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The Yule Ball is going spectacularly for Harry. He has thoroughly enjoyed dancing, being gawked at, and strangely feeling envious of both Cho and Cedric at the same time.
It is going so spectacularly that when they sit down to eat, Percy Weasley comes to sit at Harry’s table.
Harry doesn’t dislike Percy, necessarily. He’s just not particularly interested in Ministry regulations, sue him.
But Percy stops at the seat across from Parvati, not Harry. “Hello Harry, Parvati,” Percy says, cordially.
Whilst most people have not paid much attention to Parvati tonight - Harry not necessarily being innocent in this - Percy’s greeting is not a surprise. Percy seems to be the only Weasley who has taken Mrs Weasley’s nagging about manners to heart and is always impeccably polite - and not fake polite like Aunt Petunia, but genuinely polite.
It’s a little strange, but whatever.
Parvati smiles at Percy. “Hello.”
That is also a little weird, but Harry ignores it. Figuring out why Parvati is familiar with Percy is very low on his list of priorities.
“Hi Percy,” Harry says with a half-nod, fiddling with the menu.
He probably sounds lifeless and flat. But his Christmas has been far from ideal so far and it isn’t forecasted to get any better.
“It’s nice to see you both,” Percy says, draping his cloak onto his chair. “I need to go fetch Oliver, he's getting us drinks. I’ll be right back.”
Harry nods, acting normal for a second before his brain registers Percy’s words and shortcircuits.
He turns to Parvati. “Surely he doesn’t mean -”
“Wood?” Parvati looks unimpressed. “Ah yes, the surprise of the century. Official representatives are allowed to bring a date, like literally everyone else is.”
Harry looks away, glaring at the glittering gold menu in front of him. “I didn’t know Oliver and Percy even knew each other.”
“Harry, they were roommates for seven years, it wasn’t exactly a secret.”
Harry raises an eyebrow. Maybe not to Parvati, who knows everything about Hogwarts gossip, but -
Okay, Harry may have been a little oblivious to not have connected the dots, but that’s not important, anyway.
Parvati sighs, picking up her menu and changing the conversation topic swiftly. “I know this says ‘order whatever you want’, but what it really means is ‘whatever you want that house-elves trained in exclusively British cuisine can cook’.”
Harry knows what Parvati is going for - Hogwarts lacks food outside the conventional Western palette, but he doesn’t really want to think about the disconnect between him and his Indian heritage tonight. So, he weakly adds, “They cooked French food for the Beauxbatons students. I mean,” he adds, in a rush, “I know what you mean, but.” He shrugs, tugging his sleeves down.
Parvati hums. “Still.”
Thankfully, or maybe not so thankfully, they are interrupted by Percy returning, indeed accompanied by Oliver Wood.
“Harry!” Oliver is smiling, wearing blue and gold dress robes. “Glad to see you mate! Shame that you were forced to compete in the tournament, but I’ve heard you’ve done a cracking job. And Parvati! Nice to see you again.”
Again, Parvati smiles, “You too, Oliver.”
Harry looks at Percy, expecting him to reprimand Oliver for speaking against Mr Crouch, however slightly, but instead, Percy looks…. soft? Almost fond?
Harry shakes his head. He must be imagining things. “Thanks, Oliver,” he replies, “the tournament is… a thing. Quidditch being cancelled was a real bummer, though.”
“Absolutely atrocious,” Oliver says, sitting down. “Putting Quidditch on hold for a whole year for a handful of events is shameful.” He looks at Percy reproachfully, but his eyes twinkle. It’s almost… playful?
“I’ve told Ollie that the decision was made before I joined the Department,” Percy says, rolling his eyes. “From a personal perspective, I think the suspension of Quidditch at Hogwarts this year was illogical. Professionally, of course, I can’t comment.”
Harry has never seen Percy act like this before. He’s almost… relaxed?
“That’s no excuse,” Oliver says, but he is smiling brightly.
Parvati turns to Oliver, one eyebrow raised. “Mr Crouch is a stickler for rules,” she says. “No one will tell me how he gets his moustache so straight, but I have theories.”
“A very long beauty routine, I imagine,” Oliver says, rolling his eyes. “Which is probably why he needs Percy in the office some days at 7 am.”
“Mr Crouch has high expectations,” Percy says, pushing his glasses back. “But I think the decision to suspend Hogwarts’ Quidditch for the tournament was a mutual consensus between all of the organisers.”
It was a very silly decision. An interschool Quidditch match would have been awfully wonderful.
“What did you do today?” Harry asks, desperately wanting to divert the conversation away from the tournament and wanting to live vicariously through Percy, who got to spend Christmas with his loving family.
“Ah, we spent Christmas with my parents,” Oliver says, rubbing the back of his neck.
Harry gasps a little, turning to Percy. “You didn’t see your parents?”
He cannot imagine turning down a Christmas with the Weasleys for anything else. But then again, he has been stuck in a crowded and glorified freezing room for what feels like an eternity.
“Christmas with just my parents would have been a little awkward, Harry,” Percy says, his smile a little strained. “The younger ones are here and Bill and Charlie couldn’t take the time off after coming for the World Cup. Oliver’s family is good company. Now,” Percy says, swiftly changing the topic. “How has your day been?”
“Nothing special,” Harry says, shrugging. “Presents and whatnot. The castle is definitely a lot busier this year.”
Percy turns to look around the transformed Great Hall. “The budget certainly reflects that,” he says, grimacing. “It’s a good thing the Triwizard Tournament is jointly funded by all three schools.”
Harry nods, although he isn’t really interested in the Tournament’s budget. “Is the next task particularly expensive?”
Percy sighs. “In my official capacity as tonight’s representative of the British Department of International Magical Cooperation, I can’t comment.”
“Look at the egg,” Oliver suggests, leaning forward, “like, really closely, in a place no one else goes.”
“No cheating,” Percy scolds Oliver, but it is fond, with none of the sternness Percy carries when he reprimands his siblings. “But in a strictly personal capacity, I think that there should have been some adjustments made to the tasks for you to counter the fact that you have legally been forced to compete.” He frowns. “Which I still don’t quite understand how the capacity issue of your minority was sidestepped, but Mr Crouch’s word is paramount.”
It almost feels like Percy is saying that he is on Harry’s side, which isn’t too far-fetched, but it is decidedly bizarre.
“Thanks,” he says. “Uh, how has Quidditch been, Oliver?”
Learning about professional Quidditch feels like exactly the distraction Harry needs now from his pantomime of a life, allowing him to live vicariously through Oliver’s Quidditch exploits whilst he cannot fly.
“Good,” Oliver says, fiddling with his menu. “It has been quite intense.”
Harry sighs, envious, now feeling a misplaced nostalgia for Oliver’s gruelling morning practices.
“A lot of early mornings,” Percy adds. “Unfortunately for me, because Ollie is not a very quiet person, but at least I’m used to it.”
Roommates. Of course. Harry had thought Percy was still living at the Burrow, but whatever.
"Right," Harry says. "Have you had a chance to play yet?"
"A few times when the first-string keeper was injured, for a bit of the game. Last month he had a wedding on a game day, so I got to play against the Magpies for the whole match."
"He was very good," Percy says, his eyes… sparkling?
Surely when Parvati said Oliver was Percy’s date, she didn’t mean it like that -
Did she?
Harry wholeheartedly supports men dating other men, like Sirius (and maybe himself), but the idea of Percy and Oliver dating is just so strange that it doesn’t quite compute in his brain.
He wants to ask, but -
Sirius had told him all about allowing people to come out to you on their own terms, so he shoves down his burning curiosity.
“It would be great to see another professional Quidditch match,” Harry says, wistfully.
"What's your team?" Parvati asks.
Harry shrugs, tugging at his sleeves again. "I haven't decided yet."
"Pick Puddlemere," Oliver whispers, his stare a little bit too intense.
Percy tuts. "You can choose any team you want, Harry - except Chudley Cannons, they're dreadful. Ron only chose them because he was three and his favourite colour was orange."
"Thanks," Harry says, pleased by the unexpected blackmail material. "I should go to a couple of matches before I make up my mind, though."
Harry had enjoyed the thrill of barracking for Ireland at the World Cup, but choosing a favourite local team feels so much more weighted, more tricky, particularly sitting across from his zealous former Quidditch captain.
Oliver smiles, his gaze softening but still steely. "I'll get you some VIP tickets for the next Puddlemere match when school's out."
Harry nods. "Thanks, Oliver."
It's a little strange, having adults show an interest in his life. It fills him with a strange feeling of comfort - that Oliver still saw him as Harry, that Percy believed Harry had not cheated the system to compete in the Tournament.
He still yearns to break free from this damned Tournament.
But making small talk with Percy, Oliver and even Parvati is far from the worst part of his evening.