A/N: Written for the 100 Different Pairings Competition with 'wrong', Hedwig Black's Weekly Challenge, Sugar Quills in the Honeydukes Competition, and Accio in the Magic Competition: Charms.


(They send their letters with an owl bought just for the purpose. It is unmarked, brown, and the most commonplace of all the species. Oliver calls it Laurence, but Percy prefers Friar. In a time of secrets, maybe this one can keep theirs.)

Dear Oliver,

I think something's going wrong in the Ministry. I went up to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and found someone else sitting at Albert Helfrig's desk. I only needed to talk to Al about the rising price of Floo power, but when I approached the desk and asked the man where Al was, he snapped at me. He actually snapped, at me! The under-secretary of the Minister himself.

When I told him who he was talking to, he mumbled something under his breath and went back to looking at some papers. I tried asking him again, but he just ignored me! Finally I had to ask a passing Auror to sort him out. But the Auror ignored me as well. I don't think the Ministry is even really working anymore. No-one's seen the Minister for weeks, not even me. There is something seriously wrong if even he won't make a speech.

I don't know what to think of all this. I may simply be too tired to even think at all. They have me working 'till two on most nights. They don't even really need me. All the work I do nowadays is filing and filling out forms for other people.

On top of all that my landlord has disappeared and the flat I'm living in will be sold. I don't know where I'm going to live. If only you lived closer, then maybe we could come to some kind of arrangement.

I hope you're having fun flying around, training for your next match. Against the Holyhead Harpies, is it? Good luck, I've heard they're a great team.

Life isn't the same without your optimistic smile to light it up.



(SWALK, because we need all the love we can get hold of before the Dementors replace it with something horribly twisted)


(He sits at the shabby desk, fighting to stay awake, determined to write this. If he doesn't then his life will be just as empty as it was today. With the possibility of writing comes the probability of getting something back. He needs everything he can get.)

Dear Percy,

I've noticed it too.

Our team has gone to Scotland to train better, but even in these secluded hills we hear whispers of something going awry. One of my mates recons that it won't be long until this silence breaks and he takes control. He is a bit of a conspiracy theorist, but still, I think he has a point. There's so much uncertainty about it that even he can't tell me when it'll happen. It could be tomorrow, it could be next week, it might be a few months away. On the other hand, it may already have happened, but we didn't notice. It doesn't take a lot to distract people these days and we're all worried enough anyway. If he was clever, he wouldn't do his taking over in a theatrical way. He is pretty theatrical though, so I'm not sure about that.

I wish I had something more to think about. All I can do about the matter of the government is speculate, and that gets pretty boring after a while. I don't know how you stand to spend all your time with those crooked men who run the country. I don't know how they don't bore you to death.

Scratch that, I do know. You've told me a million times and somehow it's managed to imprint itself on me. You 'are genuinely interested in the intricate and complex actions that make up the government.' Did I get it right?

Your letters are the things I look forward to most now. Flying is pretty much the same everywhere, once you get right down to it, even though it is pretty amazing. Flying for hours can't occupy my head the way it used to, the way you do now. I guess that having too much of something makes you stop appreciating it.

That's why I'm kinda glad we're so far apart. At least we don't take each other for granted.

You're far too good at your job to be spending your time filling out forms. Don't the people who are supposed to be taking good care of all of us know a good thing when they see it? Hang in there, Perce. Who knows, maybe they're just testing you out to see if you're worth promoting.

Believe me, your landlord isn't the only person who's disappeared in the last few days. Last match, there was a chaser gone missing on the opposite team. No-one knew what happened to him, he just upped and left one night after an evening in the pub. They think he might have been kidnapped. I heard he was pretty good, too. Apparently he once scored three times in the space of ten seconds. I'd have loved to have met him.

Admittedly, I would have loved it a lot more if you could have made it to the match. Not because of the game, you didn't miss much there, it only lasted about half an hour, but because I can still remember the Dementors that came around last week.

They sweep the area about once a month. They're taking all my best memories. All my best memories were with you (there was also that one time in Quidditch, but most of them featured you). I think I'm starting to forget. It would be suspicious if I had a photo of you, and we don't really get much free time.

When we're let loose in the evenings all I can do is collapse in bed. It takes so much effort to write, you wouldn't believe it, but I wouldn't trade it for anything.

I'm feeling…alright, I suppose. But life just isn't the same without you. It's cold up here. It would be cold for me even if the sun was up every day, because you're the one who can really warm my heart with your rather snobby attitude.

I may have a cheery smile, but you're the one who can make me laugh just by being yourself and pulling faces totally sincerely.

I miss how straight-laced you are. Ironic, isn't it?



(The next morning the owl is already waiting at its recipient's house. He's had to move, but that didn't matter. Love will find its way.)


(He is sweating feverishly as he writes. He has to do it at his desk, where everyone can see, but he has to do it here, whatever the risk. He doesn't know if he'll ever come here again.)

Dear Oliver,

This one will have to be short. I don't think I can continue working here. You know that new Minister, Pius Thickness? The one who went from being a practical nobody to the most powerful person aside from You-Know-Who? He's been sending his men around, asking questions of everyone. They've taken out all the muggle-borns, Oliver!

They know that I'm a Weasley. They know that my family are blood-traitors, as good muggle-borns to their eyes. I don't know what will happen to my family, but it won't be pleasant. I think they've got some protection, so that should keep them for a while.

In the meantime, I've got to go into hiding. They could use me as a hostage, Oliver. They know that my parents played host to Potter for a few days. They think my family knows where he is.

You see why I've got to do this, don't you? I can't let anything happen to them. I've hurt them enough. Merlin, I wish I could see them again, before I go! But that'd be too dangerous.

I don't know if we'll still be able to talk. I don't know where I'm going. I don't know anything. I feel helpless. If only I had you…



(He can't even SWALK it. That might be seen as suspicious behaviour, and there's nobody nowadays who wants to be seen acting like that. A tiny little thing might get you killed.)


(This may be the last time they ever communicate. He has to make it meaningful and good, so that even if this is the last thing Perce sees, at least he'll die happily. Oh Merlin, please don't let him die.)

Dear Percy,

I don't know if you ever get this, but I think you will. Laurence is very good at this kind of thing.

I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you.

If I could, I'd happily fill the page with this, but I'm afraid that reading it might slow you up. I know you would read all of it, even if you knew it was just the same three words over and over. You'd look over it to see if there was something different.

You'd read all of it because each word was a little different.

I'll see you soon. Don't do anything rash.

I love you,


(He can't help it; the tears hit the parchment, splattering the ink they hit. Some of the 'I love you's become blurred and impossible to read. Oliver can't stand to look at them anymore. They bleed.)


(The only thing he has to write on is an old napkin, stolen from a restaurant. The only thing he has to write with is a stubby old pencil, stolen from the waitress. At least he doesn't have to steal his words.)


I'd read each word because it was written by you, because your hand touched that parchment. It'd mean that we had an actual physical connection. I could imagine you writing it.

I love you too. Whatever else changes, you can be sure that that will be a constant in my life. I wouldn't even mind dying. At least then I would be sure that I would see you, sooner or later.



(His fingers shake uncontrollably when he gives the message to his owl. Life and death are two sides of the same coin and all that matters is that they both be on the same side. If he has that, nothing can cause him harm.)

P.S. See you soon. I'll be waiting.