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The Weight of Living	By : percyplusoliver Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Percy/Oliver Views: 4738 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: This can also be found at AO3. I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters. I am not making any money from this story. I just do this for kicks :) Note: This begins around HBP-era

Chapter List
- 12
- 13
- 14
Oliver was deeply unhappy, and it was obvious every minute of every day. He had been demoted to the reserve team; his focus had disappeared; he had started showing up late and unprepared to practises; and he had been letting in extremely easy goals. He had been on the receiving end of many verbal thrashings, but they hadn’t been effective. He was numb. He missed Percy more and more each day. He had tried to cheer himself up with one-night stands, but they had only served to make him more depressed. No one could fill the hole Percy had left in his heart.
Percy had thrown himself further into his work. He hardly spent time at his flat; he arrived at his office at 5am most days and left between 10pm and midnight. Working was the only thing that kept his mind off Oliver. Fortunately, he had more than enough to do. But when he stopped to think, or took a break for lunch, his mind strayed to Oliver. What was he doing? How was he? Was he thinking of Percy too? Percy missed him so much, but he was so stubborn that he wouldn’t be the first one to apologise.
The situation at the Ministry was becoming more dire by the day. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had amassed a large following, and Percy had been tasked with rooting them out within the Ministry. It was a daunting task, to be sure, but he knew he was up to it. He wasn’t allowed to talk to anyone – aside from the Minister – about what he was doing, in case they were a Death Eater, which caused him to be very lonely. He wanted very desperately to tell someone about all of his important work, to tell them about everything he had discovered, that he had such an important task, that the Minister had trusted him to seek out the rotten people in the Ministry...but he had no one. He was alone again. Naturally.
***
And then the Minister resigned. Publicly, at least. Percy knew the circumstances were different – his job requirements had changed mere minutes after Pius Thicknesse had taken over. No longer was he needed to uncover Death Eaters in the Ministry; no, they were no longer deemed a threat to public security. Instead, he was assigned to the Muggle-Born Registration Commission, something he found morally repugnant. He put in exceptional effort to find wizarding relatives of Muggle-born witches and wizards in order to spare them the humiliation of a trial with that foul toad Umbridge, and when he couldn’t find evidence, Percy might have fudged a relative or two in some cases. No matter how much work he did on all of his assigned cases, some of them still went to trial, and some of those were convicted of “stealing” their magic. Percy always felt absolutely wretched when he saw a Muggle-born frog-marched out of the courtrooms, believing he could have done more to prevent it, but knowing that Dolores Umbridge would find a way to convict regardless of relatives.
Percy could no longer find joy in his work. It brought him immense sadness knowing that if he made even a tiny error, the person whose file he was researching could be sentenced to Azkaban. He trudged through each day with the same monotony, arriving at 8:00 as required and leaving as early as possible, normally between 6 and 7pm. His flat was empty and lonely, as it always had been. He had nothing to distract him from how depressing his life was now. And I only have myself to blame, he thought regularly.
***
Soon after the Minister resigned, all Quidditch matches were cancelled. In the interest of public safety, they said. Keep the players and the spectators safe.
Oliver raged for days. They can’t cancel Quidditch! What was he going to do with his time? With his life? How am I going to distract myself now? he wondered. How can I keep myself from breaking into a million pieces every day if I don’t have Quidditch to keep me busy? Soon he found out. He didn’t like the solution.
The Quidditch players were reassigned to the Ministry according to their strengths in school. Oliver had been a mediocre student at best, and was hoping to be assigned to the Department of Magical Games and Sports. He was unlucky and was assigned to the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, Accidental Magic Reversal Section. He had gotten an E on his Transfiguration N.E.W.T., much to everyone’s surprise (including his own), so Oliver supposed this was as good a department as any. Except in its proximity to Percy. Was it too close, or too far? he wondered. Some days he wasn’t sure. He didn’t know if he wanted to run to Percy and hold him forever, or never see him again.
Sometimes Oliver wished he had never run into Percy in that Muggle dive. He had been given the most wonderful gift – someone who loved him for who he was, not for what he did; someone who cared for him; someone who just wanted to be with him – and it had been cruelly ripped away from him much too soon. Just because he couldn’t keep his stupid mouth shut. Was Percy dating someone new? Did Percy miss him? Did Percy ever think about him? Oliver thought about Percy all the time, even though he tried not to. It had been more than six months, and he still wasn’t over Percy. He wondered if he ever would be. He wondered if Percy was over him yet. Selfishly, he hoped that Percy wasn’t; that Percy ached as much as he did; that Percy still felt the ghost of Oliver in his bed, like Oliver felt Percy in his.
Was he going to see Percy in the Ministry? Probably. Percy was the assistant to the Minister; he was everywhere. Oliver didn’t know what he would do when he saw Percy again. Lose the ability to speak? Likely. Make a fool of himself? Certain. He frowned as he walked into the toilet cubicle to “flush” himself into the Ministry. He couldn’t look like an arse on his first day.
As soon as he flew into the Atrium, Oliver saw that breathtaking shock of ginger hair that he had so loved to run his fingers through. His heart skipped several beats and his stomach dropped. Had Percy seen him? Oliver started walking in the direction of the lifts – conveniently, that would take him right by Percy – and stopped briefly beside his ex-boyfriend.
Percy felt a presence at his left side and he turned to find Oliver standing awkwardly beside him. “Can I help you?” he snapped, more harshly than he had intended.
“S’my first day,” Oliver muttered. “Thought maybe you could show me round.” He looked at the floor, chastised.
“I am far too busy to be a guide,” Percy said, puffing out his chest. “There are signs throughout in case you get lost.” He pursed his lips. “Where are you going?”
“Level three. Accidental Magic Reversal,” replied Oliver, now turning red, embarrassed.
“When you exit the lift, you’ll want to turn left. It will be the second department on your right,” Percy said, a bit more gently than before. “Good luck.” He gave Oliver a sad smile before returning to his conversation. “As I was saying, these hearings are quite time-consuming. I’ve spent...”
Oliver was out of earshot before Percy finished the rest of his sentence. He didn’t know how to interpret Percy’s behaviour. Should he take his first or his second response as an indicator of his feelings? Or should I stop reading into things and just ignore it? Oliver wondered as he stepped into the lift. He pressed the large ‘3’ button and waited. A moment later, he stepped off the lift and followed Percy’s instructions to his new department.
***
Percy finished his conversation with Mafalda Hopkirk – vile, vile woman, he thought; I don’t understand how someone can willingly work alongside Dolores Umbridge and not want to Crucio themselves every day – and excused himself. “I must get back,” he apologised. “I have at least fifteen more files to complete by lunchtime.” She nodded and Percy walked away, breathing an internal sigh of relief. At least he was free of her.

But he had something – someone – else to worry about. Oliver. He had known that the Quidditch players would be coming to the Ministry; he had just forgotten when, and hadn’t thought that he would run into Oliver. He had planned on spending all of his time in his office to avoid these types of situations. He had been terribly unlucky – lucky? he wondered – this morning. Now he would be distracted with thoughts of Oliver; those lips, how they felt pressed against his; those hands, how adept they were at finding his most sensitive spots; and oh, that cock… Percy shivered involuntarily. How he missed the feeling of Oliver’s cock filling him, fucking him, sending him to another plane of existence.
No, he told himself. He couldn’t think about that anymore. He had ruined it for himself. He didn’t deserve Oliver. What’s more, Oliver should have someone better, someone more...Oliver...than him. Someone more suited, more attractive, more outgoing, less Percy, than him. Percy shook his head and opened the door to his office. He found the Minister standing there, looking cross.
“Minister,” Percy said, surprised. “How can I help you, sir?”
“Weasley!” Thicknesse barked. “I want all of these files - “ he gestured to a stack at least three feet tall “ - finished by lunchtime. Dolores wants to review them and start her next round of hearings tomorrow.” He glared at Percy.
“Yes, sir,” Percy said, nodding once.
The Minister stalked out of Percy’s office, his look of perpetual annoyance causing Percy to roll his eyes at his back. How was he going to get all of those files done in four hours? Percy felt a stab of apprehension. He sat at his desk and pulled the top file from the stack. Opening the folder, he saw the name and could have cried. It was Oliver.
“But both of his parents are wizards,” he said to the empty office. Looking further at the family tree, he found two supposedly Muggle grandparents – a grandmother on his mother’s side and a grandfather on his father’s side. That was hardly an indictment. And even if it was true, Percy thought, who cares? Percy set Oliver’s file aside to look at later, knowing it would take him a great deal more time to cover up any potential Muggles in his lineage.
***
Oliver’s first day was relatively uneventful. He was shown the ropes by several experienced Ministry employees, and given a small desk in the corner of the office. He wasn’t given any proper responsibilities, probably because the department head assumed that, since he was a Quidditch player, he had the brains of a troll. It didn’t bother Oliver, at least not right away. He had never enjoyed schoolwork, and this seemed to be a lot like schoolwork. Now he understood why Percy loved it. He was right in his element. Merlin, he missed that man. He hadn’t realised just how much until he had seen Percy again. Oliver’s heart ached with longing. If he could only apologise...if Percy would give him a moment of his time, maybe Oliver could convince Percy to forgive him. It was worth a try, Oliver thought, and scribbled a quick memo to Percy, sending it away seconds later.
Oliver waited for what seemed like eons for a response. When one finally came, it was just one word: “Yes.” Oliver’s heart leapt in his chest. He wrote back on the same parchment, “Lunch?” He drummed his fingers on his desk, waiting for a response.
***
Percy didn’t know what he was going to say to Oliver. Or how he was going to keep the news that Oliver was being investigated from him. Why did he agree to meet with him? This was going to be the hardest thing he had ever done. He mentally kicked himself.
“Weasley!” The Minister had barged into his office once more, startling Percy out of his thoughts.
“Yes, sir,” Percy responded. He looked at his watch. It wasn’t quite lunchtime; he still had nearly an hour to get through all of the files on his desk, and he only had three more.
“Are you quite finished with that stack?”
“Very nearly, sir. Just three more.”
“Send the finished files to Dolores, then.” With that, the Minister turned on his heel and strode out of the office, his robes swishing behind him. Percy breathed a sigh of relief and called in his secretary.
“Take these to Dolores Umbridge, would you?” he asked. She nodded and took the finished stack away. He turned back to his files and rushed through the two non-Oliver files; they were simple. Both were clerical errors. He sent the files out to his secretary with a note instructing her to take them to Umbridge – every time he thought of her, he shuddered – and reopened Oliver’s file. He pursed his lips. Esther Williams, he thought. Let’s see if we can find you somewhere in the Ministry archive.
Oliver’s maternal grandmother was an easy find. The Commission had mixed her up with someone else. His paternal grandfather, however… Percy spent the majority of the hour before lunch searching for Alastair Wood and found absolutely nothing. He frowned. How was he going to cover this up? He couldn’t allow Oliver to be taken away. Oliver was – had been, he told himself – the most important person in his life. He couldn’t be responsible for Oliver’s detention in Azkaban. He had to work through lunch in order to do this properly. Unfortunately – fortunately? - that meant missing his meeting with Oliver. He wrote a quick note to the other man explaining that something had come up and he wouldn’t be able to make it. He made no offer to reschedule.
***
Finally, a response arrived. Oliver opened the note with nervous excitement.
Must cancel. Something important has come up.
Percy
Oliver’s stomach dropped. He had so been looking forward to this. He would try once more, he thought, writing back, “Can we reschedule? Tomorrow?”, hoping for another positive response.
***
Percy received Oliver’s note but didn’t have time to reply. Oliver’s family tree was more important to him than writing a response.
Then it occurred to him. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? You’re an idiot, Percy, he chastised himself, as he pulled a file out of his large filing cabinet. There it was. Broomstix! The shop in Diagon Alley that sold, what else, broomsticks. And the first owner? Alastair Wood. Percy heaved a huge sigh of relief and scribbled a note in the file, attaching a copy of the page showing Alastair’s ownership of Broomstix.
That ought to be enough, thought Percy, sending the file out to his secretary.
Twenty minutes later, she returned with the same file. “Sorry, but Umbridge isn’t satisfied,” she said. “Says that since Wood was an associate of Undesirable Number 1, we still have to call him in for a hearing.”
Percy could swear his heart stopped. No matter what I do, he thought, that hag will thwart me. I have to warn him.
“I’ll notify him,” Percy said, dismissing her with a wave. And tell him to run.
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The Weight of Living