Archive of Our Own

The first time Percy met Oliver, he’d prayed that they wouldn’t end up in the same House. 

Having two older brothers and growing up in a magical household meant that Percy was not as dazzled by Hogwarts as some of the other students in his year, but he still—as surreptitiously as he could—craned his neck to get a better view of the Sorting Hat. He was fascinated by the process, and even though he was incredibly confident that he’d be placed in Gryffindor like the rest of his family (although, Ravenclaw didn’t seem so bad), he felt some anxiety about waiting for a magical entity such as the Hat to announce his most defining qualities to an entire hall of his peers. 

Percy’s eyes drifted over to the Gryffindor table. Charlie was starting his fourth year, and he was whispering to his friends instead of watching the Sorting. Percy was unsurprised; his mum said that Charlie was experiencing a self-centeredness that all teenagers had to work through at some point. Percy hoped that Charlie would watch when it was his turn; maybe he’d just grown bored of waiting for the end of the deputy headmistress’ list. Bill, on the other hand, was a sixth-year and thus much more sure of himself than Charlie. He was watching with rapt attention, and he sent Percy a grin and two thumbs up when they caught each other’s eye. Percy relaxed slightly and sent a small smile back. Bill had kept a seat beside him open, fending off other first-years, so there was a clear space for Percy to head to when the time came.

McGonagall had just reached the T surnames when someone sidled up to Percy. 

“Blimey, this is taking ages!” The boy who’d spoken had a vague Irish accent, and he nudged Percy in the side to get his attention. Percy looked over and was immediately overwhelmed by the too-wide grin aimed his way. “Hey, are you a muggleborn?”

Percy was immediately on the defensive. His dad worked in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, and Percy and his siblings had grown up learning about and admiring Muggle innovations. He narrowed his eyes. “Why should that matter?”

“Oh.” The boy’s brown eyes had blown wide. “That’s not what I—I was just wondering if you knew about Quidditch.”

Quidditch? Percy glanced at the boy and then back at McGonagall. He would not miss his name being called because someone wanted to talk to him about bloody Quidditch. “Yes,” he replied stiffly. “My brothers are on the team.”

“Bloody brilliant,” the boy breathed. “Everyone I met on the train grew up in the Muggle world and didn’t know a thing about it—can you imagine? I’m Oliver.”

He stuck a hand out. Percy stared at it for a moment, but he shook it. “I’m Percy.”

“Percy.” Oliver said the word slowly, like he was committing it to memory. “So, about your brothers—”

But Percy didn’t listen to Oliver’s inquiry. Just then, he heard the end of the most recent name McGonagall called: “—rcy.”

Percy froze. On the one hand, it seemed reasonable to assume that his name had been called, but on the other hand, he had no idea what the names of the remaining students were. He hesitated long enough to see if anyone would step forward, looking up and down the few still in the line. When no one moved, Percy stumbled forward, the red in his face made brighter by the muffled laughter he could hear scattered about the hall. He didn’t dare look at Bill or Charlie. 

The walk to the stool only took a few seconds, but Percy’s embarrassment made it feel like an eternity. He sat down hurriedly and hoped that the Sorting Hat would make fast work of him. 

It did. Percy had only been sitting on the stool for about twenty seconds, just long enough for the Hat to make note of his family and his bold desire to blaze his own path that would serve him well in GRYFFINDOR!

The Gryffindor table erupted in cheers, and Percy slipped off the stool and walked as calmly as he could over to Bill. He was still stiff with embarrassment, and he seethed when he thought about how that idiot Oliver had humiliated him in front of the entire school before he was even Sorted. 

He sat down beside Bill, who clapped him on the back and brightly congratulated him, no mention at all of Percy’s awkward stumble to the hat. He resolved to forget the entire incident and move forward. Besides, he reasoned, the likelihood that anyone else in the school would even remember that a first year had nearly missed his name being called during the Sorting was infinitesimal. 

And then: “Wood, Oliver.”

Percy watched warily as the boy bounded up to the Sorting Hat. Once it was placed upon his head, Percy began to feel dread seeping in. Surely, he thought a little hysterically, surely Oliver wouldn’t be in—

“GRYFFINDOR!”

Percy’s left eye twitched as he reluctantly joined in the applause. And then, because this day could, apparently, get worse, Oliver decided that the best seat at the crowded Gryffindor table was the sliver of space next to Percy. 

Oliver did not seem to realize that Percy did not appreciate being made a joke and then practically sat on. “Percy! Both Gryffindors, can you believe it?” Then he leaned over Percy to get a better look at Bill, who was clearly amused by the star-struck look Oliver sent his way. “Are you Percy’s brother? He said you were on the Quidditch team.”

Bill laughed, light and breezy. “Sure am! Best Chaser on the team.”

“Hey!” A little ways down the table, the topic of Quidditch had clearly caught Charlie’s attention. Percy felt a tiny twinge of hurt that his Sorting hadn’t been able to do the same. “So am I! Star seeker, you know.” He grinned widely. “Better than Bill, and he’s older.”

“And humbler,” Bill said dryly, but he didn’t look offended. Everyone in the family knew that Charlie had exceptional Seeking talent. “Are you a fan then, er… Oliver?”

And thus began a long-winded conversation about Quidditch at Hogwarts, the Gryffindor Quidditch team, professional Quidditch teams—just Quidditch. Percy ate his dinner sullenly while his brothers and Oliver talked over his head about the same topics he heard about all the time at home. 

Maybe it would have been better if he’d been Sorted into Ravenclaw. 

Eventually, dinner ended, prompting the fifth-year prefects to take the first years to the dormitories. It occurred to Percy that if he and Oliver were both Gryffindors, then that meant they were also roommates. His frown deepened. 

“I heard that first years can’t try out for the school teams,” Oliver babbled on, completely oblivious to the fact that Percy had not even attempted to engage in the conversation. “Can you believe that? I’m thinking of appealing to the headmaster.” He cocked his head to the side, like he was actually considering bothering Albus Dumbledore with such nonsense. “Something to think about, anyway. Will you try out next year, so you can be on the team with your brothers?”

The scoff escaped Percy before he could catch himself. He always hated this part—when someone assumed that he was talented in all the ways his older brothers were and that he’d surely want to follow in their footsteps. The disappointment would come next, as it always did… but maybe that would work in his favor this time, if it deterred Oliver. So Percy answered as he and their three other roommates chose their beds. “No. I don’t like playing Quidditch.”

Oliver’s jaw dropped. “Really? But you knew so much about the gameplay!”

His mind flashed back to dinner. He supposed he had contributed here and there to the conversation once it had turned to strategy—he had no interest in the sport, but he did like logistics and probability. Even Charlie admired Percy’s ability to think three steps ahead. “I like to study all kinds of probability,” he said eventually. “I’m good at statistics.”

Oliver tilted his head to the side. “I’ll remember that.”

…

Oliver did, in fact, remember that.

It hadn’t mattered so much in first year, when the most Oliver could do was ramble on about how well Gryffindor was playing. The constant praise of Charlie was a bit annoying, but Percy could handle that. It baffled him that Oliver would just throw himself on Percy’s mattress or sit beside him in every class, but he figured that Oliver was just a creature who imprinted on a few unlucky people, Percy included. 

By second year, he’d grown used to Oliver’s insistence on proximity. It was sort of nice to have someone around who wanted to talk to him. Joining the Quidditch team made Oliver even more exuberant than usual, but Percy had six siblings; he knew how to deal with a little chaos. 

By third year, Percy couldn’t deny anymore that Oliver was his closest friend. 

Maybe his only friend, he thought a little wryly as he glanced over at Oliver. He hadn’t yet been able to turn his mouse into a matchbox, but he was flicking his wand as he spoke loudly with their fellow Gryffindors about an upcoming match.

Percy looked down at his perfect matchbox. McGonagall had praised it nearly a half hour ago and complimented him on his attention to detail. He’d been working on the homework ever since. It wasn’t exactly fun, but Percy was determined to score well on his OWLs and NEWTs, and that meant keeping up with his studies. Still, there was a part of Percy that wished he had something else to do than write an essay on the Goblin Wars. 

He looked around the room, and his eyes, as they so often did, fell on Penelope Clearwater. She had successfully transfigured her mouse and was now reading a book whose title Percy couldn’t quite make out, occasionally sending an annoyed glance at the rowdy group of students surrounding Oliver. Percy couldn’t help but admire the way her long blonde hair fell over her shoulders, her bright blue eyes, her ink-stained fingertips—

Percy halted his own line of thinking as his face turned pink. If he was ever caught staring, he’d never hear the end of it. Still, he couldn’t help but indulge in his little fantasies of taking Penelope on a date in Hogsmeade, now that he was allowed to visit. Percy glanced sideways at her again. Perhaps there was a chance she’d say yes. They had plenty in common, after all, and Percy had heard enough of Charlie’s stories to know exactly what not to do when asking out a girl—

“Percy!” Oliver was suddenly blocking Penelope from view, a ridiculously large grin on his face. Percy jumped and looked back over to where Oliver had been just moments before; his mouse was transfigured, but its whiskers and tail remained. “Merlin, nice matchbox. Not even a little bit furry. Hey, I was wondering if you’d look over these ideas I had for the pitch—you know, since you’re so good at statistics.” He winked at Percy as he set down several leafs of parchment, all with suggested Quidditch plays that he would undoubtedly be passing on to Charlie once Percy had looked through them. 

That had been an unintended consequence of the comment he’d made in first year, but Oliver, true to his word, had never forgotten it. Since he’d gained—somehow—more confidence on the pitch, he’d begun writing up his own plays and strategies to pass on to the Quidditch captain. This year it was Charlie, who groaned to Percy every time he received the delivery. 

“I’ll look through them,” he promised. 

Oliver clapped him on the back. “Brilliant, thanks, mate. And you’ll come to the match on Saturday, won’t you?”

Percy grimaced. He knew Gryffindor was playing Ravenclaw—how could he not, with Oliver as a roommate?—and he really enjoyed watching the sport, but Quidditch games at Hogwarts meant watching a whole stadium go mad for his brother, who already had a big head. Not exactly his cup of tea. “Perhaps,” he said noncommittally. “We do have an exam in Herbology on Monday, in case you’ve forgotten, so I may prepare for that instead.”

Oliver groaned. “You’ve only gone to one game this term. Don’t you want to support Gryffindor?”

“I do support Gryffindor,” Percy grumbled. “I support Gryffindor by getting high marks and earning back the points the rest of you are so eager to lose.”

“And we love you for it,” Oliver said happily, “but there’s something to be said about showing up for the team! Even you can’t deny that camaraderie has a positive effect on schooling.”

Oliver sounded so proud of himself for coming up with an argument that would, in fact, persuade Percy. As it was, Percy was beginning to feel his resolve waver. “I don’t know…”

“It’ll be great!” Oliver leaned forward eagerly. “You’ll have a great time, I swear! I’ll make sure to make some great saves with the quaffle, just for you.” 

He grinned winningly, and Percy sighed. “I’ll think about it.”

Oliver’s excitement faded just slightly, but the class period ended before he could try his case again. Percy gathered his supplies and was prepared to walk out with Oliver, but his friend was quickly swarmed by other students. Percy stood there awkwardly for a moment, but he wasn’t about to miss his next class because Oliver was more popular than he was. He slipped out into the corridor and was about to head down to the dungeons when he felt a tap on his shoulder. 

Assuming it was Oliver, Percy turned around with a wry comment on the tip of his tongue—only for his mouth to go dry when he realized that it was Penelope. Heat rose to his face as he fumbled for something to say. 

Luckily, Penelope put him out of his misery. “Hi, Percy. I know you have a class after this, but there’s, er, something I wanted to ask you.”

Percy cleared his throat, praying that his brothers wouldn’t choose this corridor for their between-class hijinx. Fred and George really were a lost cause, and they were only first years. “Er, hullo, Penelope. What can I do for you?”

Penelope smiled shyly. She really was pretty. “I was wondering if you were going to the Quidditch match on Saturday?”

Percy’s smile froze on his face. She… wanted to know about Quidditch? “Er… I was thinking about it, why?”

“I just thought that it might be nice to go together. I know our houses are playing against each other, but you don’t seem the type to let that kind of rivalry get in the way of a nice time.” She sounded very sure of that fact, and Percy puffed his chest up with pride, because, well—she was right! They were above such silly rivalries. 

“I’d love to!” he said. “But just to be clear… would we be going as friends?”

Penelope gave him a small shrug. “If you’d prefer, but I was hoping it could be a date.”

“I’d like that,” Percy said hurriedly. “I would love that, actually. I’ll, er, meet you by the entrance to the Great Hall half an hour before, shall I?”

Penelope beamed. “I’ll be there!” she promised. She began to turn away. “Goodbye, Percy!” 

“Goodbye, Penelope!” he called after her. He was grinning wider than he thought he’d ever grinned before, and he felt so light that he wouldn’t be surprised if his feet had left the floor. 

In fact, Percy seemed to float through the rest of the day. Nothing could bring him down—not Snape’s derisive comments, not his younger brothers’ relentless teasing about his study habits, not even Charlie marching up to him and aggressively telling him to get his ‘bloody talented but way too fucking cocky’ roommate in line. No, Percy was high in the sky because he had a date with Penelope Clearwater. 

Oliver, of course, noticed. As he was undressing for bed—too used to the change rooms to care about modesty—he cast a curious glance Percy’s way. “You’re happy,” he noted. His eyes flickered over Percy like he was trying to puzzle him out. “What’s going on?”

Percy smiled to himself as he worked on another line in his Charms homework. “You’ll be glad to know that I’m going to the Quidditch match after all.”

“Really?” A blinding grin overtook Oliver’s face, and he hurried over to fling himself on the end of Percy’s mattress. “That’s brilliant! What changed your mind?”

Percy’s face grew warm, but he was strangely pleased to be the one, for once, who had a secret to tell. “Penelope Clearwater asked if I wanted to go with her. As a date,” he clarified, perhaps unnecessarily. “I said yes.”

He expected a clap on the back, an exclamation of excitement, maybe even some light teasing, but Oliver exhibited none of those behaviors. Percy, startled by the sudden silence, looked up to find the smile on Oliver’s face had turned slightly stiff. 

“You’re…” Oliver cleared his throat. “You’re going to my Quidditch game with Penelope Clearwater?”

Something about the phrasing felt off to Percy, and he wasn’t sure why, but he felt wrong-footed. He fumbled for something to say, but really—what had gone wrong? Oliver had wanted him in attendance. “I’m going to the Gryffindor match with Penelope,” he said slowly. A horrible thought struck him suddenly, and he felt his heart plummet. “You don’t… you don’t like her, do you?”

If Oliver liked Penelope, then Percy was certain that he didn’t stand a chance. Oliver would never try to cause trouble in Percy’s romantic life, of course, but Percy knew deep down that it was unlikely anyone would ever pick him over Oliver, if they had the choice. 

But Oliver was shaking his head. “No! Merlin, no. Er, I just… I just think that you should go to the match to support your team!” He started nodding vigorously. “If you’re too busy watching Penelope to watch the game, well, that defeats the whole purpose! You should go to the match to cheer on your house. And she’s the enemy!” He caught Percy's frown and amended, “Well, this time around, anyway.”

Percy was beyond relieved that he wouldn’t be competing against Oliver. “Penelope and I aren’t going to let a date stop us from supporting our teams,” he explained. “We can be competitive and still get along.” He hoped that was true, anyway. He put a hand on Oliver’s knee to comfort him. “I’ll be wearing Gryffindor colors, I promise. I’ll be easy to spot in the Ravenclaw section.”

Oliver pulled a face. “You’ll be sitting in the Ravenclaw section? That’s not allowed.”

Percy’s eyes narrowed. Annoyance was beginning to creep in now, and a little bit of hurt along with it. Why couldn’t Oliver just be happy for him? “It’s only barely against the rules—everyone does it, and no one’s ever gotten detention for it. And since when do you care about rulebreaking?”

“I care very much about rulebreaking,” Oliver protested unconvincingly. “The rules of Quidditch, anyway. I just think that spectators should show as much respect for the rules as the players.”

Percy pushed aside his homework and stood up, fuming. “Why should it matter where I sit? I’ll still be watching the bloody game.”

Oliver stood too, shoulders squared and tight with tension. He looked ready to fight, and although Quidditch had made him bigger and broader, Percy had never been one to back down once he got going. He didn’t so much as flinch when Oliver said, “No, you’ll be sitting there sneaking glances with Penelope Clearwater!”

“Why does it matter?” Percy shouted back. “It’s not like it impacts you either way! Why do you care if I’m there or not?”

Oliver balled his hands into fists. “I don’t! I—I just—argh! Charlie will set you straight.”

He grabbed Percy’s bicep then and started dragging him down to the common room. Percy, red-faced and furious, swore at him and tried to pull away, but Oliver was determined. He pulled Percy into the crowded common room and right over to Charlie, who was talking with some other sixth-years. 

“Charlie!” Oliver shouted above the noise. “About the game on Saturday—”

Charlie groaned loudly. “Wood, I already told you, it’s too late now to change the gameplay—oh.” He blinked when he saw the hold Oliver had on Percy and winced. “Merlin, Wood, he looks ready to hex you.”

If Percy’s wand was not still in the dorm, he would. “Charlie,” he said through gritted teeth, “tell him to get his bloody hands off.”

“I’d listen to him,” Charlie said wisely. “Wood, you should know since you’ve shared a room with him for three years—good on you, I wouldn’t have survived it—but he’s all bite.”

Oliver ignored him. “He’s coming to the match on Saturday!” he burst out, watching Charlie expectantly. 

“Er…” Charlie glanced at Percy, confused. The other Gryffindors—including Fred and George, Percy was sure—were clearly attempting to eavesdrop. “That’s cool?”

Oliver shook his head. “He’s not even sitting in our section!”

Percy made a derisive sound and crossed his arms over his chest, finally wrenching his arm from Oliver’s hold. He hoped everyone thought Oliver was being as ridiculous as he sounded. 

Charlie glanced at Percy. “That’s… weird, but that isn’t my problem, Wood. What, Perce, the light’s not good enough to read by in the Gryffindor stands?” he teased, causing the students around them to laugh. 

And that’s when Percy realized exactly what would happen next. He whipped around to try and stop Oliver from explaining, but Oliver—who was an only child and absolutely idolized Percy’s brothers—was already talking. Percy could only freeze with horror as he said, for Percy’s family and all the common room to hear, “No, that’s not it—he’s got a date with a Ravenclaw!”

“What?” Charlie jumped out of his chair and grabbed Percy by the shoulders, halting any escape he could have made. His jaw was on the floor—he looked utterly gobsmacked. “My baby brother has a date? Can’t be!”

Percy was sure that he could have blended into the Gryffindor decor with how red his face was. A quick glance at Oliver revealed that he was beginning to realize that going to Charlie Weasley hadn’t been his best idea, and guilt was settling in. Good.

The twins were on him the next moment, grinning evilly and making jibes about how his date was more likely a book than a girl, or had he tricked the poor thing?, causing the watching Gryffindors to burst into laughter. Percy did his best to keep his chin up despite the jeers, but he couldn’t shake the burn of humiliation. 

“Who?” Charlie demanded loudly over the din. “Who is it, Perce? Who’ve you charmed?” He waggled his eyebrows. “And if you slipped her a love potion, we won’t tell!” 

“No one!” Percy shouted hotly. He knew that if Penelope’s name was mentioned, news of his date would spread all over the school by morning, and he wasn’t about to ruin his chances with her by making her the latest subject of the rumor mill. He thrashed, barely managing to escape his brothers’ grips. He stumbled back a few paces and straightened his robes. “No one you’d know, anyway, because she can do more than sit on a broomstick and try to catch a ball!”

He’d meant for the words to be cutting, and some Gryffindors did seem outraged on Charlie’s behalf, but Percy’s older brother was not so easily offended. “And what skills did you show off to her, huh? Last I checked, sitting on a broomstick was hotter than pushing around a quill!” He laughed loudly, and Percy caved in on himself a little bit. Charlie was teasing, he knew—it’s what all his brothers did to each other—but that hit too close to Percy’s very real insecurities. 

No one but Oliver noticed. “Hey!” He sounded furious. “It’s not funny. You should be telling him to focus on supporting Gryffindor instead of—instead of a girl!”

Fred snorted. “Don’t ruin this for him, Wood. It could be the only time he actually finds someone who wants to go out with him!”

Percy had had more than enough. “Shut up,” he hissed at Fred—and George, who’d opened his mouth to double down on the comment, “or I’ll write Mum and tell her the two of you blew up the broomshed!”

The twins’ gleeful expressions fell to scowls, and they complained and called Percy a snitch as he turned tail and marched back up to his dormitory. The raucous laughter followed him up the stairwell, and under his irritation, Percy was surprised to realize that so did a pair of footsteps. 

“I’m sorry,” Oliver said as soon as he slipped through the door Percy had just slammed. “I didn’t think he’d do that. I thought—”

“You thought what?” Percy snapped. “That he’d say congratulations and move on? Right, because Charlie’s always been so supportive.” Percy aggressively climbed onto his bed and ripped open his textbook, glaring at a random paragraph so he didn’t have to look at Oliver. “I don’t know how many times I have to explain to you that I’m not like him, or Bill, or Fred and George—they don’t understand me. They were never going to do anything but make fun.” Percy’s grip on his quill was so tight that he was worried it would snap. When he next spoke, his voice was more vulnerable than he’d meant it to be. “I thought you’d be happy for me.”

“Shit—Percy.” Oliver was suddenly pushing the textbook off of Percy’s lap and climbing up on the bed. “I’m really sorry about what happened down there. I thought he’d give you grief over sitting with the enemy, not about having a date.” He nudged Percy’s shoulder with his. “I really am happy for you.”

And just like that, any anger he felt towards Oliver subsided. “Thanks,” he muttered. “I know you didn’t expect that.” He smiled tiredly. “You have no idea how brothers work, do you?”

“I suppose not,” Oliver admitted. “And just to be clear… I think they’re full of shit for saying all of that. I’m not surprised Penelope likes you at all.” There was something in Oliver’s expression that Percy couldn’t quite decipher, but he sounded genuine. “She… she’s always looking at you in Transfiguration. When she thinks you’re not.”

Percy straightened. “Really?” he asked, just a touch too eagerly. “I… I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah.” Oliver rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I think she likes that you take school seriously. You’re more… mature, or whatever.” 

Percy was very pleased to hear that. He preened a little, but he noticed that Oliver’s shoulders were sagging in an uncharacteristic display of discouragement. Percy hesitated before saying, “I still don’t understand why it matters so much that I’m sitting with Penelope.”

He wanted to understand—really, he did. Percy was under no delusions that he was the most emotionally competent, nor that he was always pleasant company, but he did care about Oliver’s feelings. Oliver had stuck by his side, somehow, since the beginning of their schooling. He seemed amused by Percy’s shortcomings instead of repulsed, and when he wasn’t talking about Quidditch, he could be a very good listener. He wasn’t someone that Percy was prepared to lose. 

Oliver smiled at him. It was dimmer than his usual ones, but not so dim that Percy felt he was being lied to. “I don’t understand either,” Oliver admitted. “I guess that I get a little unreasonable when it comes to y… to Quidditch.”

He climbed back into bed after that, leaving Percy to play the interaction through his head again and again and again. 

When Saturday rolled around, Percy met Penelope in the Great Hall—his brothers teased, but Percy was delighted when Penelope’s only response to them was to send a quick hex to stick them to their benches. Percy decided to test her friendly competitiveness by betting on the outcome of the match, and Penelope happily accepted. 

The match itself was even more exciting than Percy had anticipated. His steady avoidance of watching Charlie in his self-proclaimed element had nearly made him forget how much he actually enjoyed spectating—and the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw teams didn’t disappoint. Percy sat in the Ravenclaw section, his Gryffindor garb easily spotted amongst the sea of blue, but he had the last laugh when Gryffindor pulled a brilliant win. 

Penelope grumbled good-naturedly as she handed Percy his money and admitted that Charlie had made a brilliant dive for the snitch. But Percy wasn’t even annoyed by the mention of his brother like he normally would have been, because he was too busy thinking about all of the amazing saves Oliver had made during the match. Keeper, Percy thought, was easily the most overlooked position in the game, and unfairly so. 

Oliver spotted him easily. Before he flew down to join the rest of the team in celebration, he caught Percy’s eye, grinned, and lifted a hand in a wave. Percy cheered as loudly as he could—which was quite loud—and returned the gesture. 

…

Percy dated Penelope for the rest of third year and all through fourth. They bet on the outcome of every Quidditch match their houses played against each other—a poor decision on Percy’s part, once Charlie graduated—and spent many hours studying, or talking, or finding a broom closet to snog in. 

They broke up in November of fifth year.

There didn’t seem to be much of a reason for it, really, except that they seemed to like each other best when they were snogging. As OWLs and prefect duties loomed over them, they decided that it was a waste of the free time they had to snog someone who didn’t excite them anymore. 

Penelope had broached the subject, but Percy didn’t put up a fight. He wondered, later, if she had wanted him to. 

He wasn’t… despondent, exactly. Life was dimmer and prefect meetings were an awkward nightmare, but he could get out of bed. He could (mostly) focus on his studies. That was better than most of the post-breakup behaviors Percy had witnessed in his life, although he supposed that Bill and Charlie were both dramatic in their own right, so maybe they weren’t the best examples.

Oliver didn’t think that he was doing fine. 

“You’re, uh… still going at it?” Oliver, covered head to toe in mud and grass from the Quidditch Pitch, entered the dorm and stopped in the doorway when he saw Percy by the window with his books open. “Merlin’s beard, Percy. Have you moved at all since I left?”

“Hm?” Percy looked up. His eyes were strained from pouring over his History of Magic notes, which were small and cramped even by his standards. “No, no. But it’s only been a couple of hours.”

“It’s been five,” Oliver corrected. He looked upset. “I left to train with the team five hours ago.”

Had that much time already passed? Percy frowned sharply. He was behind schedule. “Damn. I have a prefect’s meeting in half an hour, then.” The smell hit him suddenly, and he wrinkled his nose to finally look at Oliver properly. “You reek.”

“Had to practice drills with the team. Potter’s really saved us, which means we have a chance at the Cup this year—I’m not wasting that by letting the rest of the team get comfortable.” Oliver blinked and then shook himself, as though forcing himself to get back on topic. “I’ll shower once you stop studying.”

Percy was appalled. Oliver had become completely unreasonable ever since he’d been named Quidditch captain. “That’s disgusting,” he said shortly. “And you know that I need to prepare for exams.”

Oliver crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re top of our year. Put down the quill.”

Percy clutched it to his chest instead. “Don’t you dare,” he warned as Oliver advanced, “touch me with your sweaty Quidditch kit—augh, did you fly through fucking dragon shit?”

Oliver, with a devious grin that Percy thought he only had to worry about with the twins, raised an arm to lean against the wall, over Percy’s head, revealing a sweat-soaked sleeve. “I’m pretty comfortable here,” he said.

Percy’s wand was on the other side of the room. He tried and failed to hold back a gag. “I’m trying to perform well on my OWLs,” he groused. “You know that I want a job at the Ministry.”

“I do,” Oliver agreed. “And I know that you’re trying to get twelve OWLs like Bill. And I know you want twelve Outstandings—unlike Bill. And I also know that your studious habits have spiralled into obsessions. There’s more to life than just preparing for the future. Live in the moment! I mean, think about it—this is the best we’ve done in Quidditch for years! And you’re missing it!”

It was true, in a way; Percy hadn’t attended any matches since he’d broken up with Penelope. He hadn’t seen the point when the time that had been occupied by his girlfriend could be spent productively. But he didn’t think it was fair of Oliver to call his studying obsessive. If he wanted to talk about obsessive behavior, he should look in a bloody mirror. 

So he told him that.

“I hear what you’re saying,” Oliver said in a flippant tone that informed Percy that he did not see it at all, “but my better point is that you’ve been throwing yourself into your studies because you don’t know what to do with yourself now that Penelope isn’t in your life. Er… not as much, anyway. You’ll get the Ministry job, Percy; you’re too brilliant not to. But you can’t spend the whole year preparing for something you’re already prepared for.”

Percy shook his head. Oliver didn’t understand. Percy was already the only Weasley who couldn’t play Quidditch and who, according to his siblings, didn’t have a sense of humor. The only way he could think to make up for that was to outperform them—and he could. There was no doubt in Percy’s mind that he possessed the ability to outperform them both. And he had something to prove. He had the passion and the drive to do great things, and he couldn’t imagine a future in which he let that slip through his fingers. 

Oliver’s one true passion was Quidditch. But he didn’t have anyone to compare himself to, so he could pursue his dream at his own pace. It was different. 

“Just come to the match this weekend,” Oliver pleaded, and maybe Percy was just lightheaded from the awful odor his friend was emitting, but his resolve was starting to waver. “Just to take a break. And hey!” Oliver’s entire face lit up. “You can finally see what it’s like to cheer with Gryffindor!”

That, more than anything else, made up Percy’s mind. He snorted. “If you take a shower, I’ll watch the bloody Quidditch match.”

Oliver dropped his arm at once, beaming. “It’s a deal!” he shouted as he backed himself into the washroom. “I’m holding you to that, Weasley!”

And he did. When the day of the match rolled around (Gryffindor against Hufflepuff), Oliver had piled an assortment of red and gold attire at the end of Percy’s bed before Percy even woke up. 

He stared at it with mild horror. “You can’t be serious.”

Oliver gave him a look. “I’m always serious about Quidditch.” He ushered Percy out of bed and then handed him a deep red jumper to change into. “Hurry it up, I’m making the team meet me on the pitch in twenty minutes.”

Percy frowned as he began making his bed, straightening the duvet meticulously. “I thought the match started in four hours.” Oliver opened his mouth to defend his questionable captaining choices, but Percy held up a hand to stop him. “Never mind.”

He changed quickly. There was a part of him that still felt like going to the game was a waste of valuable time, but every time he looked back at Oliver—whose nerves were clearly getting the better of him, although he was doing his best to hide it—that voice grew quieter and quieter. When he presented himself once more to Oliver, his friend looked him up and down, nodding thoughtfully. Percy felt a little ridiculous in his red jumper and red-and-gold accented jacket, but he knew from experience that such a getup was tame for Gryffindor. Oliver, thankfully, didn’t demand that he paint his face; instead, he wound a Gryffindor scarf around Percy’s neck. 

“For good luck,” Oliver murmured as he fixed the scarf. He leaned in close, his lips near Percy’s ear. Percy had no idea why his mouth was suddenly dry. 

He blinked, a little disoriented when Oliver pulled away. He reasoned that it must be hunger, since they were woefully late to breakfast. 

Oliver made him promise not to take the scarf off, insisting that it was a good luck charm. Percy rolled his eyes and promised he wouldn’t, and then Oliver sprinted on ahead to grab some breakfast on the way to the pitch. Percy’s pace was much more ambulatory, and he took his time at breakfast before following the crowd to the pitch. 

Percy took his seat next to his two other roommates, who grinned at him before returning to their own friends. There was a slight chill in the air that made Percy glad for the jacket and scarf, and he waited with great anticipation for the players to enter the field. Further down the stand, Percy saw Ron with a young girl with bushy brown hair—Hermione, he was fairly sure—and he remembered that this would be his first time seeing Harry Potter in action. Oliver had certainly talked up the Boy-Who-Lived, raving about his talent on a broom. Percy hoped Harry could outperform Charlie. It was ridiculous that his Quidditch talent was discussed so much after his graduation. 

Percy didn’t have to wait long. The Gryffindor players walked onto the field, led by Oliver. Percy leaned forward in his seat, squinting to try and see his friend better. There were the identical heads of Fred and George, beater bats proudly resting across their shoulders; the familiar sight of Gryffindor’s three chasers, Angelina, Katie, and Alicia; the impossibly small frame of Harry Potter, dwarfed by his teammates; and Oliver Wood, looking like he was ready to crush the Hufflepuff captain’s hand during the handshake. Amused, Percy bit back a smile when the Hufflepuff captain winced. 

And then they were off. The players soared into the sky, and Oliver flew past Percy’s section of the stands on his way to the goalposts. Percy watched him, cheering with the others, and thought that Oliver looked sort of fit in his Quidditch kit. 

And then he thought that Oliver looked really fit as he expertly blocked Hufflepuff’s first four attempts at scoring. 

And then Percy realized that he’d missed most of the game because he’d been too busy watching Oliver. 

It wasn’t like Percy had never looked at boys that way before—he’d realized that about himself in fourth year. But Oliver? Wouldn’t he have noticed that sooner?

Percy thought back to the beginning of the year. Maybe he had. He’d certainly noticed that Oliver had gained a lot of muscle over the summer. They’d had conversations about it, in which Percy teased him lightly and Oliver insisted that he was going to dominate in Quidditch that year. He’d noticed that Oliver was taller, too, even if Percy loomed over him by several centimeters. 

He thought back to that morning, when Oliver’s calloused hands had adjusted the scarf on Percy’s neck and his breath ghosted across Percy’s ear. 

“Fuck.” Percy whispered to himself—luckily just as Hufflepuff’s beater made Angelina drop the quaffle. He could feel the heat rising to his face as he tried to figure out what the hell he was going to do. He watched as Oliver made another incredible save. As the Gryffindors cheered again, it struck him for the first time that there might be an expiration date on their friendship. After seventh year, when they’d graduated, would they still care to see each other? Percy would pursue a career in the Ministry, and Oliver would play in a professional Quidditch league, no doubt. There didn’t seem to be much overlap there. 

A life without Oliver was a depressing, terrifying thought, one Percy wasn’t sure he had the courage to face. He’d nearly convinced himself that his friendship was doomed when the people around him exploded with cheers, jumping to their feet and screaming in triumph—Gryffindor had won. Percy hastily stood, clapping his hands and shouting with the rest of the crowd, even if his chest felt tight. Unsurprisingly, his eyes found Oliver, still in the air. He was whooping loudly and hugging Harry—Percy felt a twinge of disappointment that he’d missed Harry’s performance—but then he locked eyes with Percy and waved manically, nearly hitting Fred in the face. 

Oliver always sought him out in the crowd after a game, whether Gryffindor won or lost—but this was the first time Percy had sat in the Gryffindor section, which meant that it wasn’t so easy to spot him. Oliver must have scanned the sea of red and gold and still, somehow, picked out Percy. 

It shouldn’t have made him feel so special, so seen, but it did. To think that he’d almost believed that Oliver would ever let him go that easily. Percy could feel his heart pounding in his chest, the sensation so distracting that he nearly missed Oliver’s signal to meet him on the ground. Percy shook himself a little, then began elbowing his way through the crowd—a skill he’d honed since becoming prefect—so he could descend the stands. When he reached the field, other Gryffindors had already swarmed the team, but Oliver spotted him immediately and extracted himself from his fans. Percy waited awkwardly on the sidelines, hands stuffed in his pockets. 

“It worked!” Oliver shouted once he was within earshot of Percy. He was bright-eyed, practically bursting with his elation, and he threw his arms around Percy when he reached him. It was sweaty and gross, but Percy found himself grinning and bringing his arms up around Oliver. “The scarf!” Oliver continued to shout in his ear. “Told you! You’ll have to come to every match now, I’m not kidding—lucky charm—we won!” 

“You’re not making any sense,” Percy told him, but he couldn’t actually find it in himself to be annoyed. “I doubt it would have mattered if I—”

A hand was suddenly clapped over his mouth, abruptly cutting him off. “Don’t fucking ruin this Percy Weasley, or I swear to fucking Merlin—”

“All right,” Percy tried to say, but it came out all muffled. He pushed Oliver’s hand to the side. “All right,” he said again. “I won’t. Keep your superstitions.”

“You bet your arse I will.” Oliver hugged him again. “We won.”

“Oi! Wood!” Fred hollered over the other students. “Party in the common room after we change! We’re not saving any alcohol for you!” He glanced at Percy and backtracked. “Which is an expression and not at all evidence that we’ve snuck in firewhiskey!”

Percy grumbled as the Gryffindors hurried to either the changing room or the castle. “Honestly,” he scoffed, “you’d think that they’d try and be subtle, at least. I can’t let that get to any of the younger—”

He was cut off again when Oliver kissed him. Percy’s eyes widened in surprise, but he wasn’t frozen for long. He put a hand on Oliver’s back and another in his hair as Oliver pulled him close and cupped Percy’s cheek with his rough palm. Percy felt electrified like he never had before—this was completely unlike any kiss he’d ever shared with Penelope—and he found himself hungrily reaching for more, more, more—

And then Oliver leaned back. Percy let him break the kiss, breathing heavily. Oliver stared at him in wonder. For a movement, neither of them spoke. 

“I…” Oliver blinked. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

Something inside Percy fractured. Humiliation burned through him, and he wrapped his arms around himself as he took a step back. “Oh,” he said numbly. “I’m… sorry.”

“No!” Oliver grabbed Percy by the shoulders to prevent him from retreating any further. The pitch was mostly empty of students now, only a few stragglers here and there. Percy and Oliver were sufficiently hidden from view by the stands, so there weren’t any witnesses to Oliver’s next words. “No. Don’t apologize. I’ve wanted to do that since third year. I only meant that I thought you’d be upset with me.” Oliver’s lips stretched into a grin, and he waggled his eyebrows. “Bloody thrilled that you proved me wrong so… enthusiastically.”

Percy was so relieved, he couldn’t even be irritated with Oliver’s stupid facial expressions. “Since third year?”

“Well… yeah.” Oliver looked slightly embarrassed. “You may remember that I lost my cool when you went to that Quidditch match with Penelope.”

The memory resurfaced slowly. Percy shook his head in bewilderment. “I’d wondered why that upset you so much…”

“Now you know,” Oliver groaned. “Just do me a favor and don’t tell your brothers, yeah? I’d never hear the bloody end of it.” Oliver dropped his head against Percy’s chest. “I know I was an idiot back then, but I was so jealous. Penelope had been staring at you for weeks, and you kept staring right back—I’d hoped it was my imagination.” He looked up at Percy. “But… if the two of you are done…”

“We are,” Percy interjected quickly. “Very done.”

Oliver eyed him hopefully. “Why don’t you give me a chance?”

Percy could hardly believe it was real. A fluttery feeling spread through him, and he felt both breathless and lighter than air. “You want to go out with me?”

Oliver tilted his head to the side. “Not to sway you,” he said slowly, “but if this happens on top of a huge Quidditch win, then this’ll be the best day of my life.”

With a sudden bout of courage, Percy wrapped his fingers around Oliver’s wrist and pulled him closer. Maybe they should have sat down to discuss how this would change their friendship first. Maybe they should have waited to make sure they were both on the same page. But Percy, for once, wasn’t worried about preparation. He had the opportunity to make this the best day of Oliver Wood’s life; who was he to waste that?

“I’m going to kiss you,” Percy told him quickly and breathlessly as he cupped a hand over Oliver’s jaw, “and then we need to get up to the common room so I can confiscate that firewhiskey.”

Oliver’s shoulders shook with laughter for the duration of the kiss. 

…

Without any real intention to, Percy and Oliver kept their relationship a secret. There was no one they cared very much about telling, and they found that they enjoyed the privacy. It was surprisingly easy for the two of them to make the transition from friends to boyfriends, and Percy found that the biggest change in their relationship was physical (not that he was complaining). The rest of the year passed in a bizarre mix of incredible stress due to end of year exams and the fight for the Quidditch Cup, and the unbelievable euphoria that came from a blossoming relationship. In the end, it paid off: Percy achieved twelve OWLs at the end of fifth year, with an Outstanding in every subject except Care of Magical Creatures and Astronomy, which he viciously decided were bollocks anyway. Oliver achieved nine OWLs and was very happy with his smattering of Acceptables and Exceeds Expectations. 

In sixth year, they continued to meet in secret. Oliver guiltily admitted to him at one point that he worried that the news would impact Fred and George’s performance on the Quidditch pitch, which didn’t offend Percy in any way at all—his relationship with them was only growing more strained, and he didn’t feel that the news would be met with anything other than mockery. He still attended every Quidditch match Oliver played with that blasted Gryffindor scarf, and even the rest of the Gryffindor team began to believe that Percy’s presence was a good omen. 

By seventh year, the secrecy was less purposeful and more of a habit. Percy and Oliver had their own focuses—Percy’s on academics and earning a Ministry internship, and Oliver’s on Quidditch—and so their paths didn’t always cross often. When they did—usually in the dorm—they made the most of it. It was a system that worked, and Percy appreciated Oliver more every day for his flexibility and understanding. 

Especially because his Head Boy duties were bloody exhausting.

“Hey.” Oliver looked up when Percy entered their dormitory. He looked pleasantly surprised. “I thought you’d still be in that meeting.”

Percy marched over to his bed, fuming. “Fred and George flooded the meeting room, and when I tried to move it to another room, they had Peeves pelt us all with chalk. I might have still held the meeting,” he admitted, “but then he threw an eraser that broke Penelope’s nose…”

Oliver winced, although whether it was with sympathy or jealousy that Percy’s ex-girlfriend was working so closely with him as Head Girl was anyone’s guess. “I could make them run extra drills,” he said thoughtfully. “They need it, anyway. All these wins are making them too comfortable. Too lax.”

Percy was not so cruel that he would use Oliver’s… exuberant drilling methods as extra punishment for his brothers, no matter how satisfying that mental image was. “No,” he sighed. “I just wish that they’d let me be.”

It was so difficult to be around his family these days. He knew that his ambitions varied greatly from his siblings’ and parents’, and it seemed that the closer Percy became to achieving his dreams, the wider the divide became. His mum was very proud, and his dad said he was proud… but sometimes Percy wondered if his father was watching for a sign that Percy was going to push someone in front of a train in order to get ahead. It had been the source of more than one argument that summer, and Percy wasn’t sure that he’d be going back home any time soon. 

The mattress dipped beside him, and then Oliver was lying down and wrapping his arms around Percy. “You’ll all sort it out,” he murmured. He kissed the top of Percy’s shoulder. “Your family is too tight-knit to let this separate you for long.”

“I dunno,” Percy muttered. He knew his dad was hurt that Percy wanted to advance within the Ministry—felt that Percy was saying a position like his wasn’t good enough. But Percy just couldn’t understand how his aspirations could be villainized. “I think that as long as I want more for myself, my dad'll think I’m an awful son.”

Oliver was quiet for a moment. “He wants you to succeed,” he said slowly. “I don’t doubt that. You shouldn’t doubt that, either.”

Percy looked up at the ceiling, trying hard to stop the tightening in his chest. “Bill and Charlie never had to deal with this. Everyone was proud of their accomplishments. Why the hell is it different for me?”

“You’re not Bill and Charlie,” Oliver said immediately. “And thank Merlin for that. I know I admired Charlie’s flying for a long time, but…” Percy felt Oliver shrug against his back. “You’re my favorite Weasley.”

Percy closed his eyes and leaned back into Oliver’s touch. “You’re the only person who’d say that,” he said, a touch fond and a touch regretful. 

“Mmm, maybe. Better be the only one who gets to tell you ‘I love you’, though.” 

That made Percy huff out a little laugh. “What do you think?”

“I think we’re perfect for each other,” Oliver said certainly. “Just a couple of blokes who have their priorities wrong.”

Percy turned his head and raised an eyebrow at Oliver. “Still sore about what McGonagall said to you last term?”

“I can’t believe she implied that I care more about winning than Potter’s life! He’s the best seeker we’ve ever seen—of course I don’t want him to get thrown off his broom!”

“So long as he catches the snitch first,” Percy said dryly. 

Oliver made a sound of protest. “Oi, I thought we were talking about you and your abandonment of your family for a fancy Ministry job.”

Percy shoved him off the bed to hide his amusement. “You’re a bloody menace. Can’t remember what I see in you.”

“I match your crazy,” Oliver said immediately, still on the floor. “And you match mine.” He still sounded awed by that, like he couldn’t quite believe his luck. It warmed Percy and chased away the last dredges of bitterness that Fred and George had scrounged up. 

Percy sat up and propped his chin on his hand. “I applied to that assistant position,” he said quietly. “The one for the assistant in the Department of International Magical Cooperation.”

Oliver’s eyes widened. “I thought you were going to wait to take your NEWTs before you sent anything in.”

“There was an opening,” Percy explained. They would follow up on his NEWTs, he was sure, and he had made sure that his intention to take all twelve was very clear in the letter he sent. “I wanted to get my name out there and present myself as a strong candidate early.”

Oliver nodded. “Couldn’t hurt.” He looked thoughtful. “Think you’ll get it?” 

Percy shrugged. If anyone else asked him, he’d confidently say yes, absolutely. But Oliver brought out a vulnerability in him that wasn’t present with anyone else. “I dunno. I hope so.” Another thought that had been haunting him—and was perhaps unfair—bubbled up his throat and he blurted out, “Sometimes I think that my family name will hurt my chances. They treat my father like a joke.”

He felt terrible as soon as the words left his lips, but it was also like a weight had been lifted now that he’d finally voiced that concern. If he was completely honest with himself—and that was a failing of his—he’d realize that his desire to distance himself from his father’s reputation was a strong motivator for his relentless quest to perform perfectly. He’d been treated like a joke his entire life, and he needed to end that chapter of his life—he needed to be free of it.

Oliver didn’t judge him—not outwardly, at least. “Do you think your dad’s a joke?”

“No,” he said honestly. “I think his work is underappreciated and not respected. But he doesn’t mind that, as long as he’s allowed to continue that work.” Percy’s hands fisted in his lap. “I can’t live like my father, Oliver. Maybe I’m not as strong as he is,” he added bitterly, “but I just can’t live like that.”

Oliver nodded. He didn’t say much, clearly mulling the situation over in his mind. While they were on the subject of underappreciated talents, Percy took a moment to admire Oliver’s careful consideration. He was a talented flyer, yes, but one couldn’t be a truly great Quidditch player if they didn’t understand strategy and tactic, and Oliver had the ability to come at a problem from multiple angles. Sometimes, late at night, Percy liked to watch his mind at work as he drew up his diagrams.

“If I do get the job,” Percy said suddenly, “and you’re picked up by a team, tell me what to expect.” When Oliver looked confused, he clarified. “For us. For our future together.”

“Well… I’ll go where I need to be,” Oliver said slowly. “Can’t really be choosy about that. But I wouldn’t ask you not to take a job if I was asked to move out of the country, if that’s what you’re asking.”

It sort of was, but Percy wasn’t sure he was satisfied with that answer. He feared the response, but he mustered up the courage to ask anyway. “I don’t see this as a school romance,” he began. “I’ve thought a lot about how I can’t imagine a life without you in it, and I don’t—I don’t make that decision lightly. Where do you see this heading?”

Oliver was silent for a long time. Percy waited as patiently as he could; he knew that Oliver was choosing his words carefully. “If I could choose…” Oliver swallowed thickly. “If I could choose exactly how it goes, then I’d be picked up by Puddlemere and live in Dorset with you. You’d Floo into the Ministry every morning for your fancy job, and we’d spend late nights together.”

It was easy to fall into the fantasy. “I imagine it’d be hard sometimes, with our conflicting schedules,” he mused. 

Oliver was ready. “It would, but we’d make it work. Eventually, once we’d straightened out some details, we’d get a pet neither of us had to worry about taking out. A kneazle, maybe, or an owl we could let out when we’re not home.”

Percy snorted. “Didn’t take you for the type.”

“We’d spend holidays at yours.” Oliver was getting excited now, leaning in. “Your mum’s cooking is better than mine. I’ve never tasted it, but I’ve seen what she sends you.”

“I’d take time off for your matches,” Percy offered, “if you don’t get angry when I work overtime.”

Oliver was on his knees now, right in front of Percy. He was looking up at Percy like he could see this future they were planning out—like it was all he would ever dream. “I’ll be a brilliant player,” Oliver continued softly. He took Percy’s hands in his. “So good that they move me from reserve to permanent player in record time. But I’m so bloody good that I’ll play too hard one day and have a terrible accident that prevents me from flying professionally again. After that, I might take up a coaching job somewhere, but you’ll be the main breadwinner.”

“Merlin.” Percy blinked, slightly horrified. “You couldn’t just retire?”

“I won’t leave that pitch unless I don’t have a choice,” Oliver said with more certainty than most people could muster in their lifetimes. “No, you’ll have to really support me during that time.”

Percy shook his head, bewildered. “That’s not the sort of imagining that I—”

“We’ll get through it,” Oliver interrupted. “And you’ll be promoted. Somewhere down the line, we’ll get another kneazle.”

“Oliver—”

“And I’ll think to myself, Merlin, how haven’t I married this man yet? And you’ll say something about ensuring financial security first, but at that point, we’ll have done that. So I’ll ask, or you’ll ask, and we’ll do it quietly. Everyone will wonder why it took us so long, but we’ll say that it’s sweeter that we waited for it. Why rush into it, when we’ve got the rest of our lives?”

Percy’s eyes were wet, and he could see that Oliver’s were, too. He felt unsteady, but it wasn’t as terrifying as he thought it should be. Oliver described the future so clearly, so brilliantly, and Percy had never felt so wanted—and he’d never wanted anything so much in his life. “I love you so much,” he said shakily.

Oliver raised his head enough to capture Percy’s lips in a chaste kiss. “I love you, too.”

It might have turned into something more, but footsteps in the stairwell reminded them that their roommates were due back soon. Percy took a breath to compose himself; it would be dinner soon, and he needed to look presentable as Head Boy. 

Oliver squeezed his hands. “I have practice tomorrow morning,” he reminded Percy after a beat. “Let me know if you hear back about that Ministry position, yeah?”

“I will,” Percy promised. It would impact their future, after all. 

The weeks passed too quickly. Percy and Oliver discussed life after school more and more, and it wasn’t long before it felt less like a dream and more like a plan. 

And then, one bright morning while Oliver was torturing the Gryffindor Quidditch team on the pitch, Percy received a letter with the morning post that bore the Ministry’s official seal. Percy grabbed it so eagerly that he nearly knocked poor Errol over, and he ripped it open to read the contents—

He’d been accepted.

It was a low-level position and he’d been warned to produce exemplary NEWT results at the end of the term, but his OWLs and professor recommendations had been impressive enough that he’d gotten the job. Percy stood abruptly, stuffing the letter into his pocket. He practically ran out of the hall, a poor example as Head Boy, but all he could think about was telling Oliver the news. 

It wasn’t until he’d burst into the changing rooms that he thought he’d been a little over-excited. 

“Merlin, Perce!” Fred made a show of covering his bare torso. “We’re not decent! Surely, whatever you’ve come to bust us for can wait until we’re dressed—”

“I’m not here for you,” Percy interrupted, ignoring for now that Fred and George had clearly caused some recent mischief. He could dole out justice later. “I’ve come for—”

“Percy!” Oliver came around the corner, his hair damp and a towel around his shoulders. “I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

Percy was suddenly embarrassed that he’d barged into their changing rooms. He bit his lip, wavering. “Maybe I should go…”

Fred and George muttered their agreements, but Oliver’s sharp glare shut them up in a way Percy had never been able to do. He turned back to Percy, a gleam of excitement in his eyes. “No, I want to hear what you ran all the way out here to say!”

It was obvious that Fred and George thought they were the subjects of his announcement; they eyed him very suspiciously and Percy noticed the subtle shift of Harry’s head that indicated he was curiously listening in. Percy paid his audience no mind and focused instead on Oliver. He took the letter out of his pocket and handed it to his boyfriend to read, hands shaking with excitement. Oliver read obediently, but Percy was too impatient to let him finish more than one paragraph.

“I got the job!” he burst out. He was grinning more widely than he’d ever done before. “I start in August—”

“You got the job!” Oliver shouted gleefully. He looked up at Percy, eyes bright. He laughed wildly. “I knew you would! I knew it—come here!”

He threw the letter onto a nearby bench and rushed over to Percy, lifting him off of his feet. Percy laughed at Oliver’s antics and was giddy enough that he didn’t think twice about kissing Oliver square on the mouth. When he pulled away, Oliver held him up a little longer—showing off his strength, no doubt—before setting him down. 

“My man,” Oliver crowed, “a Ministry employee already! Gotta be a record, Perce, to be hired before you’ve taken the bloody NEWTs—oi, Weasley!”

Oliver had cut his praise off to shout at Fred, who’d made some sort of strangled shout. He and George were staring at Oliver with unbridled horror. 

“George,” Fred whispered, “did you see that?”

George’s eyes were wide. “I’m afraid I did.”

“Wood just snogged our brother.”

“He snogged Percy.”

“Oi.” Oliver crossed his arms over his chest. “Of course I did. He’s very good at it.”

Fred and George let out strangled cries as Percy hissed, “Oliver.”

“What?” Oliver was unrepentant. “It’s the truth.”

Fred clapped his hands over his ears. “I don’t want to hear about that!” He took a hand off of one ear to point wildly between the two of them. “How did this even happen?” 

Percy frowned, unsure exactly how to feel about this line of questioning. “We’ve been dating since fifth year, if you must know,” he said stiffly. “I don’t know why you’re so shocked that the two of us might like each other—”

“Shit,” George breathed. He sent his twin a look of despair. “Fred, we’ll be doing bloody drills until we’re fifty.” 

Percy froze, knocked off-kilter. That… was not the assault on his dateability that he’d expected. “Er… what?”

“Can’t you find someone calmer, Perce?” Fred begged. “Someone who wouldn’t happily see us bleed if it meant securing the Quidditch Cup?”

Oliver looked offended. Percy’s lips twitched. 

George joined in. “Someone who doesn’t body check us in midair to prove a point about the correct way to sit on a broom.”

“Someone who respects a good night’s sleep.”

“Someone who doesn’t tell us to keep playing with a broken arm.”

“Someone who doesn’t show me how to use my own bat!”

“Whatever happened to Clearwater? She was a bore, but at least she was sane!”

They continued on, trading off complaints about Oliver and the tortures he’d inflict upon them should he stay connected to the Weasley family. Through it all, Percy couldn’t help but feel like their protests only solidified in his mind that Oliver was there to stay. 

He cast a fond glance at Oliver, who was muttering his own insults by questioning the twins’ dedication and loyalty to their house. “No,” he said. “He’s a little mad, I admit. But I can work with that.”

Oliver rewarded him with a small kiss. As Percy’s brothers turned away in disgust, Oliver whispered into Percy’s ear, “I’ll get them back for that.”

“Take your time,” Percy murmured back. “We’ll have plenty of it.”

The future wouldn’t unfold exactly as they planned, Percy knew, no matter how hard they wished it. But he didn’t doubt that Oliver would be there through it all, no matter what turns their paths took. All roads, Percy decided, would lead to each other.