Chapter Text
Oliver stared up at the canopy of his four poster. It felt like he’d been laying in bed for hours but he still couldn’t sleep. Thoughts of his upcoming midterm exams, final papers and the last quidditch game of the term swirled around in his head. Then of course there were his OWLs and career advice coming up next term– they were months away but all of his professors kept bringing them up. He sighed and sat up in bed; he might not be able to sleep but he wasn’t going to lay there any longer. He stumbled down the stairs to the common room, unsure what he’d do once he got there but unwilling to spend one more agonizing minute just laying awake in bed. He was startled to see a figure sitting on one of the couches in the common room: his classmate and house Prefect, Percy Weasley.
“Shouldn’t you be in our dorm?” Oliver asked. Percy started and Oliver apologized, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s alright,” Percy replied. “I just couldn’t sleep.”
“Me neither,” Oliver sighed, coming to sit on the opposite side of the couch from Percy. They both sat on the couch sideways, so they could look at each other, their feet almost touching.
There was a moment of silence then Percy asked: “Do you want to talk about it?”
“About what?” Oliver shot back.
“About what’s keeping you up,” Percy said with a shrug. He clearly wasn’t trying to pry so Oliver knew he could simply say ‘no’ and that would be the end of if. Oliver and Percy were friendly but not close; Oliver wouldn’t have thought to have gone to Percy with his late-night worries but if they were both going to sit there, they might as well not sit there in silence.
“I just have a lot on my mind, I guess,” Oliver said. “Exams, quidditch, life.”
Percy gave him a somewhat rueful smile. “I can relate to that, well minus the quidditch. What part of life is most on your mind tonight?”
Oliver was taken a bit aback by Percy’s desire to continue the conversation. “I don’t know,” he replied, “I guess what I’m going to do with mine. We have career advice next semester and I have no idea what I’m going to talk to McGonagall about.”
“I think that’s what the advice is for,” Percy told him, but his tone was gentle.
“I know it’s just– you have some idea what you want to do, right?”
“Yes,” Percy admitted. “I know I want to work for the Ministry.”
“See!” Oliver cried. “I have nothing. I wish I could just play quidditch forever, but–”
“Well, why can’t you? That’s a career aspiration,” Percy cut in. Oliver was surprised by how serious he sounded about the suggestion. Oliver had always felt a bit self-conscious about his love of sports around his more studious classmates, like Percy. Sure, Oliver enjoyed quidditch; he cared about it more than any of his classes if he was honest, but he knew that to other people it was a hobby, a frivolous pastime and he always thought Percy was someone who would see quidditch in that light. “I mean you might want to talk to McGonagall about some sort of back up career,” Percy continued, “Just in case things don’t work out, but you’re a very talented player; if that’s what you want, you should try out for a professional team.”
Oliver smiled at him, “What do you know about talent on the quidditch pitch, Weasley?”
“I go to the games, I can see you’re a skilled keeper,” Percy said defensively.
“I’m only teasing,” Oliver said, kicking Percy’s foot lightly with his own. “But thank you. I appreciate the compliment. “
“Never tell Charlie I said this, but I think you’re the best player Gryfindor has had since we started school here. You’re clearly much better with strategy than he was when he was captain.”
“Percy Weasley, I underestimated you!” Oliver said, grinning. “You really are watching the matches!”
Percy’s freckled face flushed. “A good prefect needs to have strong house spirit,” he muttered.
“Of course, of course,” Oliver replied. “So now it’s your turn,” he continued. “What’s keeping you up?”
Percy shrugged, “Sometimes I just can’t sleep.”
“Does that happen a lot?” Oliver asked gently.
“Not all the time,” Percy said.
“But sometimes?”
“Sometimes,” Percy repeated.
Oliver could tell he wasn’t going to get Percy to open up so easily, but he didn’t want to pressure his classmate so he said jokingly, “Well, I know it's not exams because you’ll pass those with flying colors.” The corners of Percy’s mouth twitched up but he didn’t meet Oliver’s gaze. “Wait, are you actually worried about exams?” Oliver asked, shocked.
“I’m not– I know I’ll pass them, I just… I want to do well,” Percy stammered.
“Percy, you always get good marks, probably the best marks in our year. There’s no way you won’t do well,” Oliver reassured him.
“But, what if– Do you ever wonder what would happen if you suddenly weren’t good at quidditch? Do you ever wonder where you would be without the thing that you’re good at, that everyone knows you for?” Percy asked, looking up at Oliver, almost desperately, and Oliver felt a sudden pang of sympathy because, yes, that was something he thought about a lot. He was Gryfindor’s team captain now so if he didn’t play his best, didn’t lead the team properly, then what was he doing in that role? And it wasn’t as though he had any hobbies or many strong suites outside of quidditch, so if he somehow lost his edge at that, where would that leave him? “I’m sorry,” Percy said, after a moment of silence, “That was a strange question, I shouldn’t have–”
“No, no, it wasn’t! It wasn’t a strange question at all,” Oliver protested. “I just– I’ve never had someone else understand that feeling before. I’ve never talked to someone else about feeling that way, but yes, I worry all the time about where I would be without quidditch. That’s part of why I put so much time into it, because I have to be good at it.”
“Do you enjoy quidditch then?” Percy asked curiously. “Do you have fun with it or is it just like another class you have to work at?”
“I do enjoy it, but I think I enjoyed it a lot more last year when I wasn’t captain,” Oliver admitted. “It’s still fun, but the longer I play and the more serious I get about it the more pressure I feel. If this is my thing that I’m good at then I have to keep being good at it, and keep getting better at it or what am I doing?” Oliver was surprised to hear the words coming out of his own mouth; he wasn’t used to being this vulnerable with his classmates. Perhaps it was his tiredness or perhaps it was just that Percy was proving to be a good listener, but he felt comfortable being honest in the conversation.
“Well, you don’t have to be that good at it to be on the team,” Percy retorted. “Fred and George are proof of that.”
“You’re really out to get your brothers tonight, aren’t you?” Oliver laughed.
“Sorry, when you get teased by them as much as I have been, you get good at punching back, as it were,” Percy explained.
“Don’t apologize,” Oliver said. “It was a good joke. You’re funny when you want to be, Perce, I didn’t realize.”
“Perce?” Percy asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Sorry, too casual? Do people not call you that?” Oliver realized too late that he probably didn’t know Percy well enough to be using a nickname like that, but maybe they could get there. He’d never had such a serious conversation with Percy before; he’d always assumed Percy wouldn’t be particularly easy to talk to but he’d clearly been wrong about that. Oliver found himself wishing he’d given Percy more of a chance in their earlier years of school.
“My family calls me Perce, sometimes,” Percy said, “But I suppose you can too if you want.”
“Only if you don’t mind,” Oliver said.
“I don’t,” Percy replied with a smile. “I’d say I should start calling you Ollie, but I’m not sure it suits you.”
Oliver laughed, “No one has called me that since I was about five years old.”
“We’ll stick to Oliver then,” Percy agreed.
Oliver yawned. “Should we go back up to the dorm and give the whole sleep thing another go?” he asked.
Percy nodded. “But I just want to say: if you weren’t good at quidditch, you’d still be you, Oliver, and that’s more than enough.” Oliver stared at Percy, he’d said the sentence so simply and truthfully, as though it wasn’t an important statement, but Oliver felt it was possibly the kindest thing anyone had ever said to him. “You’re just staring at me again,” Percy said, “I don’t know what to make of that.”
“I’m just not used to people being so honest in a conversation,” Oliver admitted.
“I tend to get a bit philosophical when I haven’t had enough sleep,” Percy said, as he stood up, “I think it’s a bit like how people are less guarded when they’re drunk.”
Oliver stood up too, grinning. “I’d very much like to have a conversation with drunk Percy, one day,” he said, “Then I can really hear you go after your brothers.”
Percy chuckled, “One day, perhaps we can make that happen,” he said, “But for now, you’re right, we should be getting to bed. They walked silently up the stairs to their dorm. “Goodnight,” Percy whispered as they reached the door to the dormitory.
“Goodnight Perce,” Oliver whispered back. He felt a strange urge to reach out and take Percy’s hand, give it a squeeze, but he didn’t act on it. Instead he crawled into bed and got the best night’s sleep he’d had in weeks.