The crisp autumn wind whipped through the stands at Hogwarts, signaling the end of another Quidditch season. The final match was fast approaching, and Oliver Wood was more determined than ever. He had returned to Hogwarts to help coach the Gryffindor team for one last season, and he was not about to let them down. But as he stood on the pitch, his thoughts kept straying from the game. His attention flickered toward the stands, where Percy Weasley sat, a notebook clutched in his hands, scribbling notes furiously.
Oliver had always known Percy as the uptight, rule-abiding Weasley. Always focused on the right thing, never one for distractions, especially not Quidditch. But lately, Percy’s gaze had lingered on the field longer than usual, and Oliver had begun to wonder if there was more to it than just the game.
When practice ended, and the team began to disperse, Oliver walked over to the stands, his broom tucked under his arm. He saw Percy, his brow furrowed in concentration as he continued scribbling in that damn notebook.
“Hey, Percy,” Oliver called, grinning as he approached.
Percy looked up, his face softening slightly. “Oliver. Shouldn’t you be with the team?”
“I am,” Oliver replied, sitting down next to him. “But I needed a break. You’re out here watching the practice every time. What’s up with that?”
Percy hesitated, closing his notebook and shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “I’ve been taking notes,” he muttered. “It’s… interesting. Quidditch. The way it works. The strategy. The speed of it all.”
Oliver raised an eyebrow, an amused smile tugging at his lips. “Interesting, huh? You’ve never seemed interested before.”
“I haven’t, but now I see what it’s about. It’s chaotic, but there’s something about the way everything comes together. The way you all work as a team.” Percy shifted in his seat again, avoiding Oliver’s gaze. “It’s… impressive.”
“Is it an interest in Quidditch or an interest in me?” Oliver asked, his voice teasing, but there was a flicker of something else behind his words. He wasn’t sure if Percy even realized what he was asking.
Percy froze for a moment, his cheeks flushing slightly. He glanced at Oliver, eyes widening just a touch before he quickly looked away. “What? No, I— I didn’t mean it like that,” he stammered, his voice rising slightly in panic. “I’m just—”
Oliver chuckled, though there was a warmth to it. “You’re a lot more interesting than I thought, Percy. Always so serious and uptight, but you’ve got fire in you. You’re telling me you’ve never thought about playing Quidditch? Giving it a go?”
Percy shifted uncomfortably, his eyes narrowing in something akin to fear. “I’m not sure it’s… something I’d be good at,” he muttered. “I’ve always been about control. Quidditch is unpredictable, and I don’t—”
“You don’t like losing control?” Oliver finished for him, leaning in just slightly. “There’s more to life than control, you know. You’ve got more potential than you think. I can see it.”
Percy bit his lip, struggling internally with the thought of it. He had always prided himself on being the reliable one, the one who kept things together. Quidditch— chaotic, physical, and wild—was so far removed from the world he’d built for himself. The world where everything was in its place. And yet, there was something about Oliver’s presence, his smile, the way he carried himself that made Percy feel like he was on the edge of something new, something terrifyingly out of his control.
“I don’t know,” Percy whispered, his heart racing in a way he wasn’t used to. "I just… I can’t."
Oliver's grin softened. "Maybe you can. But only if you let go. You might surprise yourself."
---
The after-party for the match was in full swing by the time Percy arrived, his thoughts still swirling with Oliver’s words. The Gryffindor common room was alive with chatter, music, and laughter as everyone celebrated the team’s victory. But for Percy, it felt more like a battle within himself. He couldn’t deny the pull he felt toward Oliver, the way his heart beat a little faster whenever their eyes met.
Fred and George Weasley were, predictably, causing mischief at the punch bowl, their identical grins mischievous as they swapped jokes with Lee Jordan. Percy overheard Lee and Fred whispering quietly to each other, their eyes locked in a way that made Percy do a double-take. There was something more between them than just friendship, something secret.
"Lee Jordan and Fred?" Percy muttered under his breath to himself, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. "What the hell..."
He quickly averted his gaze, but then his eyes landed on Oliver again. Oliver, standing by the fire, surrounded by the team, laughing and talking. And for the first time, Percy realized that it wasn’t just Quidditch that fascinated him. It was Oliver, too. The way he was unafraid to live, to embrace the chaos of the game, to be himself.
“You coming over or what?” Fred’s voice interrupted his thoughts, pulling him out of his reverie. Percy turned, his gaze faltering.
“I— I’m fine,” Percy muttered. “Just… getting some air.”
But Fred, ever the troublemaker, raised an eyebrow. “You’re not fooling anyone, Percy. You’ve got your eye on someone.”
Percy’s face flushed, but before he could respond, Oliver appeared at his side, a knowing grin on his face.
“Mind if I steal him for a second?” Oliver asked Fred, and before Percy could react, he was being led to the far corner of the room.
“What’s going on with you, Percy?” Oliver asked softly once they were out of earshot, his voice low but teasing. “You’re acting like you’ve never kissed anyone before.”
Percy’s heart raced. The words felt too heavy in the air, and he struggled to keep his composure. “I… I don’t know what you mean.”
Oliver stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. He reached up, gently cupping Percy’s chin, tilting his face to meet his gaze. There was no denying the heat between them now, the tension, the unspoken attraction.
“Is this what you’ve been avoiding?” Oliver asked, his voice low. “Because I won’t bite if you don’t want me to.”
Percy’s mind raced. There was a part of him that wanted to step away, to retreat back into the safety of his rules and his control. But then he saw the sincerity in Oliver’s eyes, the warmth, the softness. And for the first time, Percy didn’t want to run.
His breath caught as Oliver leaned in, pressing their lips together in a soft, tentative kiss. Percy froze at first, unsure, but then he felt it—the heat, the rush, the way everything else seemed to fade away. He kissed back, slowly at first, then with more urgency as the room around them seemed to blur.
The cheers from the party broke the silence, but neither of them pulled away. Instead, they held the kiss, a moment of pure connection that neither could deny.
From the other side of the room, Fred and George were watching with knowing grins, exchanging glances that spoke volumes.
“About time,” Fred whispered to George, his voice barely audible over the music.
“I knew it,” George replied, shaking his head in amusement. “Poor Percy. Took him long enough to admit it.”
Over by the window, Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas stood, pretending to sip their drinks while stealing glances at each other. Their hands brushed briefly, but neither seemed to notice how obvious they were being.
“Did you see that?” Seamus whispered, his voice practically a squeak. “Percy and Oliver? I swear, I saw that coming from miles away.”
Dean chuckled softly, though his eyes never left the couple. “We should’ve gotten them together ages ago.”
---
As the party continued into the night, Percy found himself standing at Oliver’s side, finally at peace with the feelings he’d been trying to suppress for far too long. He wasn’t afraid anymore. He was exactly where he was supposed to be.
And for the first time in a long while, he didn’t need to have everything in perfect order. Some things were meant to be a little chaotic, after all.
**End.**