within the hour, not to mention the failed bank robbery. 

“Well, if you really need owls, the forest is full of ‘em. Just need to catch them.” 

Sirius shrugs, “That’ll be easy enough. We can probably get it done tonight.” 

“Wonderful! Write that we shall meet two days from now.” The Gellert shakes his head, “No, no. I cannot wait another day. Tomorrow, we meet tomorrow.”  

“Wait, Gellert, I think if we tell him that you escaped Nurmengard he’ll try to kill you instead of take you out on a date.” When Gellert’s face fall, which looks really sad considering his age, Percy is quick to fix it with, “But we can tell him it’s a surprise! Then he might be even more excited to see you and maybe not try to kill you.” Gellert perks back up. 

“Yes! We must not get too pessimistic.” 

The rest of Gellert’s time in Faith was spent in conversation with this group of six. Another round of cocktails, this time called Rainbow Colada were dispersed through the group, with Oliver and Percy talking about how they ended up in Faith in the first place. 

“---with nothing but a bag of condoms and Quidditch supplies!” The entire table erupts in laughter, Grindelwald finding particular joy in the mischievousness of the twins. 

“When I found them, they were snogging in one of the waterfalls, so they were putting at least one of those to good use.” 

“My, what advanced magic. International portkeys—unregistered ones at that.” Gellert says, thinking on how to recruit the twins to his cause. What cause he didn’t quite know, yet. Dominating muggles was a young man’s game.

“I feel like they didn’t know where the portkey was going to land,” Percy replies, putting down his drink and rubbing at his flushed cheeks. He was a bit of a lightweight. “When we were traveling through the portkey it felt like we weren’t going in a clear direction. I’m pretty sure I even saw Hogwarts for a second.” 

“Hm. If your brothers were trying to portkey you to the school then the school wards could have redirected the portkey to another location.” 

“No, they definitely know about the wards. I remember them getting in trouble with McGonagall for trying to mess with them to get Snape locked out of the school.” Oliver pipes up, sneaking a sip at Percy’s drink. He was decidedly not a lightweight. “But I definitely think they were going to send us somewhere that had a supply of food. Because no matter how stupid we keep on saying they are, there’s no way they wouldn’t have provided some way to get food.” 

“Is the name of your school actually Hogwarts?” At the wizards’ nod, Lila crinkles her nose, “Gross.” 

Their conversation drifts on, Paul talking about recently volunteering at a shelter and maybe adopting a cat. Lila talks about her own cat, a fluffy little monster lovingly named Frito because his fur is the same coloring as the chip, down to the brown freckling. 

“I had a pet, too. His name was Antonio.” Gellert says, second Rainbow Colada finished. Dude was fucking DRUNK and ready to start trauma dumping. “I got him after Albus and I broke up. He was the cutest chupacabra of the bunch. The strongest, too. He ate his twin.” 

“Cute,” Oliver says, a little scared but also pretty genuine. He didn’t know genocidal killers kept pets. But it kind of tracks with Nagini and Voldemort, so. 

Gellert sighs, a little smile on his face as he thinks about his pet, “He was part of my first prison break. Barely knew how to roll over, but gladly bit the face of the head Auror on my command. He was such a good boy.” 

“What happened to him?” Percy asks cautiously. Chupacabra’s really weren’t the friendliest sort, and there weren’t many recorded instances of them bein domesticated. 

“Newt Scamander won over his loyalty.” Gellert says, not with malice, just with a bone tired understanding of loss, “Hufflepuffs tend to do that.” Gellert puts his hands up, “But from what I heard, it seems like Albus just went fully into his lifting.” 

“Lifting?” Percy questions. But gets drowned out by Lila and Paul laughing before they abruptly stop and look at each other “seriously”. 

“Think Hufflepuff is another school?” Lila stage whispers to Paul. Paul shakes his head, “I think it’s a slur, don’t repeat that word.” Lila nods her head “sagely”. Oliver cracks up laughing. Maybe he was a little bit drunk. 

The topic eventually swings to school. Lila talks about how she’s in her final year, very stressed and very intimidated with the job market. 

“It’s been really nice working here, but I don’t know if I’d want to work here full time. It’s so far from town and I always miss my parents and my friends when I move out here for the summer.” She says, “Plus, I really do want to go to college.” 

“Oh, what would you want to major in?” Percy asks, always wanting to help with college advising. Oliver snorts, recognizing his husband’s (that was his actual husband!) passion. 

“Marine biology! I love sea creatures and I want to study the Twilight zone. I’ve heard about some people even discovering the Titanic wreckage with these submarines, it would be so cool to operate them.” 

“You know,” Percy starts, “Hawaiʻi has some of the best Marine Biology programs in the world. It would be a far cry away from Faith, or even Wales, but it’s beautiful.” 

Sirius frowns, “Now, when have you been to Hawaiʻi?” Percy opens his mouth. Then fucking closes it because yeah. When has he fucking been to Hawaiʻi in this timeline? He looks to Oliver for help. 

“We were thinking about going there for Uni. Perce is really into their Accounting program and their sports teams hand out some nice scholarships.” Oliver says easily enough, sneaking to grab Sirius’ drink, too. Sirius smacks away his hand. 

“Ooh, Accounting?” Gellert muses, “But Dark Lord seems like such a nice career path for you, Percy. It would put you in significantly less debt than a college education.” He singsongs. And he’s not wrong, but that doesn’t make perpetuating wizard racism and terrorism the better option. But Gellert was definitely not done trying to convince the two that world domination is better than a Bachelor’s Degree.

“And sports. Come now, Oliver. Being a Dark Lord is a young man’s game, Tom is in his 60s—oh, Tom is the current Dark Lord in Britain.” Gellert clarifies to Lila and Paul. They nod seriously. “Britain needs some fresh new blood to shake things up. And I will concede that perhaps blood purity is not all it’s cracked up to be.” 

“Because it promotes incest?” Oliver asks, subtly. 

“Because it promotes incest,” Gellert agrees, “But because it lacks the creativity of muggles. Muggles do not have a Rainforest Cafe. But perhaps they could if a younger Dark Lord pushes that agenda.” 

“Are you trying to…puppet master us into becoming Dark Lord so you can have more Rainforest Cafes in Europe?” 

“Yes.” Gellert smiles, “But for now, I must be off otherwise Albus will know of our plans through another means. But let us meet at the bank tomorrow with the updates.” Gellert stands, dropping cold hard cash on the table (with a sizable tip for Dave because we still stan minimum wage waiters and waitresses). “Farewell, everyone.” Gellert says to the group, strutting slowly out of the restaurant because he’s dramatic and old. He says a nice farewell to Dave and the hostess as well, both replying with Gellert’s name. 

When Gellert is fully out the door, Paul turns to them and says, “It’s so nice of you three to be playing Gill’s game.” 

“What game?” Percy asks, dread filling his stomach. Ah shit, would this be another one of Gellert’s manipulations. 

“DnD! He always talks about Hogwarts and Godric’s Hallow, we were both so confused until we realized he just likes playing DnD in his free time.” 

“DnD, like Dungeons and Dragons?” Oliver clarifies, the fullness from the food making his thought process slower than it usually is from all the blunt force trauma he’s suffered throughout the years. 

“Yeah, he plays as a wizard, right?” 

“Dungeons and Dragons, the tabletop roleplaying game?” Percy also clarifies, in part for Sirius who looks very lost and confused. 

“Yeah, what other Dungeons and Dragons is there.” Paul laughs, the rest joining in. 

“O-oh. Yeah, hah.” Percy tries to respond but. What the fuck, that’s one way of being in denial of magic. Fuck it, may as well just go with it. 

“I’m a Cleric in the game, so I also use magic.” 

“Oh, right, is that why he had all that strange writing on his clothes?” Lila asks. 

Percy shares a look with Sirius and Oliver, “Yes. Yes definitely. This was our first time meeting up with Gellert in a long time so we wanted to do something extra special.” 

Sirius butts in, now picking up on how they were gaslighting these poor muggles, “I thought you two were part of the game, sorry if I scared you.” 

But Lila waves him off, “Nah, I get it. Besides, you can’t be Sirius Black—you’re way too,” She vaguely gestures at him while frowning. 

“Too what?” Sirius asks, not sure whether he should be offended or mildly grateful. 

“Too sane.” Paul replies. “When the murders were going down, I heard Black ate a guy and only left his finger.” 

“Yikes.” Percy says, then clears his throat to get Sirius’ attention—who’d been getting ready to comment on how Peter Pettigrew is more rat than man. 

“Well, we should be on our way.” Percy stands, hauling Oliver and Sirius with him. “Got an owl to catch and a professor to reunite with his ex-lover and the like.”

“Oh!” Lila shoves their leftovers at them, “Don’t forget your takeaways. I think Dave even refilled our glasses, too.” She points at the little styrofoam cups, with a little red-eye tree frog as the logo. His name was Cha Cha and he is the main mascot of the Rainforest Cafe

“Thank you!” Oliver says, then as they leave they all say thank you to Dave in unison because minimum wage workers should be thanked at least three times for their amazing job. Unless they are busy, then thank them silently, like a prayer. 

Exiting the Rainforest Cafe, Percy, Oliver and Sirius walked in silence back to Sirius’ hideout, idly observing as the ground changed from the anally-kept dirt roads to straight up jungle. 

“Fuck, is Buckbeak still injured?” Oliver asks, a little tipsy from the Cheeta Rita and the two helping of Rainbow Coladas (his and Percy’s). 

“Yeah, his leg got twisted when we landed here. The forest was denser than it looked from above.” Oliver nods. 

“Ok, I’m not as familiar with hippogriffs but I’ve healed a couple of owls, their feet are kind of the same as Buckbeak’s, right?” He looks to Percy for answers, but Percy is sadly throwing up in the bushes because that was way too much alcohol for him. 

“Oh, forgot how shit your tolerance is.” 

“Damn, isn’t he a Gryffindor?” Sirius asks, a little impressed with how none of it got on Percy’s clothes. 

“He mostly stayed out of the party scene.” Oliver says, purifying one of the leftover Rainbow Coladas for Percy to down. 

“Strong man.” Sirius comments, continuing on. 

Oliver smiles, patting Percy’s back, “The strongest I know.” 

Buckbeak makes an upset crowing noise when they enter the cave, only mollified when Sirius presents his leftovers.

“Here you go, you fat bird.” Sirius says, affectionately petting Buckbeak’s little crown of feathers. Oliver gets to work, resetting Buckbeak’s bone and wrapping it in gauze he summoned from some leaves outside of the caves. 

“That should be that, then.” Oliver calls out, patting off the invisible dust from his pants so he can oggle at his ring in a ‘subtle’ manner. Then he goes over to his husband (holy fucking shit, his husband!) and they walk back off into the forest to go find one of those goddamn owls. 

It is fully night by the time that Percy decides to throw in the towel. There’s been too many big things that have happened and they need an owl? He’ll get an owl. 

Oliver and Percy are perched on a little pile of small boulders, Oliver casting silent identification charms at anything that moves. This is their break time, but Percy also wants this to be their sleep time. So he simply. Stands up, walks into the forest. Then comes back out with one of those fancy owls. 

“What you got there, Perce?” Oliver whispers. Percy proudly holds out that fucking owl they’ve been looking for. 

“His name is Cha Cha, like that stupid frog from Grindelwald’s obsession.” The owl, small and brown with the same color fur as the trees around it, had the most startlingly red eyes. Big, red eyes, too. 

“I think Cha Cha came from my nightmares.” 

“Lucky that you got to sleep to have those nightmares. C’mon, let’s just write the Professor then go the fuck to sleep. The weather’s nice, we could probably transfigure some of this glass into a tempurpedic if we try hard enough.” 

“Alright.” Oliver rummages through his pack, finding the parchment and ball point pen before scribbling something then tying it to Cha Cha’s leg. 

“Go deliver this to Albus Dumbledore. If he’s not at school, he’s probably at his house in Godric Hollow.” Oliver says, slowly. Hoping that this bird could do that nifty thing of finding a person. The owl looks at Oliver with its stupid scary eyes, then flies the fuck off. 

And with that, Percy casts a couple of spells on the ground, then cusses it out a little bit, before falling down on a very comfortable patch with Oliver cozied up beside him.  

Chapter Text

The very next day in the sleepy morning of Godric Hollow, and not Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore awakes from his slumber to an owl indigenous to the rainforest of Wales pounding on his door with its tiny little clawfoot.

“My, my what a beautiful bird you are.” Albus flicks his wrist to unlock the window, the bird flying to his awaiting hand. A small scroll is attached to it. 

“You must be awfully hungry. Pindle.” A small elf cracks into the room. 

“Good morning Headmaster Dumbledore, Pindle be bringing your creatine and pumpkin juice. What else can Pindle be doing for yous?” Pindle says. The young elf wears a stupidly bright orange pillowcase with moving blue moons that go through the moon cycle every other fifteen minutes—it was one of Albus’ favorite curtains till he realized that it would give the garden gnomes epilepsy if they stared at it too long. 

“Thank you Pindle.” Albus takes the proffered drink, “could you get some owl treats for our small guest here?” Albus moves his wrist and Cha Cha flies to the elf’s shoulder. “I’ll fetch you once more when I write a reply.” Pindle nods then walks out of the room.

Albus’ glasses fly from his nightstand to his nose. These were his at-home glasses, so they were a blue and green glitter combination with a bright purple chain. 

Dear Professor Dumbledore. The letter starts. Which was a good start. Too bad it went downhill from there. I’m very drunk but I’m still very good at writing letters. I’m THE BEST at writing letters. You can’t even imagine how amazingly, awe-inspiring, god-tiered I am at writing this letter right now. There’s a paragraph break, then the color of the pen changes 

Anyways, Oliver and I are engaged! I love him so much, Professor Dumbledore. He proposed to me in a field. It was so cute, the last time it was in a library but this whole nature thing is amazing. Also we’re stuck in Wales because of a prank gone wrong so if you run into my brothers Fred, George, Gred, or Forge, tell them that I’m going to BLOODY END THEM. Another paragraph break and now a delightful blue color. 

Also, no idea how to get back. We figured it was some kind of portkey thing but we’ve been here for a WHILE. We also found someone that wants to date you? I don’t know, can’t really say much about that. We ran into him when Oli and I were trying to rob a bank with Sirius. The last part was supposed to be scratched out, but Percy missed so badly it was underlined. Another paragraph break and pen color change. 

So he really likes you and wants to date you. If you could come and pick us up on the way here that would also be much appreciated. By the way, Sirius is pretty much innocent, my bitch ass pet rat was the one who did all the murdering and shit (Ron told us what happened) and oh my gosh I can’t believe Scabber would do something like that. Percy then spends the rest of this paragraph talking and swearing profusely about how bad Peter Pettigrew is. 

Anyways, catch you later Professor Dumbledore. Bye, Percy (soon to be) Weasley-Wood. 

“Well…what an interesting young man.” Dumbledore downs his creatine. It looks like today he’s doing arms. 

The sun slouches at the very top of the sky, scattering its sun beam in sweltering arrays. It directs a special malice to the opening of the cave where two-and-a-half tempurpedic mattresses decidedly marked their territory. This is not a joke, at one point when Percy was transfiguring the mattresses, they became sentient and started trying to knock the other mattress out. It wasn’t until Oliver and Sirius put sheets on both of them that they calmed down. 

Despite being in Wales, with fuck-ass weather, the sun wanted to make today an especially more fuck-ass day in comparison to the rest. No wind. Just humidity and radiation. Yummy. 

Oliver walks back into the cave, hair wet from waking up early and being productive, like a normie. 

“Perce, hey Perce.” Oliver kicks the bed with all the emotional maturity of a toddler who just learned their parent’s real name. “Wake up. Perce. C’mon, Perce. It’s noon.” Instead of getting a reaction from Percy, who is out cold, the mattress kicks back. Oliver goes flying out of the cave into very expensive and gaudy robes. 

Oliver’s heart tells him that he just collided with another person, but his cumulative years of head injuries tells him that a cement wall just punched him. 

“My head.” Oliver groans. 

“Here, dear boy.” A hand gently closes around Oliver’s forearm, then tightens its grip. And in that moment, Oliver almost said goodbye to that entire arm—but didn’t have enough time to dwell on his limb when he was launched from the ground from the strength of the other person. A good amount of airtime passed before his feet found solid ground. And in that timespan, gravity did not exist, muggle physics didn’t exist, he passed through each atmospheric layer of the earth, orbited in space, and flipped off an alien before coming back down. 

In wonderment and amazement, Oliver looked to the person connected to the hand to see what kind of fucking elder god he got mattress-tossed into. 

“Professor Dumbledore!?” And just like that, Percy was up from the mattress, glasses on and smoothing down his hair. 

“I didn’t do it, sir, it was the twins.” Spilled from the ginger’s mouth, autopilot words since Percy was still trying to wake up and not vomit on the mattress who was sneaking up on the other mattress Sirius was on. 

Dumbledore lets out a breathy laugh. “I don’t doubt you didn’t, dear boy. Here.” From the folds of his robes—a very realistic depiction of a hurricane forming within an ocean, the gales from the animation making his robes sway—he produced a small vial. “Some pepper-up potion, it seems like you’ll need it from the letter you sent.” 

“Oh, uh. Thank you, Professor.” Percy downs the potion in one go. 

“The both of you have been having quite the adventure.” Dumbledore says, his eyes twinkling. “I must say, with the love you two have found, I’m quite looking forward to my blind date. But! I’ve been in contact with both Mrs. Weasley and Mrs. Wood. They are aware that both of you are safe and about the portkey mishap. As it turns out, Forge and Gred had tampered with the wards at Hogwarts to allow a portkey, but there tempering was fixed before their portkey could activate.” Dumbledore pauses, then adds, “I have not informed them of your engagement.”

“Mum must have killed them.” Percy says, feeling a tiny bit of guilt for them (just a smudge, if he’s honest). 

“They are quite alright, but tried to assert that they are suffering from hearing loss. Mrs. Wood also told me to inform the both of you that Brutus is in good health.” 

Both Percy and Oliver perked up at that. Despite getting Brutus a few months ago, they’ve grown very attached to the slobbering giant. 

THUD 

“AHH!” Sirius runs out from the cave, “Those bloody mattresses are trying to murder me!” 

“No, they’re trying to murder each other, you’re just getting in the way,” Oliver asserts. Buckbeak was the only one to escape the accidental manslaughter from last night—the mattresses are afraid of him. Dumbledore peeks in the cave, observing the very advanced level of transfiguration with curious eyes. 

“Well then, noon is coming fast upon us, let’s get going to town, shall we?” 

The walk goes by significantly faster, Percy and Sirius trying to keep up with Dumbledore. Percy tried small talk, but quickly ran out of breath. By the time Faith’s signage was in plain sight, they were jogging to keep up with Dumbledore’s pacing. 

“My, I must say how fast muggles work to set up their towns.” Albus observes, now walking idly through the main street. Some of the workers loiter around their respective stores, smoking and talking amongst each other. 

“We’re going to that restaurant, at the end.” Oliver says, the only one not out of breath. 

“Oh! It’s so colorful.” Dumbledore says, dropping a small bit of his grandfatherly act. 

“Yup!” Percy sucks in a deep breath as he bends over to make sure his lungs are still going. Merlin, does Dumbledore ever fucking skip leg day? 

“Your date should already be inside. We’re going to be introducing Sirius to muggle toys.” 

“Aren’t they the same as wizard toys?” 

“No, they’re significantly better. Do you know what a Rubik’s cube is?” 

They part ways, Dumbledore going up the steps to the Rainforest Cafe, while Percy, Oliver, and Sirius go to hunt down Faith town’s gift shop. 

Right before the door, Albus stops. His thoughts clashing in on themselves. Firstly, the matter with Sirius Black. On the one hand, he should report Mr. Black to the proper authorities, make sure he gets a proper trial, and then reintegrated into wizarding society. But letting the Aurors know about Mr. Black will implicate Mr. Weasley and Mr. Wood into hiding Mr. Black. 

Minnie and her lions, never failing to become thick as thieves with trouble. 

Then, there’s the curious case of Mr. Weasley and Mr. Wood themselves. Dumbledore lied, the corrections to the wards were only found after questioning the Weasley twins. The only way they could have gotten this far out was if someone intentionally dragged them out to Faith. Or one of them was strong enough to redirect a portkey from one of the most magically-heavily places within the UK. 

And there’s only one person that has that amount of power and foreplanning. 

Before Dumbledore can think anymore on the matter, the door opens for him. 

“Gellert.” Like a prayer, a threat, or a song, the name cuts all the same. 

“Albus.” The response, the knife dragging along the throat, the chorus.

The blast of air conditioning from inside of the building is welcomed to the disgusting weather in Wales, stereotypical “tropical” music washing over the both of them. The steel guitar and ukulele music was the backing track to both of them sizing the other up. 

Age was a dangerous thing, bringing most to their demise. But time treated Gellert well, the wrinkles in his face never taking away from the shine in his eyes, the little upturn in his smirk. Even his cheekbones seemed to outlast all the people he brutally murdered in a power grab. 

“You’re supposed to be in prison.” 

“You never visited.” 

“I had the memory of its location erased.” 

“You wound me so, Alb—” The scruff of Gellert’s collar is lurched forward by Dumbledore’s iron grip. A storm starts in the Rainforest Cafe. 

“Gellert, you killed thousands of innocents.” Gone is Dumbledore’s “old person, lol” persona. What stands in place is the person that fought through dark wizards, that faced down his lover, and won. 

“Mass killings, treating hardworking men and women as cattle because of an ideology rooted in racism and bias. Each one had a name, a family.” There’s something lacking in Albus’ voice. Beyond the warmth, the edge of wiseness that colored each of his carefully worded advice. 

Gellert gets lifted off the floor as Albus continues.  “I was weak. My heart, my soul—all of it so completely yours.” He tightens his grip. 

“But not anymore.” Crack Gellert apparates out from Albus’ grip, reappearing right behind him. Gellert’s hand goes up to his threat, tentatively feeling out the bruise that is fast appearing. 

“ Albus ?” Gellert croaks out. But Dumbledore ignores it, putting his glasses in his hat and tossing both off to the side, his wand following. 

“You killed thousands of muggles and muggleborns with just one spell.” The hurricane on his robe stops moving. All at once, the color on his robe evens out to one solid color, morphing into a shirt and pants. Now, it was just Albus Dumbledore, without the magic and the twinkle in his eye. The man who lost a mother to muggles, a sister to wizards, left with a father in prison and a brother shamed by society. And 100+ years in the gym—six days a week. 

“Let me show you how it feels to die a muggle’s death.” Ah. Gellert’s figured out what was missing from Albus. 

His empathy. 

CRACK . 

Albus’ fist flies into Gellert’s nose, it happens so fast the Gellert’s not sure what’s happening till a second, third, and fourth punch are nailed into his jaw. 

CRACK 

SNAP 

CRUNCH 

CRACK

Splitting pain that makes Gellert see color behind his eyes, something warm and slow drips down his face. He wills his mouth to move, but his jaw is clicked closed. 

Albus picks him up once more by his shirt, and lifts Gellert. Then, everything shifts as he’s lowered backward, then launched forward. 

For a second, Gellert feels like he’s flying, blood flies from his broken jaw and nose. He can’t really open his eyes, but doesn’t need to know he’s falling when his cheek hits the dirt floor hard. Small rocks digging into his skin as his momentum drags his poor body along the stretch of the main road. 

“Professor!?” Gellert hears off to the side. But even his hearing is going, just a loud, tinny tone that drowns out the sounds coming from his left, his right ear completely shot. 

“Mr. Weasley, I ask that you stay out of this.” Comes Albus’ calm voice. Dull voice. 

“Professor, wait, h-he’s changed.” Now Gellert can really feel the result of Albus’ ministrations. It seems to be mostly radiating from his face, but his awkward landing onto the ground definitely broke his arm. His right leg also feels numbed. 

“Mr. Wood, I understand how enticing his words can be but I assure you,”

CRACK.

“They mean nothing.” 

CRACK. How were there still unbroken bones in Gellert’s face to be broken!? While Percy and Oliver try to continue to convince Albus to not kill wizard Hitler, Gellert thinks about using his magic. He really could, there was still more than a few spells that he could cast without the need for a wand or a voice. And then after that, it would be a piece of cake to heal himself, then face off against Albus once more. He’s gotten older, sure, but so has Albus. Still evenly matched, after all these years. 

CRUNCH . Albus’ well used Asics shoes slam into Gellert’s chest, effectively breaking a couple of rib bones. His breathing starts going haywire, and there’s no doubt in Gellert’s mind that a rib fragment punctured one of his lungs. 

He really should fight back, shouldn’t he? Or at least heal his poor body. Albus lines up for another stomp, not that Gellert can see it, and crushes his left side. 

Whelp. That was the side with the heart, isn’t it? 

From his childhood days, which he reflects on in his old and wrinkled age, Gellert could see the future. Small doses of what could happen, some important and some not so much. It’s how he knew that Albus would come knocking on his door and splash him with mud. How that blasted Newt Scamander would ruin his plans. 

His newest vision, pristine and so vivid in his fading memories, was of him and Albus in this Rainforest Cafe, happily chatting and sharing appetizers and drinks. They would talk about their life post-war, Gellert establishing his franchise in Faith, Albus about his days in the gym. In the vision, Albus kissed him just as another thunder storm started. And Gellert wanted that future more than anything else in the world. Because power felt so dull when he could have Albus looking at him like he did during that first summer. 

But his last thought, as the flashing color behind his eyes finally calmed, struck something in his bruised and beaten heart. 

He didn’t even get to say goodbye. 

“Holy shit did Professor Dumbledore just kill Gellert Grindelwald?” Percy asks, not really sure what the fuck is happening. 

“He stopped breathing.” Oliver says, already running over, Percy on his heels. 

“Hey, guys, I think I figured out this—bloody hell.” Sirius drops the completed Rubik’s cube, following close behind Percy. 

Oliver’s knees hit the ground first, old chants falling out of his mouth. It was muscle memory, the way his magic rose from his core to fill out the pathways along his arms and fingers. Percy was doing damage control, pulling Professor Dumbledore off to the side to calm him down. Merlin, beating the most infamous dark wizard with his bare fucking hand? Absolutely mental. 

The biggest thing to focus on was the lungs. Somehow, the soul was still stuck right underneath the layer of skin, but its connection was fraying with each passing moment. 

So first came the lungs, Oliver made quick work of gathering each bone fragment in his hand, never cutting into the body, but willing each piece to pass through the body. Then reattaching each bit of bone, correcting its place and alignment, too. 

“Stop! Mr. Wood, you must stop. You cannot bring such evil back into this world” Dumbledore commands, and Oliver can feel something pulling at his shoulder, a heavy weight meant to impede his movements. And it almost stopped Oliver from continuing his work, if it hadn’t disappeared immediately after. 

“Professor Dumbledore, please stop trying to curse my fiancee.” Percy says, firmly, castle the counterspell and putting strong shield around the two of them. His fiancee!

Next was the face, smashed beyond recognition. Albus’ punch melted the skin on Gellert’s nose and jaw away, leaving a horrifying visage of worn down cartilage and smashed in teeth. Oliver focused on that, realigning the teeth and regrowing the cartilage, then the skin. In the back of his mind, he remembers doing this very same process to Professor Flitwick after a bad run in with fiendfyre from Dolohov’s wand. The flames chewed away the sides of his face, leaving everything but his nose exposed to the grime of the war. No one was ever the same after the Battle of Hogwarts, but it ached something fierce in Oliver’s chest whenever the charms professor would flinch away from their floo network. Lucky for him, Dolohov was already dead by the time Oliver got to Professor Flitwick, or he would’ve dragged out that bastard’s death.

Well, that was that. Just needed to sew his soul back to his body, then he would be right as rain. As Oliver finally gets out his wand, because even after doing this a few times with some of the younger students, sewing souls was still new enough to him to need a wand, he sees someone in his peripheral. 

“Oh, shite.” Time’s frozen over and Oliver can remember, with gut-dropping certainty, just what fucking happens when time freezes over. 

“This isn’t war times, Oliver.” Death—who likes to go by Tony, yawns, scratching his stomach. “Why do you ask for my power?” Unfortunately, Death looked nothing like he did in the stories. No imposing figure in a black coat, with burning eyes and skeletal face. Instead, Tony was an unassuming white man who really gave up on dressing for his job. A solid pair of pajama pants with little unicorns on it and a very stained and baggy shirt that read “Guns Don’t Kill People, I Kill People” in a nice gothic font were Death’s chosen wardrobe for the day. 

“Your shirt is pretty funny.” 

“Thanks.” 

Oliver recognizes he’s getting off track, so he clears his throat and locks the fuck in, “To save him.” 

Tony guffaws, summoning a Corona Light from the Beyond, “But he did this to himself, didn’t he? Doesn’t he deserve this?” He chugs the thing in one go. Then remembers his manners. 

“You want one?” 

“Yeah.” Tony snaps, and a Corona gets manifested on top of Gellert’s corpse. His hands were a bit bloody, but Oliver didn’t mind so much. 

He chugs it a bit before he remembers Tony’s question “Nah, I think he’s been pretty redeemed.” 

“But all those muggles, those innocents that Albus walk talking about.” Tony points to a frozen Albus and Percy, “Don’t they deserve their revenge?” 

“Yes, of course they do. But he’s changed.” Tony snorts, another beer in his hands.  “Even a changed man has skeletons in their closet, you’re proof enough. And you’re biased! You haven’t been impacted by Grindelwald’s crimes.” Then Tony circles around Percy, tone still light but reproachful, “But what if he’d kill Percy Weasley, instead? Would you be so quick to heal him?” 

“But he didn’t.” Oliver is firm. 

“Yes. Instead he killed children. Babies, too. In their cribs as they slept, while they screamed for their mothers and fathers who were already dead. He does not deserve your redemption, he does not deserve our magic.” Death creeps closer, and right. He might be a washed up immortal eldritch horror. But he’s still an immortal eldritch horror. 

So instead, Oliver sighs. “If you’re going to talk about ‘our’ magic then unfreeze Percy, too. Let him put his own opinion on this.” Tony nods his head, then snaps again. This time, Percy’s body jolted from his position on shielding Oliver and Gellert from Dumbledore.

“Oliver, what?” Then Percy catalogs the situation.  “Oh, shite.” 

“Hi, Percy. How’ve you been?” 

“Pretty bad. I died.” 

“I know, that was me! Sorry I couldn’t send you guys off without a warning, the transfer happens pretty fast.”

“Why did you—” Percy gets cut off by Tony pointing at Gellert. 

“What use is it to save this soul?” Then, Tony starts ticking off his points. “Evil, greedy. The world would be a net positive without it.” Percy, who’s caught on to Death’s game, narrows his eyes. 

“You don’t care about the balance of the world. What do you want for it?” 

Death laughs again, the sound booming against the silent world around them. “So clever, No wonder you married him.” Death says to Oliver, pointing towards Percy. Then, his voice is stone, “I want Voldemort. His horcruxes, every last one of them.” 

“Oof, tone shift. That’s your serious voice.” Oliver does jazz hands, then downs the rest of his beer. 

Tony tilts his head to acknowledge the comment, but keeps his eyes locked with Percy. An unassuming white man, yes, but once his face belonged to someone else. And if Tony smiled a little too wide, or showed a little too much teeth, the resemblance of Antonin Dolohov would come back in full force. Death still insisted on shortening the name to Tony, which bugged Potter to no end since he saw a teenage Tom Riddle that looked nothing that fit the name “Tony”. 

Tony never liked Percy much, citing that he made Oliver much too human for his taste. Percy doesn’t like to dwell on what that means. 

“Deal.” Percy says, and all at once, Death lightens up, chuckling a little bit. 

“See, wasn’t that simple?” He reaches forward, and Percy shakes his hand, shivering a bit at the cold touch. 

“Here.” Another snap, and Gellert’s purple soul is sewn back into his body. “And, a little parting gift.” Oliver hears a metallic clang on his left, and gasps when he sees his ax. 

“Thanks!” Death winks at him. 

“Gotta make sure my favorite Dark Lords-to-be have their best weapons.” 

“Your what?” Percy gets ignored as Death continues on. 

“I’ll be in touch, but I need to go—I’m hosting a game night with the other eldritch horrors.” 

“Have fun!” Oliver waves. 

“I will!” Death waves back, then disappears as time resumes. 

Gellert wakes up with a gasp, clutching at his chest. He can still feel the phantom pains of his face and chest injuries, but a tentative feel reveals that they’re not there anymore. Looking up, Percy and Oliver tower over him, but get out of his way. Percy helps to stand him up, and on unsteady feet he manages. 

“Dear boys, why did you bring him back?” 

“Professor please, like we’ve been telling you, he’s changed.”

“People like him cannot change.” Dumbledore asserts. And Gellert knows that he has a point. That beneath it all, Gellert doesn’t feel remorse for most of the lives taken. But there had been one. 

“Albus, please.” Gellert’s voice is rough, probably a side effect of coming back from the literal dead. His words do their job, making Albus give pause. So Gellert continues, still leaning heavily on Percy as he looks up at Albus. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Chapter Text

“You’re what?” 

“I’m sorry, Albus. That’s why I arranged for this—to apologize. I am sorry for. For everything.” This is his one chance, now that he’s not being mercilessly pummeled, so Gellert pulls out all the stops. 

“I spent fifty years at Nurmengard, biding time for my escape. Each second that passed, I thought about the different ways I would crush the British government under my iron regime of promise and integrity within the Wizarding World.” 

“Oh shit, was it a bad idea to bring him back to life?” Oliver whispers to Percy. Percy shrugs, mentally checked out for the day. 

“But then, I was transported to a Rainforest Cafe.” Gellert steadies himself on his own feet. “I’d like to show you what I saw.” Gellert reaches his hand out. Albus narrows his eyes, but tentatively reaches out and accepts Gellert’s hand. 

“After you.” Albus states, softly, the need to fight still coursing through his tensed muscles. Gellert bows his head. 

“We should follow them, right?” Sirius asks, coming up to Percy and Oliver. 

Percy eyes the small crowd of employees that had gathered to watch the fist fight, some swapping money between them from bets on which old guy would win. 

“Yeah.” 

And Albus is led back to the entrance of the Rainforest Cafe. Gellert opens the door for him, and a young man in a safari-themed jumper walks them to a table in the corner. Directly in back of them is a huge portrait of safari-themed animals, and near the front is a stage with different animatronics. 

“When I broke out, I was accidentally transported to one of these.” The waiter, Dave, comes round to take their drink and appetizer orders. 

“Thank you, Dave.” Gellert smiles at him, and Albus is surprised to see the other’s facial features empty of any sarcasm. 

“Of course, Mr. Grindelwald.” Dave smiles back. 

“And I knew that the muggles had achieved something….spectacular.” Gellert gestures with his hands to the restaurant, full of fake foliage and fake jungle noises. “Muggles, Albus. Muggles came up with the idea, implemented it, and made it come true.” 

Then, Gellert leans forward and lowers his voice to a whisper. He fiddles with his napkin, “But, it was lonely. It was a beautiful and joyous experience, but it was dulled because,” He sets the napkin down, “Because you weren’t there with me.” 

He doesn’t know if his world will reach the man sitting across from him, but he wills it to be so. “Albus. All the power in the world is useless when I won’t have anyone to share it with.” 

Gellert should have wished harder. Albus visibly rolls his eyes. “Gellert, many people would jump at the chance to rule alongside you—” 

“BUT THEY’RE NOT YOU.” Gellert shouts, slamming his fists on the table as he rises. “The only person I want by my side is you, Albus Dumbledore.” 

Albus refuses to be apart of this sudden childishness. “But why, Gellert? I disagree with your ideals on every stage of them, I am the leader of the light, in fact, I’m—” 

“BECAUSE I LOVE YOU, you daft fool.” Gellert confesses, breathing heavily as he stands. “I love you, and I don’t care about the differences. Not anymore, not when we’re like this.” He gestures to his person then to Albus’. “Albus, we are too old to care about such things—” 

“You brush off human life as ‘such things’” Albus asserted, getting to his own feet, equally enraged. “This is why it will not work. You care only for yourself, not for the others that you step on in order to receive power.” 

“I do not! I care for you!” 

“You do not! For if you truly cared for me, you wouldn’t have tried to kill me!” Albus is breathing heavily, the poor table splintering under his grip. He forces himself to calm down, but the hurt will not be tempered. So he continues. 

“Gellert. You chose power over me. You chose to go against your fellow man for it.” 

“Please, Albus.” And Albus had never seen Gellert look so vulnerable, let alone in public. “I regret it, truly.” 

“The lives you took? You feel remorse for them?” Albus asserts, and Gellert bows his head.  “No.” Albus walks out from their booth, but a hand at his wrist stops him. “But because you mourn them, I mourn them too.” Albus looks back, surprised at the confession. 

“Because you hurt, I hurt for them. Each soul that I’ve taken, I. I cannot bear myself feeling this hurt that you’ve felt. But I will endure it because it reminds me that your feelings, Albus Dumbledore, is what makes you strong.” Gellert’s grip is loose, Albus could break out of it anytime he wishes. 

Dave comes back and awkwardly sets the appetizer and drinks out on the table as Gellert and Albus remain standing, looking into each other’s eyes. 

Hesitantly, Albus is the one to break eye contact first, sitting back down. 

“If you were to go free, what would you do?” Albus asks, looking into Gellert’s eyes to peer inside his mind. Oddly enough, Gellert allows the legilimens to occur, dropping his oculomancy shields.  

“I’d ask to live with you, to restart our relationship from the top. I want to know what it’s been like, being a headmaster at Hogwarts, fighting in another war. Then I’d tell you how it was in Nurmengard, breaking out, discovering the Rainforest Cafe.” 

“What is your stance on muggles and muggleborns?” 

“The muggles have grown advanced, not just in the ways of military. They’ve used their technology to make things that are beautiful. Muggleborns still need a proper education and a better integration process into our world, but.” Gellert takes a depth breath, “I understand how radical mass murders of muggleborn and squib parents are. And I think that proper reintegration protocols can occur through,” Gellert makes a face, “proper legislation.” 

“What of your stance on dark magic within Hogwarts?” 

And this is how the next two hours went, with Dave steadily refilling their drinks or swapping them out for new ones. At one point, they took a break to eat their chosen lunches, but it was mostly Albus grilling Gellert on his new stance and morals on everything from pureblood politics to the proper maintenance of magical and non-magical creatures. 

Near the end, they were both very drunk. 

“Gellert, my last question.” Albus downs the rest of his Cheeta Rita, Gellert not far behind. “Why? Why did you break our blood pact?” 

“I was a fool in my younger years. All I wanted was to rule, to make sure that the magical community was protected with my way, and only my way.” Dave sets two new cocktails onto the table. 

“Thank you, Dave,” They both say because it’s important to make sure your waiters feel validated in the back breaking labor they do. Dave might be an exception to this rule since the cafe was so slow, he usually just smoked outside with the employees from the gift shop. Poor Dave, sometimes he got bullied by the other workers because he attended school in central London. 

“But now I realize that, truly, none of that means anything when I do not have you.” Gellert puts his hands on the table. Albus put his own on top. 

“What makes me so special to you, Gellert?” Gellert smiles, grabbing Albus’ hand to bring them closer. 

“Because, after all this time, somehow. You still love me, too.” Then Gellert draws Albus’ hands together to kiss the tops of them. 

“I’m still very angry at you, you know.” Albus says in response, finally relaxing. 

“I hear that the angrier you are, the more bitter forgiveness will be.” Gellert responds, laying another kiss onto Albus’ hands. Albus huffs quietly at the quip. 

“Then, what have I for bitter forgiveness, if your sweetness is all I need?” Albus quips back, moving to sit next to Gellert. “This will be a long path for us, Gellert.” 

“We’ve started it, Albus, that’s half the battle.” Gellert leans against Albus, their hands intertwined. 

“Wow.” Percy whispers, him, Oliver and Sirius in the booth to their immediate left. They’ve been eavesdropping from the moment Albus and Gellert sat down. “I can’t believe they made up after only two hours.” 

“What do you mean only two hours, my arse is practically asleep.” Sirius complains, stretching out and contemplating turning into a dog to stretch some more. 

“Professor Dumbledore went from killing Gellert to accepting weird hand kisses from him.” 

“I guess Gellert was known to have a lot of charisma…but I didn’t know it was this much.” Oliver confesses, peeking over again to see the couple leaning on each other and debating what to get for dessert.

“If they start making out, I’m leaving.” 

“And I’ll be right behind you.” Oliver says. 

A few minutes later, Percy, Oliver and Sirius run the fuck away as Gellert and Albus prove to each other that, yes, all of their teeth are real. 

The noonday sun rises and begins its descent into nighttime. As hours pass, drinks and snacks passed from Albus and Gellert’s table at the Rainforest Cafe. The couple drifted closer to each other, ending up shoulder to shoulder in the middle of the booth. Albus, making the chips from the beef lava nachos do a line dance, with a few cheese sticks using their guts as a one-string bass for the music. 

“I think we could make the cheese sticks drunk if we infuse them with the Mongoose Mai Tai,” Gellert posits, already flagging down Dave to get them another three (Albus has the alcohol tolerance of a God, and Gellert has taken that as a challenge to get him as drunk as possible). Then, the glint of his iced up rolex catches his eye and he notices the time. 

“Oh,” He says, the words puffing out from his chest. 

“What’s wrong, Gellert?” Albus waves his hand, the chips pairing off to a slow waltz. The cheesesticks take a break as the Amazon Bruschetta take up the herbs along their back as wind instruments. 

“In order to keep up the portkey, I must be back in my cell, soon.” 

“If not?” 

“The portkey breaks and my daytime dalliances are revealed.” Albus takes Gellert’s wrist, looking over the portkey himself. 

“This is ministry magic, a broken one?”

“Yes. One of the guard’s gave it to me as part of my ‘cause’.” 

“Well, we have thirty more minutes, and then.” Albus grasps Gellert’s hand, “we’ll have another day.” 

“Oh, Albus.” Gellert feels something in his cold, dead, heart. It might just be love. “Truly?” 

Albus smiles, “Truly, Gellert.” 

So they spend the last thirty and some odd minutes of Gellert’s freedom for the day cozying up in a booth at this Rainforest Cafe. The faux jungle storms come and go, each time Albus summoning a small shield to keep themselves dry as they watch the small raindrops fall. 

Their hands stay intertwined. 

And when there was a scant five minutes left, Gellert paid the check and they both stacked their plates and thanked Dave profusely for his level of service. Then stood, face to face. 

“Tomorrow, Gellert. Let’s meet back here, tomorrow.” Gellert gives a soft smile, an expression that looks a little mancing on his old, angular feature, but genuine nonetheless. 

“Promise you won’t beat me into the ground, Albus?” 

“Of course, Gellert, once was enough.” Albus leaned in closely, “And it seems that not even that can get you to cross over to the side.” They share a quiet laugh, drifting closer to one another. 

“Those students of yours sure are special, huh?”

“Of course,” Albus says, “Percy is the brightest wizard in his class. And Oliver is.” Albus is ashamed to admit he stumbles, “And Oliver is the strongest.” Gellert snorts. 

The minute hands move up, and Gellert knows he can’t string this moment out any farther. 

“I will miss you in the hours we are apart, Albus.” And Albus leans in closer, and closer. 

When they come up for air, foreheads still leaning against one another for purchase, Albus responds. “I will, too. Be safe, Gellert. I look forward to tomorrow.” 

“And the tomorrow after that?” 

“And the tomorrow after that.” Albus agrees, “And every other tomorrow after that one, too.” They embrace one final time, before Gellert steps away to activate the portkey. No goodbyes are said, no other exchanges of love or piety, just a silent acknowledgement that, when tomorrow comes, they will have another day for each other. 

Albus, left in his lonesome at the Rainforest Cafe, reflects on the cleared away table that housed him and Gellert. Loss, loss was something he knew too well. It pulled at his stomach every time a memory of Arianna or Gellert seemed to pop into his mind. But now, it seemed like something in him had been loosened. Maybe it was his old age, wisdom seemed to come in spades to fools, it seems. 

And in his cell, looking up at a supermoon, Gellert thinks the very same thing. 

Meanwhile, Percy and Oliver were back in the cave with Sirius Black and Buckbeak. Sirius, out the fuck cold, snores loudly. Buckbeak smacks him with one of her wings. Sirius continues to snore. 

“Look at how big the moon is!” Oliver excitedly whispers, trying not to wake up Sirius. Although Percy wasn’t sure what whispering would do, Black was currently dead to the world. 

“It’s yellow, too. That means the moon is lower in the sky than it previously was, which scatter more of its blue wavelengths—” 

THUD

Percy snaps his head to the right, where Oliver has thrown his big ass axe into the tree trunk. And there, the blade holding his collar, is Tony. So, Percy looks closer at the trees. The leaves donʻt move. And if Percy stands very, very still he canʻt feel any of the humid wind on his skin. Instead, there’s a latent chill in the air. 

“Hi, Tony. Thanks for the beer and the axe.” 

“No worries, dude. Here’s your axe back.” Death nonchalantly pulls the axe—blade on his uncovered palm— off of his shirt collars and hands it back to the Oliver. 

“Thanks! How’d your game night go?” 

“Pretty good, we did uno but Cthulu got ganged up on and had to pick up 30 cards! We had to call it early before he drowned all of us.” 

Oliver nods understandingly—that was one of the many wonderful things about Oliver, he was very agreeable with anything that came out of anyone’s mouth, even if it was the most insane thing in the world. 

Tony turns to Percy now. 

“Percy.” 

“Tony.” Cold , was the appropriate word to describe their greeting to one another. 

“So, you killed us?” Oliver asked, letting the axe fall heavily on his side as he sat back next to Percy. There was a minor disillusionment charm on it to hide from the muggles, but he still had to lug it through the town as their little gang fled the scene during Albus’ and Gellert’s makeout session. 

“Yuh.” Tony winks at them, giving them two sets of finger guns. The tips of his fingers smoked. This time, he was wearing a wonderfully neon orange shirt that read, “Get a Bucket and a Mop for That Weapons and Payoffs”. 

“Why??” Percy exclaims. If he remembers that day right, Tony was playing fucking Quidditch with Oliver and Harry that day! 

“Him, lol.” Tony points at Oliver, “It’s what I wanted to talk to you guys about. But then I forgot. So, my bad y’all.” Then he holds up a peace sign. Which could be considered ironic for a multitude of reasons. 

Percy promptly lost his shit. 

“The fuck you mean, my bad, YOU FUCKING KILLED US. YOU TOOK US AWAY FROM OUR FAMILY, OUR FRIENDS.” He was up from his seat, Oliver trying to grab his arms and get him away from the eldritch deity he was yelling, to no avail. Tony did not flinch as Percy got closer. “YOU SON OF A BITCH!” Then Percy, winds his hand back in a fist and punches the living fuck out of death—which is a very big feat considering he’s the anthropomorphic idea of Death.

“PERCY!” Oliver shouts, finally managing to get a hold of the other man and literally wrenching him away from Death. “Percy, fucking hell, your hand.” And sure enough, each part of Percy’s hand that made contact with Tony darkened in color to a horrible black. Then bits of the charred flesh started to peel off, revealing more ashy dust and something white—Percy’s bones. 

“Oh, Merlin. Fuck, fuck fuck.” Oliver scrambles, layering stasis charms over Percy’s hands and trying to stop the spread. 

For Percy, it doesn’t hurt. But the more he thinks about it, and the longer his eyes are stuck on the sight of his rapidly decaying hand, the more it hits him: he doesn’t feel it. It’s just a numb sort of warmth. He tries to move his hand, but finds that he can’t. Or if he did, he can’t see that he moved it. So, Percy hardens his gaze and wrestles his decaying stub of what used to be a limb back from Oliver’s frantic spell casting. 

Then punches death one more time! And when his hand, whole and healthy, makes contact with Tony’s face, yet again, Percy knows with a certain kind of vindictiveness, that this motherfucker was trying to pull a fast one on them. 

Instead of reacting like a normal person, Tony snaps his crooked jaw back into place then shoots Percy a smile. 

“I always knew you were the smart one.” 

“You’re a fucking cunt,” Percy spits back. 

“Your hand is fine.” Oliver says, grabbing at Percy’s hand and checking it over once, twice. Then one more for good luck. 

“Of course it’s fine, Tony just thought it would be funny to play a little prank on us.”

“And it was!”

“CUNT!” Percy lunges for him again, and Oliver fully picks him up so that Percy is in the air, feet kicking. Tony takes out a cigarette and lights it, too. 

“You’re taking this a lot better than him.” Tony observes, taking a drag from his death stick (appropriately titled). Oliver shrugs. 

“You’ve got your reasons, right?” Oliver asks, unusually calm as Percy struggles in his grip, continuing to cuss out Tony. 

Tony nods, “That I do. It’s a fun story, too!” 

After a little bit, when Oliver finally manages to calm Percy down, Tony monologues at them. 

“Once upon a time, there was a war.” 

In this particular war, the greatest resource was bodies. And the people who repair them. 

Chapter Text

Smoke drifted lazily out of the server’s mouth. Gill and his boyfriend(?) had left a while ago, and it was easy enough to clean up from there. 

“Heading out for the night?” Holly, the worker for Faith’s hotel, asks. She saddles up next to Dave, who budges over on the sidewalk to make room for her. 

“Nah, gonna stick around for a little bit,” He teases, playing around with his carton. 

Almost all of the employees in Faith smoke. Simply because it was the most exciting thing to do in their little town. And it gave the feel to the whole ‘Yank, Western theme’, but that was just according to their manager.

Holly harrumps, bumming off one of his cigarettes and lighting it. The butt glows a pretty color as she inhales, leaning against him. 

“Long day?” She asks. He shrugs, her head moving against his shoulder at the action. 

“Gill swung by with his boyfriend.” He flashes the bills that were left on the table, “they left me a very generous tip.” 

Holly snorts. “Yeah, I think the guy is staying at my motel. Albus. Nice guy, old though.” 

“What do you expect? Gill is ancient.” 

Small huffs of laughter between them. They sit like that for a while, looking off into the distance as they swap the odd and end stories of the day, just catching up with each other. 

“How’s Frito?” 

“She’s a sweetie, but getting pretty chunky.” 

Eventually, their sticks get shorter, until Dave puts his out on the cement next to him. It goes out with a small hiss.

Holly takes this moment, then, to clear her throat and get to what she really wanted to ask. 

“So, you’ve finished up school now. Thinking about uni?” Dave groaned, loudly, burying his hand in his hands. She laughs at him , how cruel. 

Holly was a few years older than Dave, working full time in Faith with room and board. And her life’s been pretty good. Her girlfriend of three years, Lila, recently moved in with her. But since it was her last year at school, too, she was also thinking about going away for college. 

“I don’t know. Gilligan—” He cuts himself off with a muffled scream, “Gilligan is driving me nuts.” 

Gilligan, Dave’s classmate, was also Dave’s boyfriend. That’s right, didn’t see that twist coming, huh? 

“What’d he do now?” 

“He lost this chess match, and he didn’t take it well. At all. Now he’s got it in his mind that he wants to go to a…” Dave tries to find the words, and when he does, he still can’t quite believe it’s coming out of his mouth, “Magic school?” 

“Magic school? Like,” Holly makes some vague motions with her wands. 

“Yeah, like pick a card, any card.” He reaches for another cigarette, but thinks better about it, “We got into a fight. A pretty big one.” 

“Oh, no. David Johnathan Smith what did you say to poor Gilligan McGonagall?” 

“We made up! Promise, I promise we made up!” 

“But?” 

“But.” Dave’s face turns an interesting shade of red. Then he mumbles something that sounded a little like ‘Ibromingowihim’. 

“You gotta open your mouth a little wider, Dave.” 

“I PROMISED I’D GO WITH HIM, OKAY?! Okay.” Dave’s breaths come in big heaves as he finishes his one-sided shouting match. “I don’t know, man. It was such a spur of the moment thing. And I just. It felt like I was going to lose him, like he’d.” Against his better judgment, Dave does light another one, “Like he’d go away and not come back.” 

“Dave, that’s crazy.” Her eyes bug out a little as she realizes just how much it would affect him. “Dave, you don’t even like going to the stand-up shows here for magic. What the fuck!?” 

“Hey, I don’t like the stand-up because the comedian that does it is a bitch. And I don’t know, okay? I just—” Dave screams even louder, some of the employees turn at the noise, but quickly go back to minding their own business.

“This is your fucking abandonment issues, you know.” Holly says, jabbing her cigarette at him like a disappointed teacher. 

“Not everything can be attributed to my daddy issue.” 

“Yeah, but this sure as shit can.” She takes another toke, and as the smoke exits her lungs, she pins a hard stare at her friend. 

“So, you’re going to be going to magic school? What does that even mean? Where is it?” 

Dave takes out a crumpled and folded piece of paper from his pants pocket. It was folded in quarters, with the corners dog-eared. On it, a bright orange clownfish with a top hat and magic wand was inviting everyone, in big bold letters, to “learn the fantastic and thrilling world of tricks, bamboozlements, and hijinx.” 

“It’s a six week course, we’d get a certificate and everything.” 

“Oh, that’s really short. I mean. You’d still have enough time to attend uni if you wanted. Or come and work full time here.” Dave nods. 

“Yeah.” He pauses, then looks down at the flyer. “Holly, I really like him.” Holly pats his back.

“The entirety of Faith knows how much you like him, mate.” 

“No, like, I want to spend the rest of my life with him.” Holly stops mid-pat. 

“That’s a big thing to say.” 

“But I do. I want to,” Dave makes fast motions with his hands that have the poor fucked up flier even more fucked up, “I want to own a house with him. Get into fights about who does the dishes. I want to. To live a perfectly normal life with him.” His voice gets farther away as he thinks about that perfect life. After graduating magic school, Dave had plans to work at Faith full time for a few years, saving his money. Gilligan, who wanted to go to Uni, would visit him in the off season. Then, when he graduated and Dave worked up to the Rainforest Cafe manager, they could buy the house. Get the car. 

“Dave, isn’t this going a little fast? Besides, everyone changes in their university years. What if—” What if you want different things. What if your opinions change and you’re not that perfect match anymore? “What if Gilligan doesn’t want the same things that you want? Have you talked about this with him?” Dave shakes his head. 

“I want to, but the last time we met up he was in a bad state. His Da thought it was because of losing the tournament, but his Ma, well.” Dave had visited Gilligan in London after their finals week. The boy had been practically foaming at the mouth about going to a magic school. To the point that Dave’s entire visit had been filled with only researching magic schools. 

“...Is Gilligan okay?” 

“I don’t know. Fuck, Holly, I don’t know a lot of things.” He takes another drag, then clears his throat, “But I do know that if Gilligan wants to go to magic school, then I’ll support his decision. Besides, the program does seem pretty fun.” 

“...You’re so whipped.” Dave shoves Holly, who starts laughing. 

They retire to their respective dorm rooms a little later. Sleep doesn’t come easy for Dave, who tosses and turns on the surprisingly soft mattresses. Thoughts about the future, what he was going to do for higher education, his relationship, and his employment at Faith all mushed together to create worries that plagued his poor, overworked brain. 

Sometime during the night, Mr.Sandman must have come in through his window and knocked him over the head with a fucking frying pan because Dave got pulled out of his (frightfully) deep sleep with a loud knocking on his room. 

Attempting to fix his hair, he got up to answer the door, coming face to face with Faith’s mailwomen. 

“Here Dave, this came in for you today. It was marked urgent.” 

“Thank, Sarah. Have a good one.” Well, that was odd. He didn’t really get mail from anyone other than his mum, and she already sent the weekly ‘how are you’ on Monday. So, Dave turns over the (very nice and very expensive looking) envelope, only to find a very familiar name in the top left hand corner. 

Gilligan sent a letter. 

That was really weird. Gilligan’s never sent a letter, he usually just emailed Dave. What the fuck. 

So, Dave tears open the envelope, a sheet of a very nice looking paper falling out. It looked weathered, with a texture that almost reminded Dave of soft tree bark. 

Dear Davey, the letter started off. Dave went to his table to sit down, sparing a glance at the clock. He had the evening shift, so he had time to waste.  

Dear Davey,

10:00 AM, in front of the bank? I’ll be waiting <3

Love you,

Gilligan

Dave looked at the clock, saw 9:30, then gunned it to the bathroom. 

9:50 saw him fucking speeding towards the market to look for breakfast and maybe, like a picnic? Oh my fucking god, Gilligan was meeting him here? What the hell? 

Sure, Gilligan usually comes over to stay with Dave in the summer, but they usually plan this out! 

He starts throwing in cheese, meats, crackers. A nice plate. A thing of grapes. A little teddy bear holding a big heart that says “hope you feel better”. Gilligan likes presents. Yeah, this would work. 

Dave is freaking the fuck out. 

9:58, Dave is fully checked out and briskly jogging to the front of the bank. He notices the slow gait of Gill, the old security guard in his pressed uniform. Dave jogs up to his regular. 

“Morning Gill, how are you?” Gill turns out, a soft smile on his face. 

“Just fine, Dave. Albus and I have plans to meet up for a nice early lunch. And you?” 

“Really good!” And yeah, Dave is practically vibrating with energy. Gilligan! Holy fuck, he gets to see Gilligan again! “My boyfriend is going to meet up with me today!” 

Gill claps his hands together. “Wonderful, Gilligan is going to be coming here!” 

“Yeah!”

“I wish the two of you the best time together today, then.” 

“Thank you, Gill! Oh, I wanted to ask you something.” Gill turns to give Dave his full attention. 

“Of course, dear boy.” 

“How do you feel about magic?” 

Gill goes still, his face frozen in an unreadable expression. “Why do you ask?” 

“Well, Gilligan really wants to go to this magic school after graduating and. It seems a little silly, doesn’t it?” Something in Gill seems to relax. 

“Oh, David. Magic is not silly, it takes great skill and focus in order to hone it.” 

“You know how to do magic?” Dave asks, astounded. He didn’t think Gill would be the type to learn all those stupid card tricks. 

“Of course. Here, you have something behind your ear.” And Gill produces an honest to God solid fucking gold coin. Then places it gently in Dave’s hands. “Come join Albus and I later, if you want, we’re going to grab dinner later on, too.” 

“Huh.” Dave runs his fingers over the engravings of the coin. He’s never seen something like this before. But he pulls himself from these ruminations, looking up to the other man, “Of course, Gill. I’ll see you later then!” Gill nods, a smile still on his face as he walks towards the Rainforest Cafe. 

Dave takes a minute to look at Gill’s retreating form. 

Gil was one of the main reasons Dave started working at Faith. In his Sophomore year, a few weeks into dating Gilligan, he messed up and accidentally came out to his parents. 

They fought. A lot of dishes were broken. His Ma cried. His Da yelled some more. It ended with a long bus ride to the first available place, which just so happened to be Faith. Holly gave him a free room for the night (and the smoking addiction but that’s neither here nor there). But it was Gill who bought him breakfast at the Rainforest Cafe, and said there was an opening for a server. That it came with free boarding. 

It was also Gill who told him about Albus and their own struggles when it came to their relationship. 

“DAVEY!” A shout from a few yards away takes Dave out of his thoughts. 

“GILLIGAN!” And Dave is off like a shot. 

Red hair finds bright blonde as Dave damn near tackles Gilligan to the ground. Lanky arms snake around Dave’s back in a suffocating hug, but Dave doesn’t care. Because Gilligan is here! With him! 

From here, inches away from Dave’s face, he can make out each freckle, each speck of green in his blue, blue eyes. The little dimples in his cheeks as he smiles ear to ear. 

“Hi lovey, I missed you.” Gilligan says, and Dave laughs. 

“I missed you, too.” Dave sniffles, “Fuck, I missed you so much.” Dave didn’t want to admit, least of all to Gilligan, but sometimes it was hard doing this particular type of long distance during the summers and holidays. Dave holds Gilligan just a bit tighter, just to make sure he’s real. 

“Oh, you big softie. C’mon, get off me, you’re heavy.” Gilligan says, his soft voice making Dave smile even wider. Gilligan was gentle-natured in everything but fights and chess, which he argued were the same thing but in a different format. In classes, he was the sweet one, the diligent one. Dave always admired that. But he fell in love with him during a chess match during passing when Gilligan called his opponent’s mother a slag after he lost a bishop. 

Dave helps Gilligan to his feet, the slighter boy nearly flying up.

“Gentle, for Christ’s sake.” Gilligan grumbles, despite not letting go of Dave’s hand. Dave smiles, pulling Gilligan in and kissing him silly. 

When they come up for air, Dave leans close. “How’s that for gentle?” 

“Pretty bad.” Gilligan quips back, as red as his hair. 

“Gilligan Robert McGonagall, I swear to all that is good, if you don’t stop mauling that poor man’s face I will drop you off at animal control!” A shrill and demanding voice makes itself known. As soon as the voice started talking, Gilligan and Dave jumped apart from each other, leaving room for Jesus and then some. 

Dave turns, coming face to face with Gilligan’s Aunty Minerva. A very severe woman, but she held a soft spot for her only nephew, so Dave liked her. Plus, she was pretty funny. 

“Sorry, Aunty Minnie. I promise not to maul my boyfriend in front of you.” 

“You’re going to get yourself sent to the pound, Gilligan.” 

“Gonna bail me out?” 

“With a matching collar and everything. I’ll give you the works.” 

“Awww.” They go closer and Aunty Minnie physically moves between them. 

“Please don’t while I’m here.” Gilligan rolls his eyes and goes around his aunty, cuddling up to Dave despite his aunt’s eye rolling. 

“Hi, Davey.” 

“Hi, Gilligan.” They stare into each other’s eyes and Aunty Minnie makes a vaguely disgusted sounds, with a murmur that oddly sounds like “bloody teenagers”. 

“Well, while you two are doing…that. I need to go and retrieve my students and beat the fear of God into them.” 

“Aunty Minnie, you don’t believe in God.” Gilligan singsongs. 

“Doesn’t mean I can’t make them believe in it.” 

“Have fun!” Dave says, pulling Gilligan along to the backwoods. There’s this clearing that a lot of the employees go to for stargazing, but it’s a good picnic spot, too. 

Minerva lets out a heavy sigh as she watches her nephew get dragged away by his boyfriend, a small smile pulling on the corners of her mouth. 

“Minerva?” Minerva turns, coming face to face with Albus in his running robes, jogging in place as he pauses. “Minerva, my goodness what are you doing here?” 

The smile drops from her face and gets pulled into a tight line. “Molly is inconsolable and needs to see her children. She’s already counted Mr.Wood as a son.” Then, she draws closer to Albus, lowering her voice to a whisper. “And it’s the minister. Albus, he’s going to reinstate the Triwizard Tournament.” 

“He’s what .” 

But that’s for another chapter. Dave and Gilligan make it to the clearing in record time, Gilligan shedding his jacket to use as a makeshift blanket. Dave takes out the food, putting it on his very nice plate. Then, he produces a teddy bear from the supermarket plastic bag, holding it out for Gilligan. 

“Here, I know how much you like these plushies.” 

Gilligan’s eyes light up, taking the teddy bear like it was something precious and holding it close to him. “I love him. Thank you, Davey.” He draws close, kissing him softly. 

Their picnic flies by, they catch up on the little things. Their grades from the finals, how Gilligan’s parents are. What Dave’s Ma is up to. Lunch passes by all too soon, and when the food disappears, Gilligan lies in Dave’s lap as they look up at the clouds, trying to figure out what they look like. 

“That one kind of looks like a cat on a unicycle.” Gilligan points to the bundles of clouds on the right. 

“No way, it’s a plane with bouncy balls as wheels.” 

“What? Where are you getting plane from what is obviously cat ears?” 

“Look sideways!” 

“You are BLIND!” 

“Maybe you’re just not very creative!” 

They shove each other around a little bit before settling down again to watch the clouds. This time, there’s something a little more charged in the air. 

“So, about magic school.” Dave begins, “what brought that on? I feel like we didn’t really talk about why you were so deadset on it.” 

“Oh, yeah. We didn’t.” Gilligan says, slowly blinking as he sits up. There’s a bit of a breeze that ruffles Gilligan’s hair as he gets lost in thought. 

“My family, my dad’s side…they’re from a long line of magicians, yeah?” 

“Okay?” Dave has met Gilligan’s parents and aunt, but the magic thing was very new. 

“And it was a family tradition for the McGonagall’s to continue doing magic. But I wasn’t born with it.” Gilligan fiddles with his hands, looking for something to do, “And it’s something that I’ve been struggling with, but it got better. Until it didn’t.” His voice grew solemn. 

“I just. It wasn’t like I was without my family, but magic had always been something that everyone could do. And I just…couldn’t.” Dave, a little confused, tried his best to comfort Gilligan. 

“It’s okay, I’m pretty bad at card tricks, too. But we can go to that magic school, yeah?” 

Gilligan sits up, looking alarmed. “Hogwarts? How do you know about Hogwarts?”

“What’s Hogwarts? I’m talking about the School for Trick, Illusions, and Hijinxes.” Dave fishes out the flier and hands it to Gilligan. 

Gilligan, still looking mildly alarmed, just gently puts the flier to the side after reading it over a few time, “Oh, uh yeah. Of course. I struggled with the vanishing cabinet act.” Gilligan shakes his head, he was getting off topic, “But, it caused me to be a bit of an outcast with my extended family. Except Aunty Minnie, she’s always kind to me.” 

He takes another deep breath, “So when I lost that chess tournament, I just. Wasn’t sure if being like this,” he waves his hand, “without magic is something that I was capable of. And I dragged you into that.” Gilligan squeezes Dave’s hand. “I’m sorry for that.” 

“There’s nothing to be sorry about, ‘Gan.” Dave squeezes back, “I”m here with you for the long run. And hey, it’s six weeks. If it’ll make a stronger connection with your family, then I’m more than happy to see it through.” 

“Really?” Dave asks, a small whisper. 

“Yes. Gilligan, I love you, and if magic is this important to you. Then it’s that important to me. Besides, it could be fun to learn sleight of hand.” Dave waggles his eyebrows, and Gillian breaks down laughing, going closer to the other. 

“You’re so full of it, Davey. I love you, too.” 

Chapter Text

So Death, who also goes by the moniker of  ‘Tony’, began his story. 

“Once upon a time, there was a war.” 

In this particular war, the greatest resource was bodies. And the people who repair them. The healers in question were young, dumb, and desperate. This war was fought between two sides: a “light” side and a “dark” one. But that didn’t stop the dark side from finding mercy. Or the light side from using horrible, horrible magic. 

There was a healer, so desperate to make sure their side, the light side, would win that she sacrificed one of her healers to Death itself. 

He was, by all types of definitions, a genocidal maniac. Cutting down anything that stood in his face. But it was for the greater good, therefore the murder was just. So the healer said. Now, this sacrificial lamb, this healer, wasn't a maniac. No, he was a warrior. A soldier hell-bent on justice. 

And Death accepted him with open arms. So that his kills truly were justified. So his healing would stick . 

But. But there was always a price. 

And for this healer, this soldier, the price for the deaths he guaranteed and the lives he saved, was his magic. Siphoned slowly and gradually. But if a wizard’s very being is made up of magic, can they survive? 

Maybe. But for a fragile human body to be deprived of something so essential, no matter how slow the process, it would be fatal. 

That was the deal, a soldier’s soul for the powers of a reaper and a healer all in one—a pretty good deal for everyone involved. 

Just like that, the war ended, the dead were buried and the floors rebuilt. The warriors became scholars or bricks in the working force. And this soldier decided that his time of bloodshed—in both ax swinging and healing—was done. 

And that soldier got married. Entwining his magic with his beloved, so it was seen as one. 

This couple lived in peace, or as close to peace as they could get, and they were happy. So happy, they didn’t notice when their magic got weaker. Their hair turned grey, just a little bit faster than the rest of their friend group. It got, maybe, just a little bit harder to lift up a pitcher of water. Ride a broom. 

The soldier lost a few more mock Quidditch games than he had before. And his husband began looking more towards a professorship at a muggle university. It could have been age, time continuing its march. But it wasn’t, and when they hit the 18-year anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, the clock ran out. Their magic was taken in full, and the fragile human body, deprived of something so beloved, simply could not work. 

“With the brain unable to conceptualize how its magic disappeared, it decided to fill in the blanks.” Death explained, both Percy and Oliver thinking back to that odd dream they had. The gunshot. 

Had it really been a gunshot? If all their scars had transferred from their old body, then why not that particular one? 

But those 18 years worth of magic was too much magic, since the ‘deal’ was only made for one. What to do with that leftover? 

“So this,” Death waves his hand around the frozen over plain, “is sort of like a refund? Maybe a prize for finding the loophole in the agreement. But I couldn’t place you back in your original timeline, so this is just a fun alternative one. And look! You’ve got all your magic, at full power, too. I even threw in my very own blessing to keep using those nasty dark spells without repercussions. Most things aren’t different, but I’m sure you’ve noticed some of the big ones.” 

“Faith.” Percy says, mouth a little dry as he realizes the scope of his situation. He reaches out for Oliver’s hand, squeezing it tight. 

Death nods once, “Very good! 5 points to Gryffindor. Faith. The big thing that changed in this timeline is Grindelwald—he was able to charm a jailor to let him free. In your timeline, the jailor died before he was able to give Grindelwald the fixed portkey. But there are a few other things. The topography of the school is different, did you notice the volcanoes?” 

At both of their nods, Death continues, “Then of course, some of the professors have different dispositions. Oh, I can’t wait for you both to meet fucking Umbridge.” 

Death, done with his rant, shrugs. “So think of this as an all-expenses-paid trip that you won’t be able to return from. And while you’re here, in my debt for saving Grindelwald, and using my good graces to fuel both magic and bad deeds, find Voldemort’s soul pieces. Destroy him.” Death mutters something else, but Percy could only catch little bits of it. Something about safety. I know you remember them.” Death wags his fingers at Percy, who is too shell-shocked to react. 

“Alright, then.” Death slaps his knees and stands up—when he sat down, no one could tell you, “See you guys in a bit, bye!” Then disappears in a rush of wind, time moving on as normal. 

Oliver and Percy just stare at each other. 

“What the fuck was that.” 

Percy kind of wants to scream. Maybe cry a little bit. Dread churns heavy in his gut as he processes a whole bunch of shit. 

He died. His magic gave out and he died. 

As everything settles back to normality—whatever version of normality this parallel universe could afford—Percy began to feel cold, a kind of chill that settled bone deep. The floor he was standing on was not the floor of his world. The air he exhales in tight breaths is not the same inhale he had before—before the bullet. Before Death’s meddling. 

“Percy? Hey, come on, Percy.” Oliver’s words are soft, and with this new clarity, Percy can so clearly see how this is his Oliver. Calming him down in the way that only decades of knowing one another can accomplish. 

“Oliver, Oliver, we died.” Percy whispers, like it was some big secret. And in a way, it was. Hell, they only just discovered it. “Oliver, we’re dead .” 

“No, we’re not, Percy.” Oliver asserts, trying to ground Percy in the present, “We just got a second chance, that’s what it is. We got another shot at this.” Percy flinches at the word shot . But Oliver doesn’t give him the chance to debate him on this, “Percy, you can see Fred again. George, whole and healthy. I—I can see you , whole and healthy.” 

After Fred’s death, the Weasley’s mourned. But no one mourned quite as much as George. Percy thought, for a few breaths between heartbeats, that the next day, George wouldn’t have to mourn Fred’s passing. 

And, in a sense, Oliver was right. 

Percy crumbles, like his knees were made up of soggy parchments. Thuds against the earth, the sound doesn’t reach his ears. 

“We can’t do this again, Oliver.” Percy whispers out, Oliver drags himself down with him. 

“Yes, we can. And we’ll do it better.” 

“No, Oliver, I can’t. I can’t go through that again. I can’t.” The words fall clumsily, one after the other, not giving Percy the chance to breathe between the next, “I can’t, Oliver, I can’t.” 

Percy has never been particularly brave while in school. He learned his bravery through dodging green spells that could kill him if he was too slow. He earned his bravery through immobilizing Antonin Dolohov as Oliver delivered the fatal blow. And his bravery, that Gryffindor courage to look death in his smug eyes and punch him over and over again, it was all burned up in fiery, moral righteousness. 

Percy was old, now. He ran a hand through his hair—missing all the grey that earned him the name ‘Uncle White Ginger’ during family dinners—with a hand that lacked the dull pangs of early onset carpal tunnel syndrome. Free of all his aches and pains, but still shackled with the scars that gave them meaning. 

“You can, Perce, we can . C’mon. Come over here.” Oliver, also on his knees, loops his arms under Percy’s armpits and starts dragging him against a tree. Percy, still suffocating under his intense PTSD, lets himself be posed and poised like Oliver’s very own ginger ken doll. Soon, both of them are leaned up against the tree, “looking” at the moon. 

Because yeah, FUCK. Looks like Percy is going to the goddamn shadow realm, Jimbo. Nothing is going fucking right, what the hell is Percy even doing right now? He’s an OLD ASS MAN in the body of a TEENAGER. That’s fucking ILLEGAL?! Chat, chat?! Chat, is, is Percy cooked right now!? Unfortunately, chat wouldn’t be born until the historic period of twitch streamers making rent money by sitting in a hot tub and showing ass and tiddies. Gender neutral ass and titties. In the shadow realm . 

“You know who's up there in the moon?” Oliver asks, softly. Percy doesn’t respond, the play-by-play of Fred’s death blocking his vision. 

“Thereʻs bunnies up there,” He continues, pointing out all the craters and shadows on the moonʻs face. “And they pound mochi for the man in the moon.” When he ran away to do schooling at UH Mānoa, one of Percy’s favorite pastimes was learning the different mythology behind the constellation and the moon. His favorite myth was the Japanese mochi bunny. 

“But, the moon wasn’t always overrun with rabbits.” Oliver explains, drawing his comatose husband (husband!) closer. In another world, and maybe it would be in this world, Oliver could have been a great story teller, always making sure his audience was engaged, tilting his voice to accommodate the mythos. Percy listens with one ear as Oliver tells the story, but the rest of him is another place, another time. 

“Uncle, tell me about the bunnies!” A 5-year-old Rosie cheers, snuggling into her pink comforter. Uncle Percy on her right, and Uncle Oliver on her left as the two attempt to settle her into bed. 

Percy was back in his little cottage, watching Rosie for the night as Hermione and Ron got some much needed sleep. After the end of a tiring day around the park, Rosie, somehow, was still full of energy. But Oliver could handle that, making sure her lamps were all dimmed and her stuffed bunny was securely in her hands, he starts his story. 

“One day, there was a poor beggar. He smelled awful , and had dirty, ratty clothes.” Oliver came in close, pretending to smell Rosie, and cringing at what he found. Rosie giggled. “But, a group of animals saw him! And thought to themselves, ‘ Oh no! He seems hungry.’ So, one by one, they brought something to the poor man.” 

Rosie’s eyes started to flutter close, but Oliver kept on going. “First was the monkey, who plucked fruits from the trees—humans loved eating mangos and bananas. Then, the otter dove into the riverside and brought out some fish for the beggar. The jackal, a lazy animal, caught a lizard, and tossed it at the beggar.” Rosie, with half-lidded eyes, was fighting to keep herself awake. 

“But the bunny, he could only bring grass. And humans didn’t eat grass!” Oliver whisper-shouted in mock surprise. “But humans do eat meat. So the bunny prepared a fire, and without any other thoughts, happily leaped into it!” Percy widens his eyes in mock surprise. 

“Oh no! What happens next?” Percy asks.

“The fire does not burn the bunny! Instead, the beggar reveals himself to be a mighty king of the gods. And to thank the rabbit, he takes the bunny with him back to the moon. There, the bunny enjoys immortality, making mochi for the king.” 

Rosie is out cold, mouth hanging wide open, but Oliver continues the story, just for Percyʻs sake. 

“Now, when the moon waxes and wanes, we know itʻs the bunny making and eating the mochi, dividing it among his family members there.”

Oliver grabs Percyʻs hand, motioning for the ginger to leave Rosieʻs bed with him. Before they shut the door, Percy leans on him, looking at their niece sleeping peacefully, little moon bunnies making mochi in her dreams. 

“You know…there is a difference between bunnies and rabbits.” 

“Sheʻs five, Perce, she doesnʻt know the difference between a puffskein and her mumʻs fuzzy slippers, yet.” Percy cracks him a smile. 

Then, in a softer voice, “That was a wonderful story, Oliver.” 

“Thank you, love. But I didnʻt even get to say the best part.” 

“Oh?” 

Oliver cradles Percy close to him, both of them looking up at the night sky. The memory fades from Percyʻs grip, and it doesnʻt feel so bad to let it go, now. 

“The king drew the rabbit’s likeness on the moon, too. So everytime we look up there, faintly, we can always see the little bunny.” 

They sit in silence after that. Till something in Percy breaks all over again. 

“I miss her, you know. Rosie.” He sniffles, “I miss all of them. Little Albus, Lily, James. Victoire. Louis, Dominique.” 

“Weʻll see them again, Perce. And maybe, we could have even more nieces and nephews, yeah?” Oliver says, trying to lighten the mood. 

“Do, do you remember what we used to call Rosie, right when her front teeth were starting to grow in?” Percy asks, a little weepy as he thinks about his niece. When Ron, Hermione, and Harry were going through the worst of their PTSD, Percy and Oliver would take Rosie and all the other nieces and nephews into their little cottage. But they had Rosie under their care the most. When she was younger, she used to have an entire room in the cottage just for her. 

“Of course I do. How could I forget about our Little Bunny?” Oliver asks back. 

Percy leans his head on Oliverʻs shoulder. The feeling of dread is still there, for sure. And now the weighty responsibility of tracking down every single horcrux and destroying them is thrown somewhere in the mix, too. Fuck, what the shit was his life. 

“Hey, are you two alright?” Sirius asks, emerging out from the cave, blearily rubbing his eyes. Buckbeak is still fast asleep, kicking a little in his sleep. 

“No, itʻs been a long day.” Percy responds. Sirius nods, his head hitting the opening of the cave with a solid thunk . 

“Tell me about it. I canʻt believe Dumbledore was that strong . Not to mention that,” Sirius waves his hands around, “ thing with Grindelwald and the muggle restaurant.” 

“I think it’s sweet that they're able to reconnect like that,” Oliver says, shrugging a bit. “Even if it sounds like Grindelwald doesn’t have any sense of empathy, he loves our Professor.” 

Sirius softens, “I guess youʻre right on that.” He settles his gaze on the two of them for a while longer. These two were a bit of an enigma to Sirius. Doing high level magic so young, immediately befriending a dark wizard—no, THE Dark Wizard, it was a level of bat shit that made Sirius worry about this new generation. 

“So, married at—how old are you guys?” 

“18.” Oliver answers. Sirius is taken aback. 

“Married at 18?! Is one of you knocked up!?” 

“No!” Percy waves his hands, the question knocking the malaise right out of him. “No! We just love each other.” 

“Wow.” Now Sirius has a different reason to be thinking super hard about Percy and Oliver. “And because of that you wanted to get married? ” 

“Yeah, I mean. It feels like the right thing to do, you know?” Oliver grabs Percyʻs hand, the both of them sharing a look between them. 

Sirius sighs, something heavy coming up from his chest. “Maybe,” He concedes, “But I think these things might take time.” Sirius walks back into the cave, then comes out with a crumpled piece of paper. This came while you two were away.” He waves the sheet of paper, “From Professor McGonagall. Don’t know how her owl found this place.” 

He hands Oliver the letter before letting out a big (fake) yawn. “Well, I donʻt want to be here when you read that letter, so I'm going back to bed. Night, guys.” 

“Night.” Percy responds, eyes still on the paper. 

In her scrawling, green ink, Professor McGonagall writes: 

To messrs Weasley and Wood, 

Iʻve been contacted by both Mrs.Weasley, Mrs. Wood, and Professor Dumbledore about the situation . Congratulations on your recent nuptials. Due to Professor Dumbledore being delayed, I will be coming in the morning to collect the both of you in side-along apparition. Please be ready by noon tomorrow. 

We will be apparating directly to The Burrow, where we will meet with Madame Pomfrey to assess any injuries you may have sustained. 

I hope you both are well, 

Professor M. McGonagall

“Oh Merlin, Mum might have actually killed the twins while we were gone.” 

Oliver snorts, “Or she will once weʻre back in The Burrow.” He stretches, then gets to his feet, hauling Percy up, too. “Cʻmon, that means tomorrow is a big day for us, may as well get as much sleep as we can.” 

Percy mumbles something that vaguely sounds like, ʻyeahʻ. “Donʻt forget your axe.” Percy says, pointing to the stupidly sharp weapon. 

“Oh yeah. We'll probably have to hide that when the Professor comes, yeah?” Percy shrugs. 

“Put it in the bag.” 

So, with Oliver’s axe stored and any sort of mental breakdowns successfully had, the two turn in for the night. 

Chapter Text

“Aunty Minnie, you don’t believe in God.” Gilligan singsongs. 

“Doesn’t mean I can’t make them believe in it.” 

“Have fun!” Dave says, pulling Gilligan along to the backwoods. There’s this clearing that a lot of the employees go to for stargazing, but it’s a good picnic spot, too. 

Minerva lets out a heavy sigh as she watches her nephew get dragged away by his boyfriend, a small smile pulling on the corners of her mouth. 

“Minerva?” Minerva turns, coming face to face with Albus in his running robes, jogging in place as he pauses. “Minerva, my goodness what are you doing here?” 

The smile drops from her face and gets pulled into a tight line. “Molly is inconsolable and needs to see her children. She’s already counted Mr.Wood as a son.” Then, she draws closer to Albus, lowering her voice to a whisper. “And it’s the minister. Albus, he’s going to reinstate the Triwizard Tournament.” 

“He’s what .” 

But that’s for another chapter. Oh shit, this is that chapter. Okay, letʻs fucking talk about it. 

“It won’t be announced formally until the beginning of the next school year, but we’ve just received missives about it from the Ministry. There have been talks about inter-school cooperation for a while, but how it came to this is—-well, it’s insane!” Minerva snaps, the anger not quite having left her body. 

Any happiness that might have been held from reuniting Gill has since been wiped off of Albusʻ face. “The last time there was a tournament, students died. This can only lead to further strained relations between Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. Have the other headmaster’s been in contact?” 

Minerva shakes her head, “No. But if they just got the letters, like we did, then we should be expecting them any moment. From the sound of the letter, the tournament might be held at Hogwarts.” 

Albus sighs, removing his spectacles to rub his eyes. “The magical folk that live on Hogwarts grounds will not appreciate having to share space with other school students.” 

“That is the least of our problems. The school will probably take issue with so many new magical signatures in such a short amount of time.” 

Albus nods, an ear to Minerva and an ear to his own thoughts. “We will have to talk more in depth about this when we get back to the school. I’m afraid I have plans today, but I will be back in the evening. Then, we will start planning.” 

“No, Albus you must come back now ,” Minerva commands, her voice strict in that certain way that made so many Hogwarts students afraid of her. “Aside from the tournament, we also have to secure a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher since Remus got run out of the teaching position.”

“I've been in talks with Alastor, he is willing to teach for a few years. I'm not sure if my plans today will be able to wait. But collect Mr. Weasley and Mr. Wood, then I will meet up with the three of you before you depart.” 

“Four, I brought my nephew with me to visit his boyfriend.” She turns her head, looking around the town, “It seems like theyʻve disappeared from my sight, but when I have all these children rounded up, I expect to see you in front of the bank. No later than 1 pm.” 

“Ah, I’ve almost forgotten about spry Gilligan, he’s graduating as well, yes?” 

Minerva smiles, “Yes, he wants to practice muggle magic, too. He and Davey, the boyfriend, are taking a short class to get their certifications.” 

Albus claps his wands, “That’s wonderful, Minerva! I’m sure they’ll make a fine pair of magicians.” 

Her face softens a bit, and Albus is reminded how human his dear friend can be under her prickly exterior. “I’m happy that Gilligan is able to focus his energy on something like this. Heʻs been sad since losing his school’s chess tournament. It seems like this has been giving him a challenge to work towards.” 

Albus nods, “All great minds need to be challenged in order to keep their wits about them.” 

McGonagall nods in agreement, then looks around, “My, Albus, this town is so small! What business could you possibly have here?” 

Albus simply nods, “I’ve met up with one of my old contacts here, he had something he wishes to discuss.” 

“Ah, one of those meetings,” Albus can only give his vague agreement with a slight tilt of his chin downward. Although the Order of the Phoenix was relatively disbanded since so many of their members died and they won the fucking war (YIPPEEE, but a sad yippee, since so many of their members died), Albus still kept in contact with the main “puppeteers” behind the Order. Those that financed the group, or pulled strings to avoid getting detected (to an extent) by the ministry. 

Of course, McGonagall’s assumption was very wrong, since Dumbledore was going to share safari fries with a person that many people would consider Wizard Hitler. Or Wizard Trump and Musk with the way these goddamned politics are fucking panning out, Jesus Fucking Christ America is goddamned cooked. 

“Minerva, you must have had such a long morning,” Albus takes out the key to his hotel room, “this is my lodgings at the wonderful Bed & Breakfast just past the bank. Feel free to use their amenities, if you wish.” 

She lets out a long sigh that shows just how much pressure was being put on her by both the Weasley and Wood family. “I appreciate this, Albus. If you need me I will be squeezing in a few hours of sleep.” With that, Professor McGonagall strides away to the hotel. 

“My, Minerva has barely aged in these years!” Gellert exclaims from behind Albus. 

Albus just chuckles, softly. “I was so surprised when I saw her first grey hair, despite my hair having turned silver for, oh, 10 years already.” Then, turns to face the other fully, “Good morning, Gellert.” 

They draw closer, and Gellert is the one to kiss Albus. “Good morning, Albus. Care to join me for breakfast?” 

He smiles at the other, “I’d love to.” 

So, off the two older gentlemen go, hand in hand, to the Rainforest’s Cafe. 

As they walk, Albus takes the time to take a good, long, think about how much his life has changed in the past 48 hours. Rekindling a lost love, retrieving wayward Hogwarts alum from buttfuck nowhere, and now prepping for a (hopefully not) deadly Triwizard Tournament that may or may not be hosted on Hogwarts grounds. 

Gellert’s hands are warm in his. 

“Gellert?” 

"Yes, Albus?” 

“My duties at Hogwarts are proving to be more fast-paced than I previously thought. I’m afraid I must leave after today with Minerva.” Gellert tightens his grip on Albus’ hand.

“Albus, I will not be allowed past Hogwarts’ wards.” Gellert added, the words I won’t be able to visit you on school grounds slipped between the lines. 

“I’ve heard from our Gamekeeper that there are dangerous things that live in the forest. I know a clearing where the stars are quite beautiful.” That doesn’t mean we can’t still meet up, Dumbledore’s unspoken words reply. 

“You know,” Gellert opens the door to the Rainforest Cafe, holding it open for Albus, “I”ve been thinking about expanding franchises. Doesn’t Scotland sound like a beautiful place for a beautiful restaurant?” 

Another waiter meets them at the front, then guides them to the bar drinking per Albus’ request, ‘A little day-drinking only adds to the day’, Albus said when questioned by Gellert. 

“I didn’t realize you were the owner of this restaurant.” Albus says, surprise coloring his words. 

“I’ll have the Fusion Margarita, Dina,” Gellert orders his drink, “Yes, after being inspired by the original Rainforest Cafe, I signed up to be a franchiser. It was easy to get this land and convince the owner of Faith to put down my roots here.” 

“May I try the Hurricane, please? Thank you, deary.” Dumbledore also orders, “My word, Gellert, how did you get the money to afford and run such a place?” 

“Albus, I may be a prisoner, but I still have access to most of my funds, especially when I go through my other European bank accounts.” The drinks arrive, and Gellert giddily takes his first sip, “Besides, this part of the town has been one of the most profitable buildings. What should we do for appetizers?” 

“Hmm, the Amazon Bruschetta?” Albus says, briefly glancing through the menu while enjoying his (heavily-poured) drink. 

Gellert places his order with Dina, as Albus admires the animatronics. Their hands once more intertwine. 

Being in the moment with Gellert is one of the easiest things Albus could ever do. He knows that the conversation will flow just as smoothly as the drinks, the laughs and the clever wordplay creating that type of setting that will leave both of them engaged for hours at a time. 

But after that moment—that’s when Albus will struggle. Will his trust in Gellert be sustained when the man is out of his sight? Because once upon a time, Gellert had Albus in his entirety, right in the palm of his hand. And still decided the power was better. 

“Albus,” Gellert singsongs, clinking his glass with the others, “you’re very far away right now, care to share your thoughts with the class?” 

He shakes his heads to try and rid himself of the thoughts. But they still stick. “Forgive me, Gellert.” Albus sighs, “What comes after this? The continued use of the portkey cannot be healthy for you. And if anyone from our world were to catch wind of you being out here… I dread to think what the implications would be.” 

Gellert smiles at him, moving his jungle-themed barstool closer till they’re shoulder to shoulder. “Albus, you worry too much.” 

“Gellert, you worry far too little.” 

“It matters not how much we worry.” He clinks their glasses together again. Albus likes the sound. “My actions have been done, and so have yours. What happens after this? Whatever we want!” Gellert proclaims, stretching his hand with the glass in a wide arc. “But know this, Albus.” 

This time, Gellert sets his glass down gently, shifting till he’s facing Albus fully. “I care not for power or what the muggles and the wizards are doing. The role of dark lords and…and the Big Bads are a young person’s game, and I am— we are no longer young men.” Gellert sighs, something content running through him. In their youth, Albus had never seen him look so…content. 

“My only ambition is seeing you everyday. Finding out what it means to grow old, together . We’ll meet up in the forest under the cover of night for star-gazing, I’ll sneak into Hogwarts as a mailman during the day,” Albus interrupts Gellert with a very confused what , but Gellert keeps on going, “Then I’ll go back to my cell, alone, but waiting for the next day.” 

“Oh, Gellert ,” Albus says, in a voice so soft and so caring , that there’s no doubt he about to do something really fucking stupid. 

And Albus, right before he makes his incredibly stupid decision, does a long, hard, think about all the potential fuck ups that can happen. And promptly throws it out the window. Because Gellert is right! They’re old as shit, and FUCK if Albus doesn’t want to spend the rest of his years with someone who looks at him like Gellert does. 

“Put your hand with the watch on the bar table.” 

“Albus, what—” 

But Albus is already pulling out his wand, “The Ministry didn’t always have port-keys. In fact, they switched to this port-key system in the 50s, as a way of transporting inter-continental support to better deal with their American counterparts.” 

“Percy?”

“Yes, Percival Graves was one of the main people behind developing these types of port-keys…” A particularly twisted grin graces Albus’ features for a few brief moments, “And I was the other.” Dumbledore taps his wand against the clock face and starts muttering under his breaths. Circles of light with inscriptions written along the circumference pop up in a small glowing tower, but Albus pays them no mind. Gellert watches in awe as he tracks the very old magic Albus undoes and adds into the watch. 

Then, with a small pop , the watch disappears entirely. 

“Am I?” Gellert doesn’t dare say it out loud. But Albus takes a deep breath and leans against him.

“Yes.” 

“Oh, Albus.” Gellert grips Albus by the shoulders, then embraces him. “Albus, thank you .” 

“The watch transported itself back to your prison. Now, whenever guards peek in, they will see some iteration of you moving around, lying down, or pacing during the hours the port-key could not sustain here. By all senses of the word, you are free of that place.” 

They separate, then Albus, very softly, goes, “I hope in the time between packing up this Rainforest Cafe and establishing another in Scotland, you might find a few spare hours in the night to accompany me.” Albus clears his throat, but continues. 

“The Dumbledore manor is…empty. Aberforth has refused to set foot in it. So it’s me and the few house elves left in the manor’s care. It could use some…livening up.” 

“Are you inviting me to live with you, Albus?” Then, Gellert jokes in a lighthearted tone, “Don’t you think we’re moving a bit too fast?”

“Oh, Gellert. I’ve pledged my soul to you before. I don’t think we’re moving fast enough .” Then they kiss, sloppy style. 

But that’s been said and done before. There doesn’t need to be a well-described scene about how Albus uses WAY too much tongue for someone who needs air to breathe. 

While Albus and Gellert are having their day drinking fest, Percy and Oliver are getting ready to go home. Or, at least, go home to the Burrow. 

“Are you still going to University if we have to hunt down all the horcruxes?” Oliver asks, sweat beading along his forehead after trying to wrestle their tempurpedic mattresses into the bag. He assured Percy they would come in handy. 

Percy hums, leaning against the rock wall as he catches his breath. Unfortunately, he also had to help with the goddamn tempur pedic mattress. 

“If we do the horcrux hunting now, we won’t have much luck. Especially considering this is Ron’s fourth year—which means the TriWizard Tournament.” Oliver groans. 

Sirius and Buckbeak went out hunting for food (Buckbeak went fishing, Sirius was going to go to Faith and buy a burger). So Percy and Oliver were full out scheming with their combined knowledge of their original timeline.

“I really like Diggory, no matter how many Edward Cullen jokes I make.” 

“I like Cedric too. If I took my old job as a ministry assistant, I might be able to sabotage it enough to make sure he lives.” Oliver nods. Then, gets an idea. 

“During the tournament, I remember a lot of teachers helping with the assembly of the tasks. What if I volunteered to help with it? I’ve probably got enough experience under my belt to be a lackey.” 

Percy nods along, “Then when it comes down to the maze section, we can make sure they don’t take the trophy. 

“Oh!” Oliver lights up, “We can also report Barty to Dumbldore early.” 

 But Percy shakes his head, “I’m not sure if that’s the best thing to do. With Barty acting as Mad Eye, we know the moves he’s going to make. If we report him, Vodemort could send in another one of his followers that we don’t know about.” 

“Oh, shit.” 

“But you should still keep an eye on him, the more we know about Barty, the better.” Then, Percy freezes. “Oliver?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Where are we going to be living when we get back?” 

“Oh.” 

From falling in love, to getting married, then finding out the other is a time traveler from the same timeline, Percy and Oliver didn’t get the chance to talk about the future. Specifically—what they were going to do when they got back to civilization. 

“I love your mum, but I don’t think I can live with her.” Oliver admits, but Percy easily agrees. 

“I don’t think I could stay in that house, not with all the memories I have of it.” Percy hmms and haws, “I don’t think we could live at your parents’ either, they’re not hooked into the floo network, yeah?” 

“Yeah. Their neighborhood is mostly muggle. I wouldn’t mind living in a muggle area, but they are a little way out in the countryside.” 

“I don’t mind living somewhere muggle, either, but maybe rural would be good for us? If we’re going to be doing all the planning to hunt horcruxes, we might need a big area to practice spell work.” 

It’s Oliver’s turn to hmm and haww. “One of the neighbors at my Da’s might be willing to sell us a plot of their land. We have a few wizards in our part of the village.” 

“That could work. But it’s probably something to discuss with our families, huh?” 

“Yeah,” Oliver chuckles, then heads over to Percy, bumping his shoulder, “I miss Brutus.” 

“I miss Brutus, too. It’s been a couple days, but I bet he’s gotten bigger. Fat bastard.” 

“Fat-shaming our dog. Who knew I would live to see the day. Oh, how far Percy Weasley has fallen.” Percy lightly smacks him. 

“Think Ginny would want to plan our wedding again?” 

“What? Not going to have a shot-gun wedding?” Oliver puts on a concerned face, then tries his absolute best to put on a horrible American accent, “But what about the baby?” 

Percy rolls his eyes, “Back in my day, it used to be ‘hi, how are you?’, now, all anyone asks is ‘what about the baby?’, ‘where did the baby go?’” 

They lock eyes, then start cracking up, their laughter bouncing off the high walls of the cave. 

“I think our baby will be alright if we don’t have a shotgun wedding,” Percy answers. 

“The entire Weasley family and my parents would love to plan this wedding. We could have it with the burrow.” Then, in a smaller voice, Oliver adds, “All the seats will be filled.” 

Ah. Percy’s throat is closing up. “Yeah. All the seats are going to be filled.” 

They’re both leaning up against the cave, looking at Sirius and Buckbeak’s unmade Tempur Pedic mattresses. Rainforest Cafe souvenir cups litter the ground. Percy leans himself against Oliver, “And they’re going to stay that way, this time.” 

Then, from the entrance of the cave, someone clears their throat. 

“Again, if you start shagging I’m tearing out my eyes then running away. Unless you’re into that shit, then pay me in Galleons.” 

“Oh, shut up, Black!” Percy shouts from the doorway, scooting away from Oliver as his face goes beet red. 

“Don’t worry, my services aren’t that expensive,” Sirius jokes, “Now then. Since today is your last day roughing it out in this cave with me, Buckbeak and I came up with going away presents.” 

“Oh, Sirius, it’s okay, you really didn’t have to get us anything.” Oliver says. But Sirius just shakes his head. 

“Don’t worry, I didn’t try very hard.” From behind his back, Sirius pulls out two rocks. “I just plucked them from the river, then hit them with a quick cleaning spell.” He hands it to the two of them. 

“Thank you for this wonderful paper weight.” 

Sirius nods solemnly, “I hope you both treat them well.” Then, all signs of seriousness (lol) fade from his face, “And I hope you two have a wonderful trip. Come visit Buckbeak and I at Grimmauld Place. Moony has agreed to come help clean it up a bit.” Rustling around in his pockets, he pulls out two slips of paper. 

“This first one has Moony’s. Keep in contact! Bug his owls with your letters. This second one is Grimmauld Place’s address. It’s under Fidelus.” 

Percy and Oliver read the Grimmauld address, then Sirius burns it. ‘For safekeeping, you know how it is.’

“And last but not least!” Sirius flings himself at Percy and Oliver, pulling them into a tight hug. “Thank you for being here with me. Thank you for looking at Buckbeak’s injury. If you need anything, know that you have the support of a very, very rich person.” 

“Who’s also not afraid to be cucked?” Percy asks, sarcasm dripping off his words. 

Sirius, with as much sincerity as he can muster, nods his head, “Who is also not afraid to be cucked, yes.” 

Their laughter seems to bounce throughout the forest. 

The room that Dumbledore has been renting is pretty spartan for someone as maxialist as the headmaster of Hogwarts. But for Minerva, it’s perfect for a small two hour nap. 

But, as 11:50 comes by, so does the obnoxious sound of her alarm. She groans, rolling over and waving her hand to silence the noise as she gets ready to fetch her wayward Gryffindors.

It must be said now, that while this was official Hogwarts business (since the two missing people were recently-made Hogwarts alumni), McGongall was not dressed in Hogwarts attire. Instead, she donned the muggle skirt and blouse she wore to see Gilligan’s chess tournament, or family dinners with Malcolm and Mary. 

So, when she goes to the front of the bank and sits primly on the bench, she was not exactly prepared for the loud gasp, followed by “Is that the professor in human clothes!?” yelled at the top of Mister Wood’s lungs. 

“If you were still my student, I would have taken five points away from Gryffindor.” Minerva flies the insult at them, but the smile on her face and the tight hug she gives them betrays her frosty exterior. 

Her two student, too excited to see her, start talking over one another. Oliver starts the chaos, shoving his hand in her face. 

“Professor! Look at my ring! Perce transfigured it for me!” Oliver says, while Percy is trying to explain, step-by-step, how he did each spell. 

“—And then after the preservation layer, I transfigured the grass around us into—”

“BUT, and you’ll never believe it, there was a HUGE river where we could bathe WHENEVER—” 

“And, of course, I needed to refine the metal after the grass reached that state, but I didn’t have any paper around to write out the ward—” 

“—but, after we got drinks, Perce got really drunk and ended up writing the letter to Professor Dumbledore absolutely WASTED—” 

“BOYS!” Minerva shouts over the noise, ‘subtly’ rubbing her forehead to try and mitigate the headache brewing, “Thank you for attempting to enlighten me on how you spent your weekend, and while I am more than happy to know you have made the best of your circumstances, I’m sure your parents will also be happy to hear your adventures.” 

They look up at her with the kind of glazed over expression toddlers get when they realize they can get 4 cookies instead of 1. 

“Aunty!” Gilligan calls out, a picnic basket in his hand. In his pocket, another flier that Dave printed out with their course schedule for the university classes. He had his own, but Dave insisted on having a copy of his classes (they were the same) as a goodbye token. 

“Gilligan, is that you?!” Oliver calls out, shaking Percy by the shoulders, “Percy, I think that’s Gilligan.” 

“How do you know my nephew?” Minerva asks, and before Percy can talk about the delightful family that shed a lot of light concerning the relationship between muggle, wizards, and squibs, Oliver chooses the moment to interrupt. 

“Perce thought Gilligan’s dad was related to him because he’s a ginger!” 

“Wood, I don’t care if you’re about to be my husband, I’m going to KILL YOU!” And Percy lunges for Oliver. But not in the sexy, “Ooh he’s jumping him, get a room.” more in the “Oh, fuck he’s jumping him, get an ambulance.” vein of interpretation. 

“BOYS!” Minerve once again calls out. 

“Oliver, Percy! It’s nice to see you guys again. Aunty, these were the two that came by during my chess match. They said they went to your school.” Gilligan, who finally notices the matching rings on Percy and Oliver point at them, “Oh! Congratulations! Wow, I didn’t even realize you two were dating.” 

Percy picks himself off the floor, releasing Oliver from the grapple he had him in. Then, dusts the dirt off his clothes before shaking Gilligan’s hand. “Thank you, Gilligan. And congratulations on graduating! Do you have anything lined up?” Oliver rolls his eyes, muttering something under his breath that vaguely sounds like ‘academic counselor ass bitch’, but Oliver would never say anything like that about someone he loves sooo much. 

“Actually, my boyfriend and I are going to this magic school that starts up in a few weeks,” He turns to Oliver and Percy, “he works at the Rainforest Cafe here.” 

“With the way you were raving about it, I”m surprised we didn’t stop in for a quick bite.” Minerva butts in, pulling out her wand to send a patronus to Albus. 

“And a wonderful restaurant it is! I heard there might be a Scotland addition to the current European franchises.” Dumbledore calls out, shooting a quick wink at a (quickly paling) Percy and Oliver. “A good afternoon to you Misters Weasley and Wood. And Gilligan! Growing into such a fine, young lad. It’s nice to meet you again, my boy.” Dumbledore goes over and hugs him.

“Hello, Uncle Albus!” 

“Albus, you are late .” 

He tips his head, “Apologies Minerva, but good news! It looks like my…companion will be meeting up with us in Scotland a little later on. I hope to get the chance to introduce you to him.” 

She rolls her eyes, then pulls out the portkey—the AMAZING, BEAUTIFUL SATURDAY NIGHT FEVER VINYL RECORD, sung by none other than the BEES GEES. 

A quick Notice-Me-Not charm, and a stern stare at each person, Minerva clears her throat, “Everyone, hold on tight!” 

“Excited to go home, Perce?” Oliver whispers, shaking out his hand, it had been wrapped around the ax hilt. They stand next to each other. 

“Excited to start my life with you, Oli.” Percy whispers back, leaning against him

Minerva activates the spell, and Percy feels the familiar pull at the center of his stomach. 

Chapter Text

They touch down on the sweet grass that grows wild right outside The Burrow. There’s shouting in the distance, Molly’s voice carrying over the breeze. 

Minerva smiles at Oliver and Percy, something soft in her gaze. Something sad, too. 

“Come, Albus, Gilligan. There’s matters we must tend to at Hogwarts. Mister Weasley, Mister Wood.” Minerva calls out to them, they turn their heads near simultaneously. 

She goes to them in one more hug. “I’m glad you two are back.” 

“Thank you Professor,” Percy rasps out, tears unwittingly soaking into Minerva’s robes. Oliver must have said thank you, too, but softer. Or maybe it was the memories that can’t seem to stop playing in Percy’s head. But nevertheless, the moment passes, and, with one last squeeze, Professor McGonagall leaves them. 

Dumbledore and Gilligan must have said bye, too, because they’re waving at Percy and Oliver as they’re swept up by the Portkey. 

“I’m scared to see them again. Is that a bad thing?” Percy asks, standing with Oliver by his side as someone with bright red hair rides towards them with a broom. Percy thinks it might be Ron, or maybe Harry with a new color. 

“Of course not, Perce. We’ve just spent a week with just us, two escaped convicts, and way too much alcohol. I’d be scared to see your family, too.” 

Percy turns to him, the same way a sunflower finds the sun, “Then why aren’t you? Scared, that is.” 

And Oliver beams like there’s not a care in the world. Like the past week hasn’t tipped over their fundamental understanding of each other. Like they haven’t just signed their lives away (again) to Death himself. 

“Because I’ve got you. And you’ve got me. That’s all we need.” 

“PERCE, PERCY!” Ron screams, stopping just shy of hitting Percy’s head. Then he JUMPS on Percy, tackling his poor brother to the ground. “PERCY YOU’RE ALIVE, THANK MERLIN,” Ron screams, calmly. 

Then, Ron locks eyes with Oliver and proceeds to tackle him to the floor, too. “MUM SAID PERCY WOULD’VE DIED IF IT WASN’T FOR YOU. THANK YOU FOR SAVING MY BROTHER EVEN IF YOU TWO ARE REALLY GROSS.” 

“OI! I CAN TAKE CARE OF MYSELF YOU KNOW.” And just like that, that sweet moment of fragility and determination evaporated, like sweat in a volcanic eruption. Ka-boom. 

Percy, getting to his feet, promptly gets knocked off his feet again by two bodies dropping down from their brooms onto him. 

“PERCY!” 

“PERCY!” 

“PERCY WE THOUGHT—” 

“YOU WERE DEAD—” 

“SLEEPING WITH THE FISHES—” 

“After sleeping with Oliver—” 

“Of course, but then the fishes—” 

“Like they say in those muggle movies—” 

“With the hats and the—” 

“Cigarettes, Percy, we’re—” 

“So sorry that you got—” 

“Dumped in the wilderness—” 

“With the wildest beast—” 

“Known to wizardkind—-” 

“Our horrible, slave-driving, disgusting—-” 

“Overworking, no-life-at-all—” 

“Fired Quidditch Captain—” 

“Oliver Wood.” They say in Unison, then proceed to pounce on top of Ron, who is still on top of Oliver. The only things that accomplishes is any air supply Oliver had getting promptly cut the fuck off. 

“THANK YOU ICKLE OLI-KINS!” 

A third broom flies overhead, and Percy draws his wand, getting ready to jinx the next person that falls on him. But stops just in time to stare in wonderment. 

“CHARLIE!?” 

“Perce!” Charlie exclaims, jumping from his broom, but landing right before Percy and scooping him into a hug. Percy drops his wand immediately, returning the hug. 

“Perce, we were so worried about you! And you too, Oliver! Bill’s also here, but he’s holding Mum back from flying out on one of the furnitures. Dad was ready to start sending out the Aurors to comb all over England, but then Dumbledore filled us in. Oh, Congratulations! Wow, I didn’t even realize you two were dating.” Charlie’s words are a constant stream of monologue. As he’s spitting out the updates at a rapid-fire pace, he’s lifting Percy’s arms and moving his body this-way and that to make sure his little brother’s not injured too severely. 

“They started this year, the last couple of months.” Ron chimes in, dodging Oliver’s attempt to knock him off his back, “They were really gross about it the whole time, too.” 

“Get OFF me!” Oliver shouts, finally managing to grab someone’s shoulder. With a huge fucking shove, he pushes whoever (Ron? Fred, maybe?) to his right then throws the other two to his left. 

“Damn,” Ron says, rubbing the spot where his arm hit the grass, “Oliver when did you get so damn strong .” But he goes ignored, rip. 

He accepts Charlie’s hand as he gets to his feet, leaning heavily on Percy. “Your brothers are a bloody menace.” Charlie shrugs. Percy throws his shoe at the first ginger he sees. That WASN”T Charlie, we stan Charlie. 

“Let’s head inside, Mum is making a welcome feast slash congratulations-on-the-engagement dinner. And she’s still being held back by Bill.” 

“Food sounds really good right now.” Oliver says, thinking back to his last meal, which was more alcohol than anything of substance. 

The Burrow, lively as ever, is perhaps even louder then Percy remembered. Dishes fly over their heads in synchronized forms, food heating and cutting themselves in routined preparation. Tucked away in the chair, the knitting kneels clack against each other as its finished work (another sweater that Percy has an inkling will go to Oliver) lazily floats above the yarn skeins. 

At the heart of the chaos is none other than Molly Weasley, flicking her wand this way and that while a concerned Bill is sat on the corner of one of the dining tables, watching her. 

Percy, old as shit, but looking near pubescent still yet, took the time to look at his childhood home with the eyes of an adult. The mismatched carpets paired with the muggle duct tape splayed across the floor and the ceiling certainly sent a message about the Weasley’s financial status. Mismatched shoes at each door and tucked into each corner also sent no uncertain messages about how many boys lived here, too. Despite the mess, the clutter, or just the broken shit littering fucking everywhere, it was home. 

And there was a certain charm to the Burrow, too. There was always something bubbling in the cauldron at their cooking fireplace, and it was always something delicious. The knitting needle in the corner never maintained a stable rhythm, and it always lulled him into a sense of peace that no other sound could. Then, of course, there were the people, too. 

“PERCY!” One last flick of her wand and she abandons her magic for her son, the wand continuing to move without its owner. “OH PERCY,” she sobs, wrapping her arms tight around her son. Like, well. It was almost like. Percy scrunches his eyebrows as he tries to locate why this feeling of dread starts hanging off him. 

“Oh, Percy. We couldn’t find you,” she continues, “w-we. Oh, we thought we lost you.” 

Ah. That’s what it was. Molly wrapped her arms around her son, squeezing him tightly, like one of her children had passed . 

When that uncomfortable realization hits Percy, his eyes get glassy, and his lips purse. He slacks his grip around Molly, before burying his face in her hair, hugging her with all his worth. Just like a little kid reuniting with his parents after losing sight of them, Percy feels all of five years old. 

“I’m sorry, Mum. It won’t happen again.” A little ashamed for making them worry, a little on edge, but overall so damn relieved to have his family within his sights again. 

And he’s going to keep that promise. Because his Mum doesn’t deserve the heartbreak of wartime, no mother does. He’s going to stake everything he’s got on that promise. 

“I’m sorry we made you so upset, Mum,” he whispers. “Oli and I are just fine. When Professor Dumbledore came to pick us up, he even treated us to dinner.” He consoles her, and for a brief, fleeting moment, some guilt ebbs away. 

He couldn’t do this the last time. Console his grieving mother, give comfort in the trying times. And. And even still, with all his years and experiences under his belt, Percy could never imagine. Would never even try to imagine that pain of seeing one of your children look back at you with unseeing eyes. 

And Molly manages a crumpled up smile, pushing Percy’s hair back from his face. “Always the worrier in the family, my Percy is. Don’t worry about me too much, luv.” She presses a hard kiss to his cheek. “My little boy is back, and that’s what matters now, okay lovey?” And even still, she holds Percy’s arms tight with her own. 

Then she turns to Oliver, and captures him in a deathly tight hug. “Thank you for bringing my son home, Oliver,” she says, and Oliver, dumb and dumbstruck, does what he always does, and rolls with it. 

Percy, now free of his mother’s grasps, lets himself be passed around to Bill, who hugs him tight.

Before Oliver can get a chance to say something cheesy as all hell, Molly lets out a little squeal, all of a sudden all smiles and happy tears as she pinches Oliver’s cheeks. 

“But of course you would, considering I now have another son! Oh, I was just talking with our neighbor about your folks’ garden wedding.” 

Bill immediately rolls his eyes. “Mum! They both just got back. Let them sleep in a real bed before you start putting together their rehearsal dinner!” 

“Welcome back, Oliver,” Bill says kindly, gripping him on the shoulder and pulling him into a hug (pulling him away from his rabid mother who was rooting through her robes for the pre-set wedding album). “Why don’t we sit you two down for some dinner? Dad’ll be home in a few, Gin sent him an owl.” 

Bill leads them to their mismatched dining table, Molly hot on their heels, her wand flicking in intricate patterns to will the food to the table. 

The door flies open, Percy’s younger sibling piling over each other to get through the door, their loud voices nearly making the walls of the poor Burrow shake. 

“MOVE, I GOT THROUGH FIRST.” 

“Yeah, brother dearest, but—” 

“When you’re the last person—-” 

“To get on the broom,”

“You’re the very last person—” 

“That gets to eat!” 

Percy is craning his neck to see, but he swears Ron tried to punch one of them (George), but Fred threw a pillow right when the hit was about to connect. Then locked their younger brother in their inside broom closet. 

“Hey!” Percy yells. “No fighting inside the house!” He pulls his wand out while walking to the three of them, simultaneously unlocking the door and smacking his brothers upside the head. 

All thoughts of Fred and George’s miserable fate still gnawed at Percy’s conscious. But after the bullshit they pulled with the portkey significantly lessened the intense waves of guilt he felt. Now, it only bothers him in the wee hours of the night. 

“Oooh, looks like ickle-Percy kins picked up some fancy wandless magic while he was out in the wild,” one of the twins, Fred, croons, tentatively rubbing the spot Percy whacked. 

“Yeah, brother dearest, who knew the power of love could elevate your magic so high,” George says in a singsong response. 

Ron, still pissed at the twins, scowls at the two of them, “Isn’t elevate too big a word for just one of you to pronounce, why don’t you split that one up too?” 

“Hey!” Percy whacks Ron upside the head, too, “Don’t egg them on.” 

“Yeahhh,” Fred says. 

“Don’t egg us on,” George replies. 

Now it’s Percy’s turn to try and punch them. 

“Mum! The boys are fighting,” Ginny calls from the top of the stairs. 

“Oh, let them be, darling!” Molly calls back, successfully cornering Oliver with the album as she flips her through her old wedding photos, “I just put dinner on the table and Bill and Charlie are staying for the night.” 

Bill mouths something along the lines of, ‘Stop, it’s a trap,’ but Ginny pays his warnings no mind, giving Percy a quick “welcome home” hug as he’s trying to strangle one of the twins, then goes to sit at the table next to Bill. 

Immediately, she’s confused. And a little concerned. Because Molly’s “wedding album” is less of an album and more of a glorified color-coded list. 

“This is for Percy and Oliver’s wedding, sweetheart! This is what your wedding list is going to look like, one day,” Molly says cheerily, winking at her only daughter. Ginny goes red in the face. Unlike the other fucking gingers playing WWE over in the corner of the house, Ginny is red because she’s embarrassed, not because she’s trying to beat the living shit out of her siblings. 

“Oliver, Oliver!” Fred cries out, mockingly, “will the power of love save me, too!?” Ron enchanted a pillow to randomly hit the twins. But he enchanted it wrong and now the pillow is trying to kill all of them, too. Fondly, it makes Oliver think of the tempurpedic mattresses going head-to-head with each other in the expandable bag tied to Oliver’s belt. He should probably let them out, soon. 

“No!” Oliver shouts back, happy that his husband (husband!) is getting time to reconnect with his family. 

The doorbell rings, some muggle version of a doorbell but with added, over-the-top drums and a little kazoo solo, too. 

“Hello, hello!” comes Mr.Weasley’s cheery voice, his hat flying off his head to be placed primly on the hat rack seated near the knitting needles. In a similar fashion, his outer clothes lazily fly off, the scarf slinking away to the green mismatched pairs of shoes, his coats finding their perches in a big pile of dirty(?) clothes. 

“Dad!” And all at once, he’s enveloped in four pairs of grubby little hands, all talking over each other. Percy, really out of practice with the play fighting of his siblings, grabs onto Arthur’s shirt for dear life, trying his best to scream over Fred, George, and Ron’s screaming. 

“---AND THEY JUST LEFT HIM THERE, FOR DEAD!” Ron wails in Arthur’s left ear. 

“SAFE AND SOUND, LIKE—” One twin starts. 

“HE NEVER LEFT.” The other one finishes, their voices indistinguishable. 

Meanwhile, Percy is over there screaming directly at Arthur’s face, “I’M FINE, I’M FINE, I’M FINE.” 

“Could you pass me the bread rolls, please, Oliver?” Ginny asks, already finding the butter. Molly put away the album, and everyone at the table is trying their best to just ignore the commotion happening in the entrance way. 

“Of course, here you are, Ginny.” 

“Thank you!” 

Oliver lasts for all of one minute. Then he remembers that Gryffindor won’t win the next Quidditch tournament if his husband kills those specific brothers. 

Well, it’s not like they’re even going to have a Quidditch tournament, anyways. Because of the whole TriWizard Tournament Thing. But, it’s the principle of the thing! 

So, wiping his mouth gently with the beautifully animated embroidered napkin, he stands up, pushes his chair in, and slips his thumb and pointer finger in his mouth. 

The whistle Oliver cracks is enough to stun . Ron, Fred, George, Arthur, and even poor Percy stock still. 

“You three, get in the kitchen or I’m going to start making out with Percy.” That gets Ron’s ass hightailing it out of there, with one of the sincerest looks of disgust Oliver has ever seen on the man. 

The twins, however, look up at him with a shit eating grin. “Do you know how much that would sell, dear ickle Oli-kins—” 

“Since you’re part of the family and all, we get to call you—” 

“Ickle Oli-kins and all—” Before George can finish Fred’s words, Oliver cuts both of them all. 

“Get in the kitchen or I’m making out with both of you too .” CRAZY THREAT. CRAZY RISK. Percy looks like he’s going to bust a vein trying to hold in his laughter. The twins look like they’re going to throw up. And Arthur looks mildly concerned. 

Fred and George hightail it out of there, their voices blending into one as they ask Molly to chain Oliver up outside if he’s going to act like a DOG. 

“Hi, Mr.Weasley,” Oliver says, holding out a hand, but not surprised when Arthur picks him up into a hug.  

“Thank you, dear boy. I know it must have been rough to have been so lost. I’m happy you were able to find shelter in town, but thank you ,” Arthur squeezes Oliver tight, “for bringing my son back home.” Arthur, especially compared to his wife, was seen always as someone relaxed and a go-with-the-flow nature. 

Arthur looks at Oliver with something he’s so dearly missed: gratitude. Oliver knows how fiercely Arthur’s love goes deep for each of his children. Saw it first hand in the letters Percy (and every other Weasley kid, too) would get from him, little regular check-ins, small muggle knick knacks that he enchanted to change color or do a little boogie.

Arthur is one of the kindest soul Oliver had ever met. And to have him, with all his morals and values and codes look at Oliver as if he’d hung the moon—it eased the other stars. 

The looks each war-torn child soldier, with their own bloodied hands, gave as he walked with axe in hand. With that special kind of dark magic on his tongue. With someone else's life soaked in his clothes. Because that was a lifetime ago, and now Mister Weasley is thanking him for saving his son. So that’s what he’ll focus on. And let the other memories fall to the bottom half of the hourglass. 

“Of course Mister Weasley, Percy has a whole lot of people here that care about him.” As if on cue, the doorbell rings again. 

Arthur chuckled, “He’s not the only one. I took a little longer to send my own letters.” He opens the door, and two people, a man and a woman, tentatively walk through. But beam as their eyes set on their son. 

“Ma? Da?” Oliver asks, disbelief in his voice. A bark rings out, and Brutus, a LOT bigger than a couple weeks ago, bounds through the door, attacking Percy. 

“Will things STOP jumping on me, today?” Percy complains, but lets Brutus lick him as he runs his fingers through his dog’s long(er) fur. 

“OLIVER!” Mrs. Wood cries out, pulling her son close into a hug. 

“We missed you, boy,” Mr.Wood whispers into Oliver’s ear, joining his wife. 

“Let’s let them have some time to reconnect,” Arthur whispers to Percy. Or, tries to. All that commotion with his kids made him a little deaf, so shouted it at Percy then yelled (subtly) at Oliver to ‘take all the time you need’. 

“C’mere Brutus, you’ll get some time with Oli a little later,” Percy says, leading his puppy to the dining table. Brutus, ever the ham, jumps into Percy’s lap just as the ginger gets seated. 

“Here, deary, make your plate, we’ve made all your favorites,” Molly says, flicking her wand to put the main dishes closer to Percy. 

“Thank you, mum,” he says timidly, reaching out to beef stew on his left. Charlie, sat on his left (with Bill on his right) notices the ring.  “Wow, Perce, that sure is some rock. Wait.” Charlie grabs Percy’s hand, “Are those flowers real? How did Oliver do that?” 

Ginny lights up. “Can I see your ring, Percy?” Percy, always willing to indulge his youngest sibling, slips off his ring and tosses it to her. Ginny and Molly both crowd around it. 

“Yeah! He surprised me with it on our first night camping. We were in a little meadow, he preserved the flowers nearest to us.” 

“That’s the sappiest shite I’ve ever heard,” Charlie says, Bill glares at him. 

“I think it’s a very neat ring, Perce.” Bill says, ever the peacemaker. “Charlie just doesn’t know romance if it hit him in the head with a bludger.” 

“I’d be dead if love hit me with bludger. A snitch would be ideal.” Charlie snips back. 

“11 galleons for the snitch,” Fred says. George shakes his hand.

“I’ll bet on the bludgeon, then, good sir,” George replies. Ginny rolls her eyes. 

The rest of the table ignores the twin’s antics. “Do you and Oliver have a matching set, Percy?” Molly asks, holding the ring up to the light. 

“Sort of? I made mine from a river bed we were relaxing in the day after.” The twins exchange a glance and Percy does everything in his power to ignore them. 

“Isn’t that adorable, Molly-wobbles,” Arthur chimes in, leaning his head on his wife’s shoulder to get a look at Percy’s ring. “You know, you and Oliver are more than welcome to have one of the Weasley sets.” 

“Or one of the Prewetts!” Molly chimes in, levitating Percy’s ring back to him. The ring stares at him as Percy thinks about their offer. Last time, him and Oliver had used one of the Weasley sets. 

Last time, the front row was full of empty seats. And Percy’s not saying the two of them are directly connected. Just that…Maybe this go about, he’ll do some things differently. 

So he smiles at his parents, “I think I’ll keep these rings. And one day another Weasley can wear them.” His parents smile back. 

“And what marvelous rings they’ll make for them,” Molly says. 

A tender moment, between son and parents as the mother and father realize how much one of their babies has grown. Graduating school, getting married. It might have been moving a little fast, but, oh, how proud they are of their little Percy. How relieved they are, that their most fragile son has someone to protect him, to help him grow stronger, too. 

Ron, like the dense fuck he is, breaks that tender moment. “Does this mean you’re moving out? Because I don’t know if I can mentally take hearing you and Oliver smacking lips.” 

“Or smacking anything else,” George says, with disgust. Fred gags. 

“RONALD BILLIUS WEASLEY,” Molly says, both hands on the table as she gets ready to stand up and beat the shit (lovingly) out of her kid. 

“Molly-wobbles!” Arthur cuts in, “Let’s calm down, now. I’m sure Ron was just joking,” Arthur shoots Ron a look, and he’s quick to cover his ass. 

“Yeah, mum. Course I was.” 

Percy, realizing that his moment is about to close, buts in, “it is something that Oliver and I have been talking about, though. Maybe living near his parent’s in their magical community. The farmland would be good for Brutus.” 

The table goes deathly silent. And Percy knows damn well that he just misspoke. Ah shit, his mum’s crying.

“WHY DO YOU WANT TO LEAVE WHEN YOU JUST GOT BACK?!” 

“I’m sure everyone should just sit back down and we can reasonably talk this out,” Arthur interjects, but Molly talks over him, pointing at Percy. 

“My own son! Oh, my own son. He gets married, and all of a sudden wants us out of the picture! Oh!” The waterworks start happening, and Percy, not knowing what to do, looks around for help. 

The twins have disappeared. When Percy first started his spiel, they both got up, went to either side of Ron, then dragged their flailing younger brother without anyone else being none the wiser. Ginny is trying not to be noticed, splitting her attention between her food and wondering where the fuck her brothers were. 

Bill, though, stands up with Percy. “C’mon Mum, you’ve got to admit that if they’re married, Perce and Oliver are going to want their own space. 

Then, Charlie chimes in, “plus, they’ve got a dog. If Brutus were left here he’d eat up all the gnomes and then start some kind of turf war. A little farm sounds good for the two of them.” 

Percy mouths a thank you to both of them. But Molly is still stubborn in her ways. So, it was Arthur’s turn. 

He claps his hands, then says, “well, that’s much too heavy for this lovely little reuniting dinner. How about we do ice cream and table the conversation for sometime next week.” 

Percy, grateful for the out, starts heading to the kitchen. “I’ll get the bowls and spoons!” 

“I’ll help,” Oliver says, slipping into the dining room then following Percy. Oliver’s parents soon follow. 

“Come, sit!” Arthur calls to them, his own wand swishing through the air to scoop up Oliver’s mom and dad to the mismatched chairs from the parlor and levitating their way into the dining room. 

“Perce, why was your mum crying?” Oliver whispers to his husband (his husband!) as they bring down the chipped bowls and bent spoons. 

Percy groans, “I thought it would be a good time to mention we were thinking about moving out.” 

“Oh.” Oliver says, followed up with, “That was a bloody stupid decision, wasn’t it?” 

“Yeah, fucking hell.” Percy bangs his head against one of the pantry doors. It fucking falls off onto his foot because the, apparently, the universe fucking hates Percy.

“OW! Merlin’s balls, Jesus Fucking Christ,” Percy says, eloquently, with all the grace of a sailor infected with a very MEAN case of scurvy. Eat a motherfucking orange, redhead, goddamn. 

Oliver holds back a snort, because it was not nice to laugh at someone else’s pain. Especially when you loved someone else. Instead, he picks up the door and waves his hand in a small circle, the pain immediately fading from Percy’s foot. 

Oliver helps him up, and Percy just kind of leans against him. He’s got some bent spoons in his hands, and Oliver holds the bowl against his chest, right next to Percy. 

“How’d the talk with your parents go?” Percy asks, the quietness of their moment slipping some sense of calmness under his skin. 

“It went about as well as you could expect, I guess. They were scared, happy that I came back. Happy that we’re both safe. Happy about us.”

Percy smiles. “They’ve always loved us , always loved you , too.” 

“I’m sure Da just missed the extra pair of hands to help with rewiring Ma’s latest muggle fascinations.” Oliver leans against a relatively stable wood column of The Burrow, “Your family really missed you, Perce.” 

“They did, didn’t they?” Percy says, a small little smile pulling at his mouth. “C’mon, let’s get this out to them.” 

They make their way back out just to watch Ron WWE flip off the bannister of one of the upper floors, landing (fairly well) as he makes his escape from the twins. His hair a godawful neon pink with white tips. 

Molly is once again screaming at her fuckass children, and Percy—well. He feels Oliver’s hands in his, and knows that he’s home. 

Chapter Text

A Scotland sun, shrouded with the constant cover of clouds. Oliver was hunched over his broom, a few hundred feet up in the air. Their family game was, to put lightly, fucking ass. Potter was a natural at catching, sure, but he wasn’t here, instead Ginny was his team playing Seeker. And for a little third year, she was fast , but still not coordinated enough to catch the snitch before Charlie could. And the twins had given Ron a concussion. Oliver almost wanted to call off the game and wait for good weather. 

“Think heʻs pissed off?” George asks out loud, but Oliver pays him no mind, leaning further against his broom. Because, yeah, he’s pissed.

Fred flies up beside his twin, “Most definitely. Heʻs winding his back up to pounce, like a cat.” 

“Maybe McGonagall is astral projecting.” 

“Oi, Professor, could I get out of my detention?” 

“No, and whatʻs more, I’m going to suspend you daft idiots,” he bites back. Damn, with all these clouds, he’s probably going to go back to being pasty as all hell. 

The twins yell, flying away as fast as possible screaming, “Professor McGonagallʻs possessed a student.” Oliver chuckles, just a little bit. He’s still pissed. They were going to lose this game, again . 

It's been a grueling day so far, and when it was all over, Oliver would fetch Percy from whatever hole the poor workaholic squireled himself away at the ministry, then go eat dinner. He exhales, righting himself and doing some lazy maneuvers on his broom. It was their last game, and while uh. Well, Oliver was being a bit intense with the twins and Ginny, it was nothing compared to what Charlie was commanding of poor Bill . 

Maybe Percy really is the smartest one in the Weasley family—because if he didn’t get that entry-level job at the ministry, he’d be on Bill and Charlie’s team. 

From what he could remember from this time period, Oliver sure as shit doesn’t remember Charlie being this much of a hardass when it came to Quidditch. He was starting to get concerned for Bill, of all people—who made a living off of literally setting off death traps for the government. Oliver touches back down to the makeshift pitch’s sweet grass, nearly running into Percy himself. And, wow, was his husband a sight to see, his eye bags looking like he was punched in the face, twice. 

Maybe that wasnʻt so far from the truth. After getting the job, Percy’s higher ups upped poor Perce’s hours to nearly 50 hours a week. So every day, after breakfast at The Burrow, Oliver would kiss Percy goodbye, and wouldn’t see him till the stars were out. 

“Surprised to see you here while the sun’s shining behind all that white shit in the sky, Perce,” Oliver says in lieu of greeting, drawing his husband close—his shitty demeanor immediately evaporating. Percy stares into the void, but still finding some sentience to return Oliver’s affections. 

“Devil Twins!” Oliver calls out, causing two heads to turn in unison. “Why’s your brother here so early?.” 

“Oh, Ickle-Perciekins—” 

“Got sick at the ministry—”

“And basically vomited—”

“More like spewed, all over the Minister’s—-”

“Dandy, nice robes—” Oliver cuts off the twin that was speaking. 

“I guess we should call it a match, huh Charlie? Perce, you okay to be picked up?” He nods, while Charlie shouts an affirmative, going back to running Bill through old Quidditch drills that Oliver was pretty sure were illegal. But, well. Mentally, he was taking notes. 

Oliver grabs Percy and gently picks him up, carrying him back to their room at The Burrow. It’s been about two weeks since they got back from Faith, and they’ve agreed to hold off on moving into their new place until term starts. That conversation with Molly did NOT go well at all. But eventually, EVENTUALLY, she could maybe, just a little bit, understand where they were coming from. And, hey, for now, with Oliver at the Burrow helping Molly plan the wedding, it’s been working out. He helps with the food prep, and watching Brutus. Molly gets to spend time with her new son-in-law and her eldest sons (Bill and Charlie, sticking around till the Quidditch World Cup).

Fred pokes Percy with the edge of his broomstick, and his head falls limply against Oliver. Laughing, the one that didnʻt do the poking lets out a fake gasp of surprise, giving his broom to his twin. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, our poor Princess Percy has been rescued by none other than the great knight, Oliver Wood!” Oliver is pretty sure thatʻs George. 80% sure. George scoops up his twin, mocking Percy and Oliver. He runs all over the pitch, both of them shouting about how poor Percy needs to be rescued by the brave, courageous, Oliver Wood. And for Percy’s defense, or as a showing of how bone-dead tired he was, he closed his eyes and fell right asleep. 

As they go to bother Charlie, Oliver feels a bit of mischief rise up within himself. So he calls out to them, “Make sure you noble knights practice your broom runs, yeah?” They both go pale, and Charlie starts trying to corral them into doing Quidditch training with him. Keyword being tries , the twins can be fast as hell when they want to be. 

The trek to The Burrow is calm, nothing but them, the distant screaming of Percy’s brothers, and the grass. Everything was so green , especially with all the rain they’ve been having.

“Oliver,” Percy groans out, “c’mon, put me down dude. The world is spinning.” 

“‘Course Perce. There’s a tree over there.” And a ways away, a small tree next to a small river makes itself known. Oliver doesn’t mention how the tree, towering 20ish feet with a shade canopy the size of a canoe, came from an acorn that decided (with Oliver’s gentle convincing) to grow up into a big, strong, tree. Or how the river, nonexistent, simply came into being with Percy’s unconscious desire to be near something flowing. 

Both of them curl up underneath the tree. Oliver stretches his fingers, curling them up into loose fists before relaxing them at his side. He feels good. He feels powerful. It was so peaceful, too. Maybe if the sky could just fucking clear up when night came, Oliver would drag Percy away from his debilitating illness long enough to look at the stars. 

Oh, wait, Oliver can just fix that. 

“Hey, Perce. I’ll heal you.” Oliver takes out his wand. “What do you think it is, your brothers tried to poison you again?” But Percy shakes his head. Oliver runs a simple diagnostic spell that Hermione created during war times, highlighting where the pain would be on a person’s body. Percy’s entire stomach and throat lit up with a dull purple. Which was the spell’s color for purple. 

“I think someone slipped something in my tea today,” Percy murmurs, finding purchase against the trunk. He takes a deep, ragged inhale. Then a long exhale. Slowly, the purple tinge around Percy’s body fades away. He relaxes, color starting to return to his face. 

“You think it’s normal that you can just. Do that.” Oliver says, gesturing to the way Percy just fucking healed himself by breathing . And the dudeʻs got the audacity to shrug. 

“Think it’s normal that someone is poisoning the Minister of Magic’s underpaid aid?” 

“No, but I think they’ll be dead pretty soon,” Oliver jokes, a strong edge in his voice when his joke lands flat. Percy mumbles something about not wanting to hide a dead body in the Minister’s office. 

“Percy.” Oliver reaches for his hand, taking it gently between his. 

“Motherfucker, I sincerely do NOT want to learn how to dissolve a body with muggle cleaning supplies.” 

“It's a bonding activity .” 

“It’s a fucking crime?” Percy says, voice monotone but eyes playful. 

“Who do you think did it?” Oliver asks, looking around the little space they’ve created. A mother duck and her babies were swimming in the small river by their feet. 

“Karkarov,” Percy says dryly, intentionally mispronouncing every syllable in that guy’s name. 

Oliver grabs at his chest, “Oh Merlin, he jests . Surely, it could never be the ex-Death Eater.” He pretends to faint, leaning hard against the tree trunk. 

Then, Percy starts giggling. It's soft. Oliver had never really heard the other man giggle . He can only look at Percy, mouth agape. And there he is, throwing his head back and starting to laugh, even snort . 

“Are you actually possessed?” Oliver asks, and he has half-a-mind to start doing some counter-curses just to make absolutely sure. 

Percy rolls his eyes, pushing Oliver off of his chair as he stands up. “Of course not, Oliver.” Then he sniffs, looking away haughtily. “I would have taken the Ministerʻs position if I had been.” 

“Another joke!?” Oliver guffaws. “But, seriously, Perce, let’s kill Karkarov.” 

“Shove off, Wood. I don’t even know it was him, I just think it might be him. Why are you so suddenly interested in murder?” 

He holds up his hands, “If someone tries to poison me, let’s see you try not to beat them to death.” Percy rolls his eyes, the cheek! 

But, also relents. “If someone tried to poison you, they’d uh. Disappear under mysterious circumstances.” Then, embarrassed, Percy clears his throat and changes the subject. “Whatʻs for dinner, anyway?” 

“How should I know? We just finished up on the pitch,” Oliver replies, “I think the twins might die at the hands of your older brothers with those Quidditch drills.” 

“Gee, you think? I’m pretty one of them was hanging upside down till your hand has ten fingers.” 

Percy snorts again. “I’m too tired to think about whether or not my brothers will kill each other. Come closer, Wood. I need a pillow.” 

“You're so dramatic, they just turned your bread rolls blue. It could’ve been worse” But Oliver, nonetheless, moves closer.

“Today, they turn the bread blue, tomorrow they’re helping you draw and quarter Karkarov.” 

“That’s the spirit, Perce! Oi, you’re going to get cold,” Oliver says, already reaching for the bottomless bag. From it, he pulls a thick blanket that he definitely stole from their room, and covers both of them with it. 

“You’d make such a good Yank boyscout,” Percy says, sleep tugging at him. Oliver removes the other’s glasses, placing them gently into the hollow of the tree. 

“Think they’d still accept me if they saw my ax?” Oliver jokes, pulling the covers of the blanket over both of their shoulders. It was a miserably cold day, but it was nice to be warming up next to someone you loved. 

“Doesn’t matter, I would.” There was something soft about the way Percy said it, but Oliver knows that Percy is just a soft guy. 

They both fall asleep. And, while they sit still, the day passes them by. The ducks fuck off to go hatecrime some gnomes. The clouds make their travels across the fully grown tree and the newly budding river, sending small showers of rain to the newly engaged. 

Right about now, in another part of Scotland, Gellert “Gill”, no last name, shakes hands with a property manager about the opening of a new Rainforest Cafe franchise. And on his arm, a dashing gentleman in a bright orange suit with purple cats (that almost look like they’re running if you look close enough) is right by his side. Somewhere in Central London, a muggle and a squib practice making cards appear and disappear with sleight of hand, something healing inside the squib. 

Even when the sun peeks out, they continue to sleep, and eventually the sun follows the clouds so the stars can have their turn. There is no moon, not tonight. 

Something cold descends on the couple when night finally hits. But not cold enough to wake them up. Not yet, at least. 

“Y’know, you two really are something special,” Tony says, lighting up a death stick (cigarette, lmao). “I just saw you,” he points at Oliver, “summon an acorn from fuckass nowhere and grow it into a damn tree, and you,” he leans towards Percy, “summon water. From nowhere. I’m pretty sure that’s the stuff of mythology!” He leans back, blowing the smoke out, away from their faces. He’s not a dick, you know. 

“I know I’m just talking to myself at this point, but. Wow. Maybe I made you two a bit too powerful. And yet, I wonder…” Death sits across from them, hand propping up his cheek as he watches them sleep. Because Tony is a little freak. Which is why he wears a shirt, neon pink, in Barbie font, that says, “Death’s a Little Freak and Watches You Sleep <3”.

“Could you both be even more ? If you two actually tried, what would happen then?” Tony looks to the tree, then to the river, “A forest, an ocean?” A smile, too wide to be considered kind, or remotely generous appears on its face, “A dessert, a drought? ” 

Tony gets back to his feet, then leans over the bottomless bag, plucking Oliver’s ax out of it. 

“My Oliver, with my feisty little Percy, oh!” Tony clutches his hands close to his chest, nearly avoiding decapitation, “What a Golden Trio we make,” he cackles. An unnerving sound, like some asthmatic kid wheezing into a drop whistle. Then, like the little FREAK he is, kisses the axe. It glows gold, then settles back into its normal color. He places it back into the bag, but not before noticing the glasses wedged into the tree’s bark. 

“Oh, how unfair would it be if Oliver was the only one who got gifts from me, right my little Percy,” the fucking FREAK says, kisssing the glasses, too. Trust, if Percy were awake, he’d be spraying his spectacles with everything from Fabulouso to 95% Isopropyl Rubbing Alcohol. Or just straight up whiskey and a match. Burn that shit. 

“Don’t forget about our deal, boys~” the FUCKING FREAK says, his voice worming its way into Percy and Oliver’s ears, waking them from their slumber. But he’s already gone, off to play Strip Poker with the other Primordial beings. 

“Did you hear something?” Oliver asks, Percy groggily shakes his head.

“Where’d my glasses go?” The other reaches up into the tree and places it on Percy’s face.  

Percy rubs his face, trying to wake up. “Merlin, what time is it?” 

Oliver, noticing it’s night, “Night, I think.” Oliver is NOT a genius, but he tries. 

“Really?” Percy exclaims, sarcasm and disbelief and how stupid that answer was dripping off his words. 

“You asked! What, Doctor Percy, Ph.D needs the time with an hour and a minute?” Oliver jokes. Percy huffs out a laugh. 

“And the seconds, too.” When Percy looks up, his playfulness freezes. His mouth hangs open at the sight, and Oliver was going to start a new (INAPPROPRIATE) line of joking about Percy’s open mouth, when the ginger’s hand points above them. 

“Oliver, look at the stars.” And, sure enough, Oliver looks. 

He doesn’t know how it slipped his mind. But The Burrow, with the only light source being the porch light, had the best possible view for stars. 

Million, billions, trillions of dots in the sky. Lines in the sky, that seemed to move, to breathe, in time with Oliver’s inhales and exhales. 

“A second chance,” Oliver mumbles out. “That’s what we’ve got, Perce. A second chance.” 

And he takes the time to finally look at him. His roommate, his best friend. His husband. His everything. And when Percy looks back at him, eyes full of those Scotland Stars that Oliver had wanted to show him. He knows. 

He knows love. He knows the bounds he’d go to for it. He knows the sacrifices he’d make for it. And, knows that it would be returned, in full. 

“And I’m not going to waste a moment of it.”