The Marauders - Order of the Phoenix Part Three

XCIX: OF ALL PEOPLE!

For the second time in a twenty-four hour span, Oliver Kent pulled Declan Aletrick's card out of his wallet and summoned the electric blue haired PR agent.

Oliver was at home again, pacing nervously about his own living room, which was just as scarce of personal effects as the tent had been - save for one thing: a framed photograph on the mantle of himself, Wally, Dexter, Macy, and Declan Aletrick at the final WHAM! concert in 1985 at Wembley Stadium. One of the last times that he and Wally had been to an event together. In the photo, all of them were wearing t-shirts with George Michael's face plastered across their chests and Oliver had his arms sprawled over both Wally and Declan's shoulders in what had to be one of the most ironic moments ever captured on film.

Now, He stood staring at that photo now, remembering the night. One of the best of his whole life.

There was a flash of the floo and Declan appeared out of the hearth, dusting off. He wasn't dressed in his usual smart clothing but more comfortably in a pair of jeans and one of Oliver's old number jumpers, the Chudley Cannons logo emblazoned over his chest, the orange of the team colors clashing terribly with the cyan of his styled hair. He grinned, peering at Oliver through a pair of glasses that were a bit larger on his face than was strictly fashionable. 

"I'm sorry... Were you busy?" Oliver asked.

"You can't seriously think I wasn't busy?" Declan asked with a smirk. "You know what happened at the bloody World Cup. You were there. I'm just glad you're not hurt. I was going to stop by when I wrapped up my work - you realize they found the wand that cast the Mark and it was done by a house elf? Barty Crouch's house elf, no less! The entire PR world is on FIRE right now, darling. If it was anyone but YOU who had summoned me, I would've told them to fuck right the fuck off but you get special treatment." 

Oliver bit his lip.

Declan noticed he was staring at the photo. He hesitated, then came over closer and looked at it, too. "God, my hair was so ridiculous in 1985." He shuddered. "You always looked incredible."

Oliver looked down at his feet.

Declan turned to him and touched his bicep. He paused a long moment, then, "What's the trouble? If you're worried about what happened earlier, I think you've got nothing to worry about, 'ey? The Death Eaters sort of took on the spin for me, didn't they? Nobody cares what caused a cancelled luncheon when there were bleedin' Death Eaters about, right? I mean, not that it's a good thing, but - good for you, in a way, eh?" Declan paused. Then, "Bloody terrible for Crouch. I would not want to be Jess Malloiris right about now, working THAT PR nightmare..." Declan shook his head. "The Prophet already had a load of reporters crawling all over that campground. Including that insufferable Skeeter woman. GODS - I loaaaaathe her." Declan shook his head.

Oliver still hadn't spoken. He was staring at his feet still.

Declan's eyes folded into worry. "Babes?"

Oliver looked up, his eyes met Declan's. "I have - another - issue. Bigger than the luncheon. And I'm going to need you to make it just - just go away completely."

Declan grinned. "You know that's the magic I work, babe, what are you looking so worried for? Deccy's got it all worked out. You know I'll move mountains for you."

Oliver took a deep breath. "You're going to hate this."

"I already do if it's making you so sullen. Tell Deccy and I'll make it better." He winked playfully, trying to cheer Oliver up, but honestly there was something about Oliver's attitude that was really unnerving. Declan glanced at the photo again, then turned back to Oliver. "Babe?"

Oliver said, "Alright. Now. Listen for a moment as - as my PR and not as my --" 

Somehow boyfriend wasn't the right term. They'd been so much more than that - on again and off again, turbulent as waves of the sea, but rather serious for the past five years or so most especially - and guilt suddenly swelled up in Oliver's stomach. What kind of arsehole kisses another man then asks his rather serious boyfriend of five years to cover it up for him?