Knave of Hearts by scheherezhad

Rating: PG-13

Summary: "Lonely Hearts Club" from Oliver's perspective.

Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine, no money is being made, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author's notes: Thanks muchly to my beloved Rachel for beta-ing this. I never would have gotten the revision done so fast if she hadn't helped.

Feedback: Please. Praise me, criticise me, outright flame me. I don't care; I just want to know what you really think. scheherezhad@yahoo.com

Oliver sat down in a dark corner of the pub's bar and lit up a cigarette. He inhaled deeply, loving that first rush of nicotine into his lungs. It had been a while since he'd been able to afford cigarettes, and he planned to savor this pack.

He couldn't afford much of anything these days. A couple of years ago, just after Voldemort's defeat, he had been near a neighborhood where a small band of Death Eaters had attacked. When he went to see if he could help, a young witch was frantically struggling to get back into her collapsing house. Her small daughter was inside. Oliver hadn't thought twice about pulling his wand and heading in; he managed to get the girl, but he almost hadn't made it out, himself. A metal beam had fallen on him, a sharp edge cutting through his arm almost to the crushed bone.

The medi-wizards barely arrived in time to save his arm.

After the incident, the Puddlemere manager dumped him from the team. "It's unlikely you'll ever fly properly again, and you simply can't play well as Keeper without that arm. I'm sorry, Oliver. You showed so much promise..."

Sorry, my arse. Bastard. Without his position on the Quidditch team, Oliver had little to fall back on, and he couldn't seem to find a job. Percy amazing, wonderful Percy had done some finagling at the Ministry and gotten them to put Oliver on the dole. He got a paltry cheque each month, just enough for him to scrape by on; it wasn't much, but he'd been almost embarrassingly grateful to Percy for it.

He took another drag off his cigarette and looked across the pub as one table burst into raucous laughter. For a second, he thought his musings had conjured up his friend - that hair could belong to no one but a Weasley - but as the man stood up, he saw that it was Ron.

Ron excused himself from his companions and ordered a fresh mead. Oblivious to Oliver, he sat at the next stool and sighed.

"Well there's a face I haven't seen in a while," Oliver said.

"Oliver Wood?"

"Hullo, Ron. How've you been?"

Ron shrugged, and Oliver found his gaze drifting over that long, lean body. The youngest Weasley brother had certainly grown up since Oliver had seen him last. He'd grown into his build and that long nose, and was all in all a rather attractive man. So much like Percy...

"Well enough, eh? Got a steady job in Diagon, and I'm renting a flat in London. You?"

"Pretty good, I suppose." Liar. "Things have been a little...different since the accident. I'm on the Ministry's dole, for bravery, they say; and things are..." Things are hell.

They made small talk for a few minutes, then Ron looked up uncertainly. "Oliver? Would you, ah, would you like to go back to my flat with me? We could have some coffee or something. Talk for a while."

Oh. So that's what that look was about. It looked like Oliver wasn't the only one who was a little lonely tonight. He opened his mouth to answer, but one of Ron's companions wandered over and said loudly that he wanted someone to rub his nipples. Ron blushed and stammered an answer, and Seamus showed them his piercings.

"Excuse us, Seamus, but Ron and I were just leaving."

"Oh, it's like that, is it? I'd best leave you to it, then."

Oliver saw with the Irish man's grin that his meaning had been just clear enough. He led Ron out of the pub, pausing to pinch Ron's arse before they stepped outside.

"You grabbed my arse!"

He thought for a second that he'd misjudged, but merriment shone in Ron's eyes. "I figured we might as well give him a bit of a show. You're not too mad, are you?"

"He was thinking it, anyway. And I see that look in your eye - I'm pure as the driven snow, so don't even think about seducing me, you lecherous fiend. Nay, get thee to a nunnery!"

After a mad fit of laughter, they Apparated to Ron's flat and continued their conversation over coffee. Oliver found himself telling stories about his younger days at Hogwarts, and the mischief he'd dragged Percy into in those days. He hadn't been this relaxed in ages.

"And I can't believe you nicknamed him Cinnamon Buns - he never would have heard the end of it if any of us had known," Ron said, still trying to clear his watering eyes.

Cinnamon Buns. That had happened on their first train ride to Hogwarts, when Oliver had accidentally walked in on Percy changing into his uniform. He'd teased Percy about the patch of freckles on his bum, and Percy had said something that Oliver could no longer remember, but it had made him laugh. They'd later shared a boat to cross the lake, and Oliver accidentally knocked Percy into the lake.

Best friends, ever since. I wanted it to be more.

"That's exactly why he didn't tell you, on both counts," he said, getting back to the conversation. He took a drink of his coffee and looked at the clock. "Nearly eleven? I hadn't realized that it was so late. I ought to go, let you go to bed."

"You don't have to go, Oliver. It's not all that late for me, I mean, and I've enjoyed talking. It's been nice, catching up."

"Yeah, it has, but I've taken up enough of your time tonight. I don't want to be a bother." You look so much like him.

"You could stay."

Oh. Maybe...maybe Ron wanted more than conversation. He hoped he did. "Ron, are you asking me to stay, or to stay?"

"I'll take what I can get. I'm used to doing that - I'm a Weasley, remember?"

Oliver licked his lips. A night with Ron he looks so much like Percy, a substitute for the man he really wanted. Part of him felt awful for even considering it, but it was so tempting. Only by some divine providence had he been given tonight, and he had to take it. He reached out and pulled Ron into a kiss.

He loved Ron's passion, so like the emotion Percy kept tightly controlled. The fierce temper that had gotten Ron in so much trouble at school only hinted at his enthusiasm in sex. Ron dragged him into the bedroom, pulling clothing off of both of them, then he pushed Oliver onto the narrow bed. He'd taken the initiative, but after a while he put his mouth next to Oliver's ear and whispered, "I want to feel you."

With meticulous care, Oliver imprinted everything about that night into his mind. The way Percy--Ron, not Percy--looked and sounded beneath him, the smell and taste of his skin, the way he felt when Oliver entered him; each was carefully studied and filed away for the solitary nights to come.

The only thing that went wrong was that Oliver's bad arm almost collapsed as he supported himself above Ron. He'd been terribly embarrassed, but Ron had soothed his fears and coaxed him back into a slow rhythm. He almost called out Percy's name when it was over.

Only when Ron lay sleeping in his arms did Oliver let himself think about what he'd done. So wrong. I used him... It hadn't been his right in the first place; he shouldn't be the man in Ron's bed. Ron was a good man, and he deserved someone who didn't wish he were his brother.

He lay there for a few minutes, then he got dressed and crept out of the flat. In the stairway, he paused before Disapparating to his apartment, looking back to Ron's door.

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