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So Much for the Labour Party	By : sinophile Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1850 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-So Much for the Labour Party
- 2-Newsprint Futility
- 1
- 2
Warning: Contains limited non-erotic sex, but sex nonetheless.

AN: Thanks a bunch to my very appreciated beta Sylvey. With out her I doubt I would have gotten this checked for another month or so. Check out her stuff. If you have the chance. Oh and as always thanks to all of you who have reviewed, I do really appreciate it especially when the pairing seems to have such a lax following.

Chapter Two: Newsprint Futility

�Oi, What do you think yer doing here?�

The soft Scottish brogue was not exactly what I would have imagined sleep to sound like, more southern and middle class.

�Sleeping.�

�Yer nough� allowed �ere.�

�I�m not allowed to do much. I do it anyway.�

This was obviously not sleep. Sleep didn�t sound eerily like Oliver Wood, definitely not. He was standing over me, blocking the stars and lost in shadow, fumbling in his robes. It took only a split second for me to realize what he was doing and I shut my eyes. Even closed the light spell shone red though my eyelids.

�Turn off the bloody light.�

�Ah could nought see.�

Warily I opened my eyes, shading them with my hand. Blood rushing in my temples, it was Wood.

�Why ah y�ere?� he asked again.

�I could ask you the same thing.� I replied resenting his standing there, towering over me - he had new shoes too.

�Ah forgot me robes,� he said. I keep him waiting for my answer, gazing up at the stars instead.

�Came to see the game,� I grunted at last., raising. Getting up was far more difficult than lying down, I found myself swaying uncomfortably, well if he couldn�t smell the drink on me before, I doubt that he had any further doubts about my state. I�m not drunk, nowhere near, but I�m not sober either.

�Do yer �ave a place arroun �ear?�

Stupid question, I�d told him I was in London the last time we met. He�d come down once - just once. A week after graduation, blathering on about Quidditch, I had hated him for it. Said nothing just fucked him against the back wall. Quidditch and sex, it seems the two are impossibly intertwined. Both rough, animalistic, brutal fun. I wanted to enjoy it all again, but somehow it had lost its appeal. Meaningless like the showy moves his team used.

�Fuck and games Wood,� I leered at him. �You know where I live.�

I stumbled forward like Jesus on choppy water. I wonder did he ever trip? No he�d probably be like Wood, striding with total faith in his bitchgod, and infinitely fucking humane.

�How ah yer getting back then?� As if he had the right to look concerned. �Knight bus?�

I guffawed.

�I�m going back to the pub.� Who cared, I could have slept here if he hadn�t come along. I stomped to the gates, they were locked of course. I was feeling ill, and a headache was starting to fog my fuzzed mind.

�Yer can�t Apparate home!� he yelled after me, running up. Of course not; I wasn�t some idiot like Prucy; going out of his way to get himself splinched.

�No, but I can get so drunk I won�t feel the damp.� I snapped, hoping he would be able to open the gate. I felt too sick to trust myself Apparating around it. Wood just stood there.

�Ah don�t �ave a key.� I cursed him.

�Dan�na move.� Suddenly he grabbed me. What the fuck? We are out. POP!

�What the bloody hell do you think you�re doing!� I yelled as we reappear, it�s cold and open. A field somewhere.

�Ah�m takeing ya�ome.�

I. never. ever. Apparate with other people. It�s just plain dangerous, too easy to get splinched. I�m not half bad at Apparating, but I would never take someone. Wood had lost his mind. I�d rather Apparate myself even as I am then have him do it.

�Where the fuck are we�

�Under-wollup.�

�Where?�

�There�s ah port key it�ll take us upter London� he turns away and just walks off. I stalk after him, hands in my pockets. It was getting damp.

Under the step of the stile at the edge of the field is a tread bare wheelbarrow tire and a muddied red scarf. Wood picks up the scarf.

�Hold on.� I did, it was muddy.

I�m jerked though warped space into the middle of Trafalgar square. Oliver drapes the scarf over a statue.

�Lipton�ll need it in da morning�

He walked off and I followed; just trailed him as he rattles on. He�s desperate, wants me to talk. I watch him. He�s probably running out of things to say. Desperate not to be left in silence but I wouldn�t let him play off me.

�Did ye like da game?� he asked finally. I let the question hang. We walked to the end of the block. There is a tavern, despite the hour it�s still open.

Wood nods to the dozing bartender and stalks over to the fireplace. I don�t know what to say about the game. I didn�t mean to make him wait this long. Now it seems I can�t say anything at all.

He throws some floo powder into the measly licks, all that are left in the grate. �33a Bergamot,� he said, pulling me through the fire with him. Again, the disconcerting warp.

We stumble into a living room. I�ve not been to his flat. I didn�t even know he was in London. That�s a lie. I knew if I had cared to think about it. There is a worn tweed couch and a couple of chairs. A few magazines are strewn around and a couple of coasters, stray cans and underwear.

�It was contrived.�

�Wha decha mean?�

He looks at me. He thinks I mean the room.

�The game; it�s all show.�

He doesn�t answer.

�Do�yer want ah drink?�

He treads over to the kitchen. I follow and peer past the open bedroom door as we pass. A double bed - unmade. I can foresee the end of this evening. He�s spelled the light to glow from a bulbless lamp above the table. It glows down on the stools. It�s a good kitchen. There are dishes in the sink and a tea bag staining the counter. The tiles are hard and the cupboards are a faded half-hearted green.

�Thea?� he asks as he holds up a sloshing kettle.

�Sure.�

I sit on one of the stools at the counter. He has his back to me. It�s a nice place he has.

�How much is this place?�

�70 gallons a month.�

I grimace. I barely make that much. Then again I get loggings.

�Nice place.�

�Thanks.�

The kettle whistles. He pours me a mug and hands it to me the tea bag's little white tag hanging over the edge. He smiles.

�It�s nice ter�ave yer �ere�

He turns away to get milk. And I spoon sugar into my cup, squishing the tea bag against the side of the mug when I�m done.

�I thought you�d still be living with your parents.�

�Nah. Da was going crazy. �E was that happy ah made dah team. Ah�m livging �is dream. It�s ta much ta take. He jus� goes on and on, wants to show me off ta all �is friends down pub. Ah miss me mam�s food.� He says looking glad I asked him something.

I fish out the tea bag, and he pours milk into my tea. I have no idea why he remembers. We can�t have sat like this many times before.

�How do you take your tea?�

�Da�na ye know?� I shake my head.

�Jus milk.�

I�ll forget. I drank my own tea. It�s too hot, scalding my tongue. It�ll hurt in a bit.

�I�m getting tired.�

It was once our code. If he remembered the tea surely he remembers that. I watch him, he gets up, smiles.

�Come, ah�ll fin� yer ah toothbrush.� Again I follow him, this time to his washroom, he must only have one, for the toilet is there too.

Wood started rummaging through drawers, while I took a piss.

��Ere,� he said, as I zipped up.

He hands me a long plastic covered packet - a toothbrush. I worry at the plastic, unable to break the maximum security hygienic seal with my chewed fingernails. Fuck.

�Ah�ll do it in ah moment.� Wood says from the toilet.

I waited watching him, in his bathroom, with it�s spring print plastic shower curtain, and yellow duck shaped soap dish, his diminished bar of Pears. I doubt the soap in my loo has been touched. This is the WC of a Good Man. That fact is just inescapable. My head is aching dully, and I�m probably dehydrating, I can feel myself sweat. Turning on the tap I pick up the soap, wash my hands. It smells pleasant, not overbearingly perfumed. Rinse the suds away, Wood is watching or I would never do it. But I�ll still drink from the tap. It�s warm at first but as I drink the temperature drops.

Wood nudges me, reaching over for the soap. I�m panting water caught in the stubble on my chin.

�Ya should �ave more care fer yer �ands.� Wood said his own lathered in suds. My eyes hurt from staring. Turning up the tap, rotating the soap in his hand, putting it aside. His hands rub together, sensually loving each other covered

�My toothbrush.�

�Er- sorry.� He rinses his hands leaving the water to run.

He seems to know just were to pull, the plastic comes sliding off, and he turns presenting me with the translucent green brush. I took it helping myself to his toothpaste as he reaches for his own brush. We stand in silence, both foaming at the mouth. Silence seems to be the order of the day. I stare at him in the mirror, he�s examining his teeth, reaching for a roll of floss, and only the good can care for their teeth to such an extent. He�d shame the Japanese. When I spit the foam is tinted pink and my gums sting.

He flicks off the lights and we stand in the dark.

�Where am I sleeping?�

�An� where da ye wanna sleep?� He asks, there is something in his voice. I would swear he was flirting with me. I snort.

�In bed.�

�Come.� He says his voice normal again. My muscles are aching to sleep yet something is a disappointment in this.

We strip in the dark, eyes adjusting. I hear him slipping under the covers; I do so too, my back to him. The ache in my head is worse. Perhaps it�s just more noticeable because I�ve got nothing more to distract me, I can hear him breath. It sounded softer than Rothberg, when he napped at the store, which was failing, was Rothberg not showing enough support for the lord? I�d have to find something else. I wanted to get on my broomstick and fly away from it all, with birds who�s wings brushed me, brushing my calf.

�Ah missed yer.� Not birds.

�Hummmm.�

Wood had come over, was lyinginstinst me, touching me. I wanted to move away. It�s not like I would mind if we fucked, I just don�t like him so close doing anything, just lying there. What does he want.

�Ah di�nought know ha ter reach you.� Wood almost whispered.

�You knew where I was.� If he�d wanted to come he could have.

He was quiet. It's scary to go into Knockturn Ally if you don�t know your way, even the owls are wary. The stones of the road, the bricks, they know you. It�s creepy to walk in and be read, you can feel the prickle of them setting out invisible feelers, knowing your purpose, judging you. To hide disguised and still have the very walls see you don�t belong. He still could have done it.

�Why de�yer live in da god-curse place?� He could worry all he wanted, I didn�t tell him to join, take the mark.

�It�s home Wood. Home, why do you live here, why do you join them, your guys?� I could feel myself getting angry, and tired. The choice was made. Over.

��Cause they�re da good guys.� Fucking simplistic. I snort.

�We de�nought kill da innocent.� he said too fast. Christ, he doesn�t even need to think. Completely blinded by their fucking Goodness.

�No you don�t, you just shove them into holes, ghettoize them, look down on them, fear them, marginalize them, and expect them not to retaliate. No, you let other things kill them.� I was shouting though he was only inches away. I could feel him flinch. Good. Maybe he�d see.

�Yer �na who is killin� Muggles. Yer leader is ah madman, how is dat redeemable?�

Yes the dark lord is a horrible man, but not a hypocrite. Not a saint who looks the other way.

�He�s not some blind saint. He�s getting revenge for himself and for us. So what if he�s not a great guy. He�s leading us out. We have strength again. So what if he�s shit-face insane, he�s our fucking Jesus.�

�Ah jus� wanah know yer ok.� Oh fuck.

�I�m fine ok.�

�Ah�m fine too.� What the hell happened to us? Who cares what happens? This is just passing friction, right?

He has his arms around me, spooning. Nuzzling my neck, it�s sensitive, to the shadow of growth on his chin. Rough, nice.

�When ah�ll it ah�ll be over?� Tonight?

�Ahhh-umm.� I reach for the back of his head, bringing it closer. His breath is hot. He can come to me. I don�t want to fight with him for the top. He can think he�s got me, make him happy.

He crawls over me, straddles me, kisses me wetly. He likes to kiss, though I can never see the attraction. His lstaystay on mine as he fumbles with the bedside drawer, why doesn�t he just stop and concentrate on getting it. He eventually gives up and has to get off me, turn on the lamp. I grin.

�Classic.� He�s blushing, his back to me.

He does have a great back. All muscled, only a few spots on his shoulders, not like mine. In the lamplight it looks, better, the colour of roasted potatoes. His plaid shorts have slipped down. I reach over and tug at the band, manhandling him. He must have found what he wanted because he slaps my hand away. I laugh going after it again.

�Stop it!�

�Why?� I ask, �You�d do the same.�

�Aye.� He clicked the light off; he remembered I prefer doing this in the dark. I let him place my legs as he likes. Let him touch, fondle. It feels good to let go, and he�s gentle, likes being gentle, likes being loving. I can see his outline as he crouches over me, indulging me. The cloud with the silver lining.

I try to stay disconnected as he shoves his dick into me, not unkindly. Restrain my hand from wandering down to my own. I can�t. I can never keep my head when this starts.

�It-it�s only frict-oh fuck.� I can�t stop it. I�m an animal like any other. Wood is rutting over me, I can feel sweat from on my legs. It�s on his too. Connected in friction.

�like dah�t?� his voice is strong urging me to respond it jabs into me.

�Oh yeah!� I say, repeating it over and over, my muscles contract and I feel myself come.

He comes shortly, and withdraws himself, carefully removing his soiled condom. We�ve never gone bareback, I don�t know why he needs such things. I�m not sick. I just assumed it was part of his general obsession with cleanliness. He gets up and leaves. I can here the taps running. I wipe myself off on his sheets. It�s my side of the bed, and I don�t mind. I know he�ll change them anyway, no matter.

My headache is gone, but my eyes are too heavy to open, I could be floating, like back at the pitch. I hear him coming back, slipping into bed beside me. it moves under his weight, throwing off my center and sending me diving down into nothing. He�ll want to snuggle. He�ll have to come here I�m not coming down.

His hand brushes my stomach.

�Di�nought go back. Stay �ere.�

***

I woke up needing to take a piss, but not wanting to get out of bed. Eight o�clock maybe. I had my back to the window shilding myself from the overly optimistic morning light. Wood never believed in decent blinds. I could hear him still snoring lightly. I got out of bed careful not to rock the bed. He had his mouth open, his arms relazed at his sides, and his head slipping off the pillow; a normal guy, sleeping like normal people sleep. I wonder what I sleep like? I�m sure Wood�s watched me, I�m not about to ask.

Naked I head to the loo. It�s warm enough here to walk about without clothes. I take a piss trying not to think about how clean and normal it is in here. The soap looks accusing there on its yellow duck. Like the old lady in the bus who frowns when you try to adjust yourself. I wash my hands and brush my teeth. I need a new toothbrush back home. My old one�s falling apart. This one�s nice. Not too hard. I put it down and head back to the bedroom, get dressed.

I have to rummage around Wood�s kitchen. The only thing he has is cereal, Wheatabix and a can of orange juice. I have to wash my own bowl and spoon from the pile waiting beside the sink. Orange juice is no substitute for milk. It�s disgusting. I concentrate on the cereal. I�ll have to be at the shop by 9:30. My shoes are back in the bedroom. He�s still there, still asleep. I�m scared to make a sound odd since I know I never wake him when I snore. How many times have we come fisticuffs, and now I�m afraid to face him in the morning. It�s ridiculous. I don�t want to stay. Not here. Not in a place where the mere presence of soap dishes guilt me into washing my hands.

I have a life. Sure it�s not what he wants but it�s mine and who is he to tell me what to do. I don�t care what he thinks. He knows what I am. Knocturn Ally is my home. I roll up my sleeve and look at the mark. I�m no one special, just another minion to him, but I�ll still support him. He is ouaderader. Not Dumbledore, not the ministry. Not those self-righteous wizards who want to help. They can�t they won�t and they don�t. He is our saviour.

I�m not going to stay here. Not to be Wood�s pet lost cause. Not to be rescued. I don�t fucking need it. I have my lord. He has his. I have my own independence and place. I walk out the door. Into the hall and out into the street. It�s a nice area. Good respectable wizards. They don�t know shit about my life, they don�t give shit either. I�ll have to walk to Knockturn Ally. It�s not far, the floo we took last night must have taken us into the Wizarding annex.

I pass a newspaper box. The copies of the daily profit folded neatly inside read: Exclusive: how HWMNBN keeps his men: brainwashing and torture. I kick the box. Hard. Dent it. The fuckers, they don�t know. �Well sucks to you.� I shout running towards the ally.

The streets get more dingy, and I can feel the walls welcoming me back. Letting me in. My place, amongst my people. Pulling out my wand I un-charm the shops door and turn the sign over. Whatever my fate has in store it is here.

The bell rang and a bundled hag hobbled in.

�Eeeeii of newt, eeeei, in glass. Greeeeen greeennn, eeen een.�

I found it a bottle of newt eye, we have a pile of papers under the counter, some Wizarding some not we used for wrapping. This one�s front page read Labour party losing public support. Muggle politics? I crumpled it as I wrapped the bottle. So much for the Labour Party, I thought as I handed the bag to the hag. My hand brushed against her. She drops some coins and retreats.

�A good booooie� I heard as she hobbled out.

To whom?

***

Reviewing Made Easy�
( ) Whoa man whoa, that was great, dude. Lolz!

( ) Ya like write more! Hehez

( ) Is that the end?

( ) I thought your characterization was (great, good, average, in great need of improvement.)

( ) OMG it was so funny/sad when (enter part here.)

( ) Don�t you just love one night stands.

( ) So like what is the deal, are they like in love and you just didn�t write it?!?

( ) Great ending. Makes you think�

( ) Marcus gets action, ooooo!

( ) Wow, you don�t see Oliver on top much, (cool, not cool)

( ) Maybe so but there has to be some turn over don�t you think.

( ) Stop talking like that I�m a minor~

( ) Well you really shouldn�t have read this should you.

( ) Shut up you old hippy, no more free love, not on FF.net at any rate.

( ) I�m adding you/this story to my favorites list, thanks for the read.
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So Much for the Labour Party