Normal Days

Like everyday, Oliver woke up with the sun.

 It was a habit heʻd gotten into from childhood, before he turned eleven. Ma had a homestead, with a few livestock but mostly farmland. Da, born a wizard, but with parents that had no magic, taught Oliver how to harvest wheat and potatoes before riding a broom. Though Oliver preferred the broom lessons over the scythe. At eight, heʻd beat the sun by a hair and helped Ma with turning over the soil, or feeding the chickens. Then, when afternoon struck, heʻd go out and do laps with Da over their property. 

He never really talked about his quasi-muggle upbringing because they were still disconnected from a good majority of the muggle populace, choosing instead to get their goods from wizarding shops or their neighbors. Plus, it was funny watching Percy build up a fit over how he pronounces electricity. Of course he knew how to say it! One of his favorite movies, to the testament of his patronus, was the Sorcerer’s Apprentice after all.

 But there were always fond memories of helping Ma with cooking or Da with the repairs to their house, manual or magical. And it was these memories that were able to be passed down when he and Perce bought their house, Oliver doing most of the regrouting and electric-work by hand. He missed his parents in the latter days, Da falling ill of a weak heart, and Ma passing shortly after from a broken heart. Since Oliver was their only kid and was living permanently in the Magical World, he gave the land to the neighbors, volunteering his time in the summer to help with the harvesting. 

Oliver shakes his head a bit. He was getting off track, and the bed was still so warm with Percy huddled close to him. Sleepiness began to tug at him, but he needed to start his day or heʻd never get out of bed. 

“Perce, Perce wake up.” Oliver whispers, lighting shaking the ginger. Percy doesnʻt move, or even acknowledge him. “Lazy sod,” He says fondly, fully shoving the ginger off of him so he can piss and figure out how they're sneaking off campus. 

Yeah, so Oliver woke with the sun. And yesterday, after getting sniped through the heart, he still woke up to the sun. Except he was on a broom, which was only a plus for him. So he corralled his husband, who was also still a teen—trippy—and got the stupid genius food. 

Finding his toothbrush, Oliver stares back at a face almost 30 years younger. Then he looked a little closer. Pulling down his shirt over his left side, he was met with the scar Dolohov gave him in the last battle. He took a shaky breath, righting his shirt and smoothing out the wrinkles. It looked odd, the healed over scar on a young body. On his young body. He spits, then goes out to find acceptable clothes to break school rules. 

It was like stepping into a memory, with how nostalgic the room was. Their leftovers were out on Percyʻs desk, prim and tidy. With books and Quidditch magazines spread out over Oliverʻs—the magazines with the bends and creases that came with overuse and the books barely cracked at the spine. Some quills were sprawled out over his side of the desk, too. He grimaces at the offending writing utensil, he missed the muggle ball point pens that had been adopted by a majority of the Wizard World, especially in the 2000s. Good thing Percy wants to go and buy some, by sneaking out no less!

Wrinkling his brows, something doesnʻt fit. Usually, Percy isnʻt the one to break the rules. Right? But, the stress of finals must be getting to him, and Percy ‘I didn’t want therapy so I ran away to get my accounting degree in the Hawaiian islands’ Weasley was not really known as the most rational person in Oliver’s eyes. So Papermate pens he would have!

Yeah, Oliverʻs time with the Order didnʻt help any of his mental health troubles. Even from his Hogwarts time, he had some sort of anxiety and paranoia thing that he didnʻt bother going to a Medi-witch for. Not like Pomfrey—Poppy in the later years he knew her, wouldn’t have given a rat’s arse about his health. Then, when he had to do honest-to-Merlin spy work and learn how to do all of the little evasive and invasive fibs? Oliverʻs long term and short term memory was fucking fried unless he had a real investment in keeping it. And his high school times, though precious, were so damaging that he eventually locked most of it up in little vials, kept in the basement of their hovel about thirty years in the future. 

So heʻs just been following Percyʻs lead. Percy says ‘I love you’? Well, who is Oliver to not keep a good thing going? Percy goes into bed with him? Sure, Oliver can roll with the punches. Percy wants pens? Yeah, letʻs go get some pens!

Oliver finally finds a clean black turtleneck and some old muggle jeans. Alright, wardrobe secure, time to wake up the ginger. With clothes in one hand, Oliver grabs one of the pillows from his bed then chucks it at Percy. Lovingly, of course. 

“OI WAKE UP!” And oh boy does it work, Percy snapping to attention, taking stock of the room and the pillow that just got launched in his face, then throwing said pillow right back, also shouting. 

“BLOODY HELL WHY ARE YOU YELLING?” 

Ah, the Weasley temper. Reminds Oliver of home. Laughing, but still yelling, Oliver responds, “BECAUSE WE NEED TO GO BREAK SCHOOL RULES NOW!” 

“Ughh.” Percy says, falling back onto his bed. “My pens.” 

“Your pens. Now go get ready.” Percy glares at him, but rolls off the bed nonetheless. 

After leaving the common room, they venture out to the courtyard where McGonagall usually meets up with the students to take them to Hogsmeade. But Hogsmeade definitely didnʻt have the very muggle creation that Percyʻs osteoporosis-riddled hands craved.

“If we aparate to Diagon Alley from Hogsmeade, we could probably catch the Knight Bus to one of the stores in London.” Percy offers, and Oliver nods along. 

“Yeah, thatʻs probably the safest bet. And I donʻt think thatʻs even against school rules. We should probably stop off at Gringotts to get some muggle money, too.” 

Percy hums in agreement, and they go hand in hand down to Hogsmeade. 

They go hand in hand. 

Percy looks down as they walk, to their interlocked fingers. Shit, did he reach for Oliverʻs hand? Or did Oliver reach for his? Did they even date in seventh year?? Fuck, Percy canʻt remember and they also went straight to get his pens, so his poor caffeine addiction was not fed. Theyʻre just passing the Shrieking Shack, walking in near-asleep silence. Oliver was trying to stay awake, Percy was trying to remember if he should be freaking out over something as stupid as hand holding, that they both miss the two alarmed sets of eyes. Meanwhile, Percy was thinking about how warm Oliverʻs hand was, the early morning chill was something that Percy forgot to factor in so he forgot his gloves. As long as no one saw, right?

“OI WOOD, GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY BROTHER!” Oh for fuckʻs sake, Percy was about to fight whatever higher being kicked him back to this timeline. They both turn around, hands still intertwined, to see a much younger Hermione and Ron. Percy was taken aback at how tiny they were. And how sweet they looked. Aw. 

“Ronald, stop being stupid!” Hermione says, hitting him on the head. Percy tries his best to hide his laugh, Oliver does not. Guffawing in great bellowing chuckles as Ron manages to go even redder. “Just because you canʻt control Ginnyʻs dating life doesnʻt mean you can control Percyʻs.”

“Ginnyʻs what?” Hermione shuts her mouth with a click, Ron looking really smug. 

“Ginnyʻs got a boyfriend, we saw them down at—” Oliver cuts him off, rolling his eyes. 

“Ginnyʻs scary enough to fend for herself. So is Percy, Ron.” Oliver pins Ron with a look, and Ron has just enough decency to look ashamed. “Cʻmon Percy, letʻs go.” 

“Where are you two going then?” Ron asks as Percy and Oliver make their way to the apparition zone. 

“Weʻre gonna FUC—” Oliver gets cut off real fast by Percy, who bodily slams into him while cupping a hand over his mouth. 

“BYE.” Percy yells, hopefully loud enough so they donʻt hear what Oliver was trying to say. Ron, however, has good ears, and starts running at them, shouting at Oliver. Oliver laughs, he and Percy breaking into a sprint for the apparition zone. Percy stumbles a bit, Oliver catching him. Then, while looking right at Ron, Oliver draws Percy close and kisses him on the cheek, apparating away. 

When they get to Diagon Alley, they both end up falling to the floor, laughing. 

“YOU DUMBASS,” Percy howls, near clutching his side. 

“Itʻs going to be all over Hogwarts by the time lunch rolls around.” Oliver says, trying to catch his breath. 

“Forget about lunch, the students and staff will probably know before the breakfast comes rolling out.” Percy accuses, starting up a new laughing fit. 

“Ok, come on, Loverboy,” Percy says, pulling Oliver up, “We have to go and get my pens.” Percy makes off for The Leaky Cauldron, but Oliver pulls him away. 

“Wait! We need to go to Gringotts first, canʻt be walking into an ABC store and paying with knuts.” Oliver says, grabbing Percy by his forearm and dragging him in the opposite direction.

Diagon Alley was busy as always, stocked with the various witches and wizards doing their shopping or meeting up with friends for an early breakfast. Gone were the signs of war, whether active or three years past, instead it was the Diagon Alley from their childhood. Rustic and loving, the entire space having a feeling of permanency, no matter how false such unspoken promises would be a sparse three years from now. 

Percy lets himself be dragged along. ABC stores? 

“ABC Store? They have those in London?” 

Oliver shrugs, “There were more than enough of them in Waikīkī to make up for London if not.” 

Percy snorts, “Yeah, oh do you remember those stupid tiki magnets?” 

“How could I forget! Made with the ‘magic of the island’, I was so surprised the actual magical committee didnʻt suspend them from muggle stores just because they could.” 

“They should have!” Percy exclaimed, smiling. Oliver smiled back. 

“Youʻre pretty when youʻre smiling.” Oliver says, not really noticing he said it aloud. Percy smiles wider, drawing close to the other. 

“Just when Iʻm smiling?” 

“No, but when you smile the rest of the world seems to take a backseat.” 

“So poetic.” Percy mumbles, his blush spreading from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. Oliver smiles back, opening the door to Gringotts for him. 

They're both hit with the cold chill of Gringotts bank. Just as grand as always, the tall walls built from limestone and marble serving as a direct contrast with the goblins that ran the entire bank. It doesnʻt take too long to get the £200 from Oliverʻs account (because now that Oliver knows the full scope of the Weasleyʻs financials, thereʻs no way heʻs ever going to make Percy pay for anything in life again). Was 200 a bit of an overkill? Maybe, but Oliver knew it would be good to have some muggle money set aside. Percy is already waving his wand to signal the Knight Bus. A lanky adult opens the door, Oliver telling him the closest muggle shopping center. If he remembers right, this would be the one with the really good chicken bowls. Maybe they could get lunch after this? 

The ride is just as nauseating as Percy remembers, holding the handle above the chairs with one hand and clinging tight to Oliverʻs arm. Oliver being so tiny again also threw Percy for a loop. His Quidditch practices post-graduation had him almost twice the size of Percy in just bulk. And Percy also filled out in the later 30s. So seeing itty bitty Oliver like this, who was just below Percyʻs height and didnʻt get his last growth spurt, was a bit endearing. 

“Want to go to that chicken bowl place after this?” Oliver asks, knocking his head lightly against Percyʻs. 

“Sure, maybe we could go to that milkshake place Rosie likes too?” Oliver snickers. 

“I have no idea how she was the only one to get your sweet tooth.” 

“Because sheʻs just a genetically better Weasley, sheʻs got Hermioneʻs smarts after all.” Percy says. Oliver rolls his eyes. With most of the Weasleyʻs married off, there had been a very clear division of “Genius” and “Jock”, with Percy and Oliver firmly marking the groupings as their head. And the “Genius” category was very, very limited. At one point there had been an argument that lasted most of Saturday dinner on whether or not Ron should be in the “Genius” category. 

The Knight Bus stops just outside of the mall, the lanky wizard tipping his hat to them but not pulling away from his conversation with the shrunken head. 

Not that the couple minded, already heading towards the stationary shop. Oliver was a bit more careful out here, though, hands firmly in his pockets as they went up the escalator. Percy was talking about the history of the mall because of course he knew the history of this mall, and Oliver was content to listen, admiring the way the otherʻs eyes lit up as he talked about the protests around the construction of the building. He just couldnʻt get over how young this Percy was. His Percy, just in a little bitty package—with a full head of orange hair, too. 

“—And thatʻs when the Aurors had to come in and obliviate the entire muggle population!” Percy finishes with a flourish, then looks around nervously to make sure aforementioned muggles didnʻt hear that. 

“They had it coming after trying to release a djinn in a Tesco’s, what did they think was going to happen?” 

“You wouldʻve done the same thing, Wood.” 

“Yeah, and?” Oliver smiles, Percy smacks him on his shoulder. 

They enter the shop still bickering playfully, Percy making a beeline for the Papermate section. Oliver didnʻt quite know how to explain it, but this place smelled like a muggle place. With magic, there was excitement in the air, especially at Hogwarts where something astounding, dangerous, or fun was waiting around the corner. Especially with the enrollment of Harry ʻI killed a full grown Mountain Troll in my first year and it only got worse from thereʻ Potter. But with this place, it felt still. Like a quiet library, or an out of the way cafe. It was a small store, little shelves of colorful stationery sets dotting the wall, with sample paper crafts near the front. On the right, where Percy had migrated to, were little containers full of pens, pieces of paper in front of most of the jars to test the ink. 

Oliver waves at the lady behind the counter, going to look at the post-it notes. If he wasnʻt mistaken, Percyʻs birthday was coming up and Oliver should probably get a head start on that. So a handful of post-its, some of that Japanese washi tape he liked at Uni (maybe he would start that addiction early). Meanwhile, Percy was trying to decide on the multi-color pack or a full black set. He put the multi-color set back, remembering how absolutely shit the yellow one was. 

And, hey, only £5!? Percy decided to look the fuck around, Merlin he loved the UK in the 90s, everything so mindblowingly cheap. Oliver is in the post-it section, but Percy has his eyes on the lined folder paper. And the composition notebooks. Percy almost drooled at the site of college-ruled pressed paper. He missed not having to just hope he wrote in straight lines. Then, when he got the dotted paper?? Fuck London, he and Oliver might have to look into international passports so Percy could raid the stationary there.

“Could I help you two young men with anything?” The lady over the counter asks. Oliver beats him to a reply, putting on a dashing smile and playing up his accent (as he always did to impress the older ladies). 

“Thank you maʻam, but I think we're good. Need to do some final exam shopping is all.” The lady waves him off. 

“Oh, I know what you mean. My Gilligan is always running low on lead for those new pencils nowaday. Struggling in history, that one is.” 

“What grade is he in?” Percy joins in, going through their notebook selection. Would McGonagall even care if he turned in folder paper instead of the usual scroll? Probably not, she was one of the teachers in charge of going to help the muggleborn students. So she was probably more aware of muggle stationary than other professors. Snape wouldnʻt even grade his paper, Percy could already tell. 

“Just entered his last year, bless him heʻs already looking at colleges.” 

“Oh, me and Perce are in our last year, too!” The lady gasps, delighted. 

“What are the odds! Do you have anything lined up?” 

“Iʻve been looking for entry level positions in the Ministry, or maybe a nice Uni.” 

Oliver nods, Percy going right into a college after Hogwarts? What a strange thought. “I play Qui-uh.” He looks at Percy who mouths the muggle equivalent. “Football! I play Football, Iʻve been looking at some teams that might need a reserve player.” Oliver grabs a few more post-its before taking it to the counter, Percy following suit. 

“Oh, Gilligan was never much for sports, but heʻs in his schoolʻs chess team. Smart boy, heʻs bringing the school up to the Nationals next weekend. Is this all dearies?” 

“Yup!” She pulls out a few pieces of paper from behind the desk as she talks. 

“Since you're two bright young lads, I have a few store coupons just for you,” She scans the barcodes, then pulls out another flier. “And if youʻre interested, his match is at the community center, just a few ways away from here. Iʻm pretty sure thereʻs a bus stop close by—by the dog park, I think? Thereʻs free food for those that want to come, and I've never met a school student who wouldnʻt pass up a nice buffet.” Oliver grins, taking the flier and producing the (now discounted) payment.

“Wouldnʻt miss it for the world, thank you maʻam.” 

She takes the cash, then waves him off. “Maʻam makes me feel old, please, just Mary is fine.” Her little nametag proudly also declares Mary M., Percy idly wonders what the “M” stands for. Packaging their supplies, she puts it in a bag for them too. 

“Thank you Mary, we really appreciate the flier—and the discount!” Percy says, accepting the wares. She waves them off, wondering a bit at the oddity of the studentsʻ schedule, according to Gilligan, finals week wasnʻt for another three weeks. Mary shrugs, she guessed that some students were just studious like that. 

The table at the mallʻs food court was a little sticky. Looking around and finding no one in their close vicinity, Oliver cast a wandless and silent scourgify. Percy went off to fetch their food, Oliver in charge of finding a table before it got too crowded.

Soon enough, Oliver sees his ginger with a few plates in one hand and two drink cups held against his body. Oliver runs over to help Percy. 

“Geez Perce, I thought you were just going to get one of the chicken bowls to split.” Percy shoots him a dirty look. 

“Iʻm not fooled by your charm, Oliver Wood, I know firsthand that you would eat all the meat and leave just the rice.” Oliver tries to look ashamed, he really does. But it doesnʻt quite land. 

“Whatʻs in this one then?” Oliver asks, setting the plates down and fiddling with the top most dish. 

“They had this custard thing? I thought we could share that. Maybe your black hole of a stomach will be filled with the chicken and I can take the rest.” “Hah! Never.” Oliver proclaims, dishing out the take out boxes and forks. Percy sets one of the drinks in front of Oliver, popping the lid of his own open. The smell of strong coffee hits Oliver. 

“What is that, battery acid?” 

“Five shots of espresso.” 

“Absolutely mad. Thereʻs less caffeine in cocaine.” 

Percy sniffs haughtily, putting sugar and cream into his coffee, “And thatʻs why crack addicts arenʻt honor students.” They both try and maintain seriousness, but end up cracking up, Percy nearly spilling his coffee. 

Heʻs halfway through his coffee, neurons just beginning to fire, when Percy remembers their little romance on the way to the Diagon Alley. 

“Wait, Oliver, what are we?” 

Oliver pokes at his own left hand. “Human, I think. Although with the way Ron eats, you lot might be part Giant.” Percy rolls his eyes. 

“Ron is obviously adopted from Giants. Iʻm talking about this.” He points between himself and Oliver, face starting to redden. “You. Well. We. I.” Percy fidgets with his hands, trying to find his words. 

Percy canʻt really remember his life without Oliver in it. It was. Well, it wasn't particularly sad, his life. Just alone. It was being lonely a lot of the time, the odd one out when he was a parent to the younger kids, and one of the only ones still left at home. Then the twins just always had each other, so it was Percy. Then when Oliver came, it was Percy and Oliver, too. 

And, above all, Percyʻs old. Maybe not in this teenage body, but his heart is still heavy with the grief of death that has not happened yet, war that has not struck. And Oliver always seemed to make the ache go away. 

“I like you. A lot. Uh. Romantically.” Well shit, maybe his mouth didnʻt hear that Percy was old because what the fuck just came out of it. “L-letʻs date.” Percy squeaked. Oh Merlin, he squeaked. 

It should be said, they were sat at one of those food court tables that were small, most of their food barely fitting on its circular surface. Their knees were practically knocking into each since Percy and Weasley were both towering giants. 

Which means it's less impressive when Oliver reaches out to Percyʻs coat and pulls him close, kissing him squarely on the mouth. But still pretty impressive on the notion that Oliver was pretty sure he casted a Notice-Me-Not charm on both of them before he showed Percy just how much he wanted to date the ginger. 

He did not! In response, Oliver actually said, “Letʻs date.” Then made out with Percy, sloppy style. Percy was the first one to break from the kiss. Because he needed to breathe, but also because he heard someone gasp on his left. 

“Oh, right, homophobia.” Oliver comments, catching his breath and glaring at the women. Mary would have never gasped at them. 

“Muggles. So weird.” Percy responds, euphoria filling him as he looks back at Oliver—hisboyfriend. “Letʻs head out. The milkshake store can wait for another time.” 

“Yeah, but.” Percy takes one of his napkins, silently transfiguring it into a timepiece. “It's barely even half past ten, want to stay and look around muggle London for a bit? We can pop into the shops.” Oliver nods, gathering up their trash. Oh shoots, their custard. 

“Eat this on the run?” He holds it up, the ginger nods. 

There were a few more shops by the mall, mostly just for the tourists. But Percy and Oliver both felt a little like tourists. Neither had really explored muggle London until a few years into the 2000, both already grown up and with a pretty good set of background knowledge on what to expect from the non magical side of England. But now?? Michael Jackson played on the loudspeakers, the teens that passed by had frizzy hair and neon clothes and makeup—even the men! 

As Oliver discards the empty box their custard had come in, he spots a little shop along the way. Dragging Percy along with him, they enter the animal shelter. It was run down, weird stains in the corner of the walls that might have been mold. A creaky fan sat on the cash register desk idly rotated. 

“Perce, look at the little guy!” Oliver was already gone, sticking his hand into the cages to pet the dogs. Little was a straight up lie. Oliver had migrated to the biggest cage of the bunch, just barely shorter than Percy’s height. Inside was a big brown dog, black fur running down his mouth and along his side in thick stripes. 

“Ah, that’s Brutus,'' the store owner says, coming out from the back. He was old, fraying silver hair and thick black-rimmed glasses. He wore a nice button up and pants, wiping his hands on a dirty rag, placing the rag on the counter to reveal four fingers on his left hand and no thumb. Percy must have stared a little too long because the storekeep looked down at his hand, back up to Percy, then left. 

“Laddy, it won’t grow back if you stare at it long enough.” 

Percy goes beet red, “I apologize, I didn’t mean—”

“No offense taken, not everyday you see a four-fingered fine specimen of a man like meself.” He puffs out his chest, gesturing to himself, “I’m John, this here’s my shelter. Are you two looking for an animal in particular?” 

“Could you tell us more about Brutus?” Oliver asks, petting the brow of the dog between the bars. 

“Certainly, do you want me to let him out? I don’t mind a bit. One of the best behaved dogs I ever had.” Oliver nods eagerly, John bending down to unhook the cage. 

Brutus, just as John had said, was very well behaved. Sniffing Oliver’s hand, then Percy’s when the ginger drew closer. Then pushing his head into Oliver’s hand for more pets. John laughs at the dog’s action. “He’s been here the longest out of this new bunch of rescues, just about half a year. Believe it or not, he’s still a puppy, maybe a year if I’m being generous.” If Percy squinted, he could kind of see the resemblance Brutus had to Fang, Hagrid’s dog. 

“Someone just dropped him off here?” John nodded. 

“We work with volunteers who drop off any strays they see in their neighborhood. Brutus came to us thin for a puppy, but me and the wife got him all sorted out. Though, he’s not really so welcoming with strangers.” Brutus was on his back, tail hitting Percy’s thigh as both he and Oliver pet his belly. 

“But he’s so cute.” Percy says, petting the soft fur. Damn, Percy wanted to do something impulsive. 

He was kind of on a roll, wasn’t he? I mean, the pens, asking out Oliver (Oliver saying yes!), didn’t all good things come in three? 

“Should we get a dog?” Percy asks, turning to Oliver. 

And the way Oliver looked at him. It was like that was his Oliver. With wrinkles around his eyes, who complained about back aches just so he’d have an excuse for Percy to feel up his muscles. It was his Oliver, looking at him with nothing but love in his eyes. His Oliver had always wanted a dog, and Percy fucking died before they could. 

Maybe this was his chance. 

And Oliver smiles, turning to John and asking how much Brutus was. 

They leave the store a few hours later, catching the Knight Bus with a host of new dog treats, toys, food, and Brutus in a bright orange collar and leash.