Chapter Text
You hug your mother and your father tightly, wishing them goodbye as you grab your trunk. You were at Platform 9 3/4, dressed like a muggle because your father had driven you there in his weird muggle car, like his father drove him. You suppose it's somewhat of a tradition.
The whistle blows, and your parents shoo you along, telling you there's only five minutes left to board. Your mother kisses your cheek affectionately, and you wave goodbye as you walk towards the brilliant scarlet train.
You lug your trunk into a gleaming car, waving to your parents once again before moving in to pick a compartment at random. You slide its door open, marching in with your trunk behind you. There is a redheaded boy with glasses, reading one of the schoolbooks. He glances up at you for a moment, but continues reading. You take this as permission to join him.
You hoist your trunk up by his, in the rack above the seats, and sit down across from him.
He continues reading. You fidget.
The train pulls out from the station. There is a lot of steam, and it fogs the window a bit.
He turns the page of his book. You fidget some more in the uncomfortable silence.
"You have a lot of freckles," you finally blurt out.
The boy starts, looking at you and glancing at his arm, which is weird because he's wearing long sleeves. You watch as his fair cheeks bloom in color. He blinks at you, and you blink back.
"Is that a compliment or an insult?" he asks, and you shiver because your whole stomach is tingling, and you just keep looking at him, blinking in shock.
"A, um, a compliment..?" you managed to get out, wondering where in the world your confidence ran off to.
He blinks again, the blush spreading across his nose and to the tips of his ears. He closes his book, slipping a scrap of parchment between the pages before laying it on the bench next to him. His hands are shaking subtly as he pushes up the sleeve of his right arm, and there it says you have a lot of freckles, chocolate brown flourishes slowing to a stop.
You follow his lead, lifting up your muggle tee shirt to show your belly, where is that a compliment or an insult curls around your abdomen, lines still flowing out like vermillion rays.
He stares at you, and you stare right back, letting your shirt fall as you move your hands away.
"Oliver," you blurt, because you hate this weird silence. "Oliver... Wood."
You extend your hand to the redhead. He takes it, and you shake firmly, relishing the warmth you get when your hands touch.
"Percy, uh, Weasley. Percy Weasley."