Normal Days

In Percyʻs dream, heʻs sitting in a chair. It was his chair, but Oliver still felt the need to sit on it when he wasnʻt there—he knew, of course Percy knew, he put alarms on the damn chair. It was the most comfortable chair in all the wizarding world, his arm chair was. He made sure of it, even opening up the backing to put more stuffing in the cushions. 

Percyʻs sitting in his chair, well more like lounging, legs hanging off the arms. His hair was the same ginger, with a bit of white seeping into his temples, but that had been happening since his early 30s. Ron never got tired of teasing him about it, calling him old and whatnot. It didnʻt help that his beloved niece followed suit, calling him Uncle White Ginger in her toddler years. Oh, Percy would have decked Ron if Hermione hadnʻt found it so funny. 

So, lounging, doom scrolling through his iPhone, and trying to kill as many brain cells as he can. It was a lovely Saturday afternoon in Godricʻs Hollow. Oliver even went out with Potter and Ginny to do a few loops (despite two out of three of their jobs revolving around Quidditch). So here Percy was, finally able to relax in that peaceful silence he craves unceasingly. 

A TikTok pops up, one of a puppy just learning how to sit. Percy smiles at it. Oliver wanted to get a dog, and Percy had been arguing that they already had all of Percyʻs siblings and their children. But, look at the little guy. It was a golden retriever puppy and she was so fluffy. It reminded him of Harry’s dog, Stick. Percy sent it to the dummy account that he used to save his memes to show Oliver. The brute still didnʻt get a damn phone, even still pronounced electricity as “elektricity”.  

“Maybe we should get a dog.” Percy says, to no one in particular. But it would be fun. And going into their fifties with a companion wouldnʻt be so bad. Maybe heʻd bring it up tonight? Theyʻd be doing their weekly Weasley dinner at The Burrow. 

The door opens, and Percy smiles to himself. Oliver must have gotten home early, then. 

“Hey, Ollie!” Percy calls out, tucking his phone in his sweatpants pocket. “How was flying with Harry and my evil sister?” He doesnʻt answer back, which is weird, but heʻs probably caught up in getting the mud off his shoes. Or he better be caught up in getting the mud off his shoes because if Percy needs to clean up dirt from their kitchen floor because of his husbandʻs stupidity, then—

Percy hears the hammer of a gun get pulled back. 

And he knows the comforts of his arm chair no longer. 

Itʻs the wonderful connection of love, where two souls spend so much time together they become in tune with another. So not even ten minutes later, when Oliver arrived back to their little hovel early,  did he wipe his shoes on the carpet, shouting from their little porch area to where Percy was definitely still lounging in the stupid LazyBoy, the potato. 

“Perce! Your sister and brother-in-law tried to maim me! I swear, they donʻt know what it means to be gentle with the quaffle. Gin definitely tried her hardest to send me off my broom straight into Urgent Care. And I have to tell you about this thing that happened with Harry and Tony, it was really weird. I think Tony might come to visit a little later.” Oliver gives up, the mud caked on. Neville had been over and did something weird with Harryʻs Quidditch pitch. By the end of their matches, everyoneʻs shoes had been covered in cake-smelling dirt that was also resistant to most types of magic. 

“These bloody shoes.” Oliver mutters, stepping fully inside. Itʻs still quiet, not even Percyʻs ʻfoneʻ is playing those funny little videos he likes to watch when he thinks Oliver isnʻt home. “Also! Perce, what time do you want to go to your mumʻs?” 

Oliver always cracks up whenever they go over to Mrs.Weasleyʻs house because it seemed like a Quidditch team reunion each Saturday. Harry, Ginny, some of the old mates from Gryffindorʻs old Quidditch team, even Krum stopped by whenever he and Charlie were in town. But they were usually trouncing all over Europe, either busy with dragon, Quidditch, or both. He turns the corner to their parlor, a dishrag from the kitchen still scrubbing at his hands, not looking up when he talks, too caught up in trying to get the dirt out from his hands. 

A second bullet leaves the chamber. 

And in Oliverʻs dreams, he falls before he gets a chance to see Percyʻs face. 

Oliverʻs dreams begin to morph, the blood pooling out from his chest—a fatal shot—blurring into happier times. It was post-war, and Percy Weasley had officially run away from the Wizarding World. He stayed for Fredʻs funeral, then a few years later, for Georgeʻs wedding. And after that, two notes were written. Mrs.Weasley found one, and Oliver never revealed that other letter. It was read a hundred times through, etched into Oliverʻs skull, before burned by a strangerʻs lighter. 

They werenʻt dating, not at the time anyway. But they had both acknowledged well into their last year at Hogwarts, that something was there. Then jobs got in the way, and what could have been flirty coffee dates turned into quick letters back and forth, maybe staying over at Oliverʻs flat only to fall asleep before any love declarations could be made. 

But when Percy disappeared, it felt like Oliver had missed something important in his life. Like heʻd been asleep on all the good parts of life. So, he took the time off that had been piling up from Puddlemore and decided to cash in some favors to track down his favorite ginger. He found himself scouring America of all places, going from state to state for three long years. And whenever he could, sending out owls filled with replies to Percyʻs letter, telling him explicitly how he felt about Percy up and leaving. Near the beginning, they were howlers. Oliverʻs not ashamed to admit that.

But near the end of year three of his search, somewhere in Alaska and looking into military outposts, he had sat himself down to write the monthly letter. And felt something tugging at his heart. He couldnʻt quite pin it down, until he started sobbing, curling up outside of the US Navy recruitment center. That letter to Percy was the longest one sent, and also the longest thing Oliver had ever written. Line by line, Oliver dissected how much he missed Percy. How much the “what-ifs” weighed on him. 

Then, not even a week later, his owl comes back with an envelope. Heavy-duty cardstock with a muggle ʻfotograffʻ inside, and smiling back in a button-up printed with flowers and khaki pants, was Percy himself. No less pale, despite the tropic background, with a square shaped hat and something rectangular in his hand. On the cardstock was a date, a time, and an address, in Hawaiʻi . 

Now, Oliver was never known for his patience. But war had changed him, made him know the dire need that came with waiting, with perfecting, and making sure that when something was done, it was done on the first try. 

But the war was done. And so was Oliver with Percyʻs bullshit. Within minutes, he apparated to the Honolulu branch of magic, then used every single string and award to his name to his advantage, getting driven to UH Mānoa within the hour (with the offer for an island tour at a later date, which Oliver would drag Percy to once they had the screaming match of the century). 

“Thank you!” Oliver says, waving off the driver. The driver holds up his thumb and pinkie at him, pointer, middle, and ring finger down. Weird. 

Oliver, not dressed for tropics in any sense of the word, sticks out like a sore thumb—-his heavy coat and ski pants weighing him down. He ducks into a library (he assumes), gets taken aback by the naked women painted on the wall, then finds the bathroom. Transfiguring his clothes to match Percyʻs in his ʻfotograffʻ (but the shirt was red and gold because Oliver needed to rep Gryffindor). His head spins a little bit, briefly winded from the transfiguration magic he did, but that was just the tradeoff he got for being too lazy to dig out his wand. Now, to find his dumbass redhead. 

For one brief second, Oliver considered that he was in a library, and that if he shouted loud enough, Percy would be able to hear him in here. He considered it again. Then after the fifth minute of debating whether or not screaming, “Weasley you daft moron where are you,” He heard a very familiar gasp.

Percy continues to dream, moving closer in his sleep to Oliver, as their little cottage in a meadow melts away to Hamilton LIbrary. 

At the time, he needed to get away from his family, from seeing Fredʻs dead face in Georgeʻs. From magic itself. So Percy, doing the most illogical thing in a logical fashion, wrote down each state on a little piece of parchment, tossed them all in a hat, then picked out the one that said “Hawaii”. Applying as a non-traditional and international student, he was able to get almost all of his tuition waived. He went under a pseudonym so their magical branch wouldnʻt make a fuss out of hosting one of the “war heroes” (Percy had never considered himself one of those. He couldnʻt be a hero of something that had taken so much, he couldnʻt be a winner). 

Heʻd always liked numbers, so he enrolled as an accounting student. Quickly picking up how a laptop worked, what “pidgin” was, and that there were just as many jokes for gingers in muggle culture than there were in wizard culture. 

In his first week, Atlas, Oliverʻs owl, has somehow found its way to his dorm. Which was a problem, since these were some of the fancier dorms that held the international students. So a brown barn owl usually found in Britain attracted a good majority of passersby interest in Mānoa. Atlas was welcomed in, and Percy made sure to feed him and make sure he was in good health before sending him off. There was no way he would be reading that letter anytime soon. Because from the war, Percy had learned that no good things came without another shoe that would drop and destroy everything Percy held dear. 

Of course, this wasnʻt war times. The letter was read within the hour. A reply written before the end of the day. And so it continued, Atlas somehow flying from the continent—because Oliver was looking for him, Oliver wanted to find him (Oliver wanted to gut him and flay him like a fish when he found him, too, but that's besides the point). And with each letter, there was a reply. The replies were so numerous that Percy started putting all of them in a little box, with broomstick themed washi tape around the edge of it. Because he didn’t send any of them, just watched as they piled up in numbers and dust. 

His studies were fun, Percy building a community that he had never known he needed. The people in his classes, while not like him in terms of wizard, had the same drive for knowledge. He learned, too, about Americaʻs really complicated relationship with slavery. He grimaced, maybe muggle history was something that should be looked into more often, seeing as how some of their wars line up alarmingly well with some of the Wizarding Worldʻs. 

Then, on a sweltering Tuesday afternoon, Atlas comes gracefully waltzing into the lobby, waiting for Percy. After Percy explained it was part of his culture and that the owl was really well behaved, Atlas became a favorite among Lincoln Dorm, and UH Mānoa as a whole. Turns out owls were really popular within Hawaiian culture, too. 

“Hi Atlas, letʻs get you some treats.” Percy says, letting Atlas hop onto his shoulder as they ride the elevator to his roomʻs floor. In the metal box, Percy takes the thicker-than-normal envelope and starts to read. 

Perce, it starts out. Oliverʻs never called Percy that in any of the letters. Itʻs always been “You bastard”, or “Weasley”, and most recently “Princess Percy”. But never the old nickname. 

Perce, I want to spend the rest of my life together with you. The letter continues. Percy almost forgets to step outside of the elevator. 

When I find you, letʻs do the entire dating thing. Well, first weʻre going to fight. Verbally and maybe even physically (I hope youʻve gotten stronger because Iʻm talking about with fists and not with wands). But after that, I know weʻll make up. We always do. Percy settles Atlas with some food, and closes his window. This letter was different, it seemed. 

Oliver then listed out each date he wanted to take Percy on, some were the regular wizarding ones of Quidditch matches and magical creature emporiums. But the majority were muggle activities. Going to the movies, trying different muggle foods from different states— They're called beignets, Perce, and they taste like love, which is why I thought of you. 

Then, near the end, on the backside of page eight, Oliver lists out what their wedding would be like. From who would be on the guest list, to the food, to who would be the one dressed in the white robes, and even whoʻd officiate, Krum, just to make him sweat . 

And when Percy was done with the letter, heʻd never wanted something so bad in his life. Atlas returned to Oliver with Percyʻs graduation announcement. He was able to graduate a semester early due to scheduling and a few summer courses. 

Spiritually and emotionally drained, Percy decided to unwind and do some studying at the library. Putting him in his current situation, a very real three-year-older Oliver Wood in a Gryffindor-themed aloha shirt standing right in front of him with the stupidest expression on his face. 

“Perce?” Oliver asks, and. And itʻs a library. Even though it gets pretty loud during midterm season, itʻs still a library. But that doesnʻt stop Percy. 

“OLIVER!” The ginger tackles the other to the floor, wrapping him in a hug. Heʻs pretty sure heʻs crying. Heʻs pretty sure Oliver is crying, too. 

“PERCY!” Oliver replies, picking up the ginger. 

A few months later, Percy graduates with his bachelors in Accounting, a shiny gold ring on his left hand. And showering him in lei after lei are his mum, his siblings, even Ronʻs newest addition to the Weasley family, and his loving husband. 

After quitting his job a year into the search for Percy, they both decide to move back to Britain, Percy getting his Masterʻs at a muggle university based in London, then temporarily moving with Oliver back to Oʻahu for his PhD. Post graduation, they settle in Godric Hollow. Oliver spends that first year simply getting back in shape, constant practices with Percyʻs sibling, his old teammates, and Harry Potter himself. In another life, Potter really could have made a prodigious Beater. When Percy received his Master’s of Accounting, Oliver was accepted back into the team as a fulltime player. 

Sometimes it was rough, Percyʻs long hours in front of spreadsheets combined with Oliverʻs long hours on the pitch led to more than one fight about chores and food and other things people needed to sustain themselves, thrown to the wayside because of both of their workaholic streaks. Especially when Oliver was commuting near daily from Europe to a little island out in the Pacific near daily.

Then, as all things were with Percy and Oliver, it was sorted out, and they were better for it. And thatʻs how marital bliss seemed to take over their life for twenty odd years. Percy finished up his PhD, thinking about taking up a teaching position at the University. Oliver thought about maybe doing a bachelorʻs programme, if only to have something to fall back on when he was too injured to play Quidditch. 

Which was probably fast approaching whether he liked it or not, his injuries had even begun to take a hold on his magical reserves. 

Overall, it was that type of bliss that didnʻt announce itself in its happiness, choosing instead to crawl its way through their everyday ministrations. And, for Percy, it was worth the war to climb into bed after a long day, knowing that Oliver would already be there or soon join him. 

Percy wakes up lazily from his dream, the sound of a gunshot still ringing in his ears. Instead of a 48 year old man, with whitening temples and a possibly permanent hunch in his back from studying so hard, he had woken up in an all too familiar dorm room. Oliver is under him, sawing at logs in his sleep—which makes sense since moon light still comes down in droves. Percy should sit upright, find his glasses and start making a plan to figure out what heʻs doing here—heʻd been workin on autopilot for most of yesterday. 

And, actually Percy canʻt really remember if him and Oliver ever shared a bed in their last year of Hogwarts—but itʻs been so long, and the war definitely messed with his memories, that Percyʻs just been going off of what Oliverʻs been doing. Oliver in his bed? Then who is Percy to say no to that. 

Yesterday, when Percy fucking died he sat upright in one of his studying spots, Snapeʻs stupid essay sprawled out before him. No bullet hole through his heart, but the same scars from his near fifty years of life. And, for all of the times that Percy could have time jumped to, heʻd rather it not be this one. Because he remembers that essay vividly, viscerally. No amount of death eaters could make him forget the assignment that almost cost him his entry-level job into the Ministry. And Percy sure as bloody hell used the bloodlust to fell some of the corrupted ministry workers in the “bad-half” of the war. 

Then, Oliver put him out of his bad mood by finding him. Because thatʻs what Oliver did, looked for Percy, and wouldnʻt stop till they met again. Warmth flooded his chest. Even in school, it seemed like Oliver had his own way of expressing his love, huh. 

But back to the entire, ‘I died and got transported back to my high school body’, Percy was generally against messing around with the timeline. But. 

But. 

But Fred was still here. And it was so early in Harryʻs schooling, that Voldemort didnʻt even come back. The bulk of the corruption that felled the ministry wouldnʻt occur for another three years. Percy could do a lot in three years. He got a muggle college education in three years. He could save the world. And, maybe, Percy mused as he slowly let sleep claim him again, maybe he could jump start those two decades together with Oliver a few years earlier.