Normal Days

Sunday arrived with four sets of hands knocking on the door. Knocking? Well, more like unlocking the door then sneaking up on Oliverʻs bed. One set of hands swept back the covers to find a perfectly made bed—odd for the Quidditch captain. 

“Say Forge, where do you say the two lovebirds are?” Gred questions. Forge pretends to think about it. 

“Well, Gred, there're two beds in the room.” They go to either side of Percyʻs bed, the canopy wide open to reveal the two occupants of the room still deep in the dredges of sleep. 

“My, my. Barely a day into dating and theyʻre already sharing a bed?” 

“What would Mum say?” This is when Percy starts coming to consciousness. 

“Letʻs write a letter to Mum and see!” Gred says. 

“OH PERCYYYY, we’re baaaaack~” Which definitely wakes Percy up, snapping up in bed to the sight of his two brothers. His two brothers, in one piece. 

Fred right in front of him. 

And suddenly, Percy is in a different part of Hogwarts, in a different time.

His mouth was ash. Filled with, made from, only soot as teeth, with the remains of charcoal as tongue. His lips could not form meaningful words as knees met ash, too. Made from the remains of battle, war-torn and bloodshed. There could have been the noise of a thousand armies and a thousand wars, but Percyʻs ears could only hear the inhale and exhales of the one beneath him. Because those last breaths were too precious to go unheard. His hands cradled another, similar in freckles and skin. The hands shook with exhaustion, with fear, with loss. Lips formed words, took its shape as a joke that settled as ash along Fredʻs cheek. 

And he laughed. 

It was good, for the last things to be heard by his ears to be jokes, to be family. To have the gruesomeness that comes with loss buffed with the gentleness of family, through holding hands, through telling jokes. Percy tasted ash on a tongue made of iron. Fred always jokes about his skin made of steel, like the tin-man from Dad’s stories. On the worst of fights, the twins had levied that his heart must have been made of metal, just as cold as the alloys. They had apologized, they had made up, but Percy always held that fear, that his organs were nothing but muggle machinery chugging along to compute the best course of action for himself, and himself alone. But now? Percy wishes in that moment, for the burning heat of fear to spike and spread throughout everything he touches, to set the enemies ablaze in the boldness of his emotions, felt so profoundly. But, the moment had passed, and Percy, although not alone, could not hope to pass that spark of life. 

And his hands turned cold. 

Percy had never heard George make such a noise. But, he supposes, it was an appropriate noise to make as a part of your soul was turned to ash. Guttural, nothing close to human-like, Ron, Bill, Charlie, tried to hold George back from his twin. But they could not. And wrapped in George’s arms, Fred grew cold. And colder. And George continued to scream, until nothing of his voice was left but dust. Percy could not bear to stop George, or even find the will to move away from Fred. His little brother. Perhaps not the littlest, but these were the brothers that Percy had held first, that he had been tasked with to take care of first. 

Percy failed. 

Percy felt the ash return, the grime of sweat, of blood from so many different people caked on his hand. Weaved throughout his fingers, set alight with the fires that burned till only the refuse was left. He could still hear George’s screams, his sobs. The blood needed to come off, nails raking across the tops of his hands, through the bumps and divots of knuckles. Again and again, till it flaked off as red-tinted ash. But there was more. There was always more, why wouldn’t it stop. Percy scratched deeper, turning over his hands to his palms, to his wrists, his forearms. 

“-et off, get off, GET OFF. WHY WON”T IT COME OFF?” Percy screams from the top of his lungs, which wakes Oliver the fuck up. 

“Percy?” He mumbles out, squinting at the light from the opened curtains. Shit, they forgot to close those last night? Fred and George look, for lack of a better word, terrified. Oliver is confused, until he notices the shaking on his left. Muscle memory takes over, Oliver sitting up properly and comes up behind Percy, his chest flush to Percy’s back. 

He murmurs something to Percy, the usual things to Percy when he has panic attacks, hands gently prying Percy’s hands away from each other. Percy’s hands were cold to the touch, blood slick and dripping on Oliver’s hands, on their bed spread below. But slowly, they begin to warm up, and Percy’s breathing evens out. 

“Should we get Madam Pomfrey?” George asks, going to Fred’s side. Gone was the humor, both were pale, Fred looping an arm through George’s.  Oliver shakes his hand, pulling Percy tight to his chest. 

“Nah, he just gets like this sometimes, it’s been happening a lot for finals.

“This is what happens during finals?” Both of them ask at the same time. Oliver nods. 

“He’s stressed.” Oliver is succinct with his answer, “What’d you guys need anyway?” They look at each other, one of them shakes their head, and the other follows suit, smiling and doing a bow. 

“We just wanted to check on the love birds. But there seems to be more than enough love in paradise. So we’ll be taking our leave.” Fred stands back up properly, looking at Percy, then right at Oliver.

“Call us when Percy feels better, we’ll grab lunch at Hagrid’s.” Then he smiles, “I want to meet Brutus! And hear the tales of Percy-the-Abiding breaking all the Hogwarts rules.” He winks, takes George’s arms, then leaves. 

Oliver watches them go, the door closing softly behind them. As it shuts, he sticks out his arm to the dresser, his wand flying into his hand. 

“Could I see your hands, love?” Oliver asks, Percy relents, still silent. His eyes are still glazed over, and Oliver does not ask, not yet. For now, he works on Percy’s left hand, or arm in general. 

In all wars, the greatest resource was bodies, and the people who could repair them. It seemed like Hogwarts couldn’t find enough people to repair those bodies. So, after slicing an immobilized Dolohov’s head clean off his shoulder (his wand wouldn’t cut the ligaments that held fast, he used an ax from a felled inanimate knight), Madame Pomfrey found him and made him learn fifty basic spells for healing. Then another fifty advanced spells. And another ten spells, that were more like chants, of dark magic for reanimating. 

He still had the ax, too. Took it home with him, shined it up. It was a gory memory, sure, but it was also the first person Oliver and Percy killed together, Percy making sure Dolohov couldn’t move while Oliver did the fatal strike. When he traveled to Percy, he took the ax with him, too. He wondered if he could find it in these halls, if it would remember him (even if it had not met him yet). Because with the amount of loss, pure shell-shocked tragedy that happened on that day, it seemed like the very walls of Hogwarts had been imbued with the loss. And when Oliver went to clean his ax, it seemed almost conscious in its gruesome refracting of lights.

Nevertheless, at Madam Pomfrey’s side, Oliver learned every single spell and perfected it within the first try—not because he was particularly good at healing magic. But because if he didn’t, the person at the end of his wand would die a horrible and painful death. He tested those effects too, on Death Eaters. Oliver remembers, not fondly, but he remembers draining half of the blood from a Death Eater’s body, cleaving him in half (the long way), then drowning another death eater in a suspended puddle of the other’s blood. Those kinds of memories come and go, but he’ll never forget the way Angelina stared at him in the aftermath. Like he wasn’t human.

And at that moment, Oliver didn’t feel like a human either. 

Back to the present, Oliver couldn’t remember if patching Percy up like this was normal. If the words that fell from his mouth fit the Oliver Wood of his time, or even the Percy Weasley of this time. And he didn’t particularly care either, just that Percy stopped, that they found out what made him want to skin himself with his own hands. All the survivors in the Battle of Hogwarts had some level of PTSD. For Percy, it was the constant paranoia which caused the nightmares, the self-mutiliation, and at one point really bad suicide ideation. And at the end of the war, when everyone was counting their dead loved ones, who wouldn’t be contemplating ending it all? Oliver heard George’s screams at one point, too. 

But now it slipped through his mind as sand. At his nearly old age, Oliverʻs entire being was just an hourglass, content to let his memories slip from one bulb to the other, only for it to be turned over and start again. In the early days of a burgeoning new Wizarding World, where all the “heroes” were still picking themselves up, Oliver couldnʻt quite find all of his pieces. They tried going to a muggle mind healer who had been filled in on the magical world (recruited especially to help with Harry, who couldnʻt sleep without Hermione or Ron in the same room) but she said it was something along the lines of “dissociation” and “repression”. 

It has gotten better over time. But seeing Percy, seeing Fred, like that. The only thing Oliver could do to keep control over himself was to just. Forget. To compartmentalize the here and now, help Percy with his hands. Maybe do some actual studying. Then go down to lunch and play with Brutus, George, and a dead man. 

Heʻd gone and asked Madame Pomfrey about his side effects too, when they had reached a wall with the muggle therapist. Two years out from the war, because everything in his mind was measured from how far away it was from the battle. She said it could be such ailments. Or it could be the dark magic theyʻd used as a magical replenisher. Magic has a price, she said, downing whiskey after whiskey. Iʻm so sorry Mr.Wood, I fear that your soul may not be entirely yours now. 

It was the trade off, see. Because in war time, with everything surrounded by the ashes of the fallen, the only real thing around them was death. In its fine black cloak and awaiting hands. So Oliver clung close to his wand, said the incantation Madam Pomfrey had taught him, then shook his hand. 

And his hands were as ice. But Oliver refused to shiver. To show weakness that made him human. 

And Oliver saved life after life with boosted reserves that were not his own. And after all was said and done, could not remember the face of those he saved. Only the ones he killed. Truly, the only person he could really remember in that fight was Percy, and maybe little blurs of Harry, maybe Ron, maybe Hermione. And George’s screams. 

There were other things that he could not hope to remember in the then-and-now. But, he supposed, as little grains of sand trickled downwards, that’s why he should be focused on his wonderful life as it now, and not as it was then. 

“Back with me, love?” Oliver asks, when he notices Percy looking up at him.

“Are you?” 

Oliver shakes his head, “I’ll be soon, maybe.” And it’s enough for Percy. Looking around with new eyes, older than the body it currently resides in, he looks at the four-poster bed. The banners were beautiful, he never really got a chance to appreciate Hogwarts’ luxury for what they were when they were whole. 

Logically, Percy knows that he should not tell the Oliver from this time about what he saw when he looked at the faces of his twins. Logically, no one should really know about his time traveling adventures, that he needs to keep a tight lid on his future knowledge. But staring up at the red banners that flowed without any wind, in the arms of someone who loved him, Percy couldn’t find it in himself to be logical. Could barely find his footing in the here-and-now, if he was being honest. 

“I held his hand when he died. One of the last things he ever heard was my voice.” His voice now was hoarse, maybe from the screaming, or from how tight it felt. He held Oliver’s hands tight. 

“He passed with his family around him. It’s one of the loveliest ways to go.” Percy leans back into the other’s embrace. 

“I suppose so.” 

Meanwhile, in the Great Hall, McGonagall is trying her best to enjoy her oatmeal. She eats it plain, with some strawberries on the top. Trying being the key word, she rubs her temples. This entire school year of a migraine would be the death of her. Albus then sits on her immediate left, and for a brief second, she contemplates murder. 

“Minerva, good morning!” He sits down then takes some toast and the jam he’s been favoring this week, mixing in the usual creatine in his pumpkin juice.  “What a lovely Sunday morning it is, too. The weather’s looking up this week, I’d say.” 

She hmms non committedly, debating on leaving at the very second. Dumbledore doesn’t seem to mind her mood, or at least doesn’t comment on it. 

“It seems like Hogwarts has increased their dog population.” And Minerva nearly fucking spits out her oatmeal. Was he really going to just. Say that. About Sirius motherfucking Black in the middle of breakfast. She stares at him incredulously. What a fucking idiot. 

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean by that, Albus.” She gives him an out. Fuck when he gets arrested for knowingly keeping from the ministry how Sirius got out they’re probably going to use this memory in the trial. Goddammit Albus. 

“Oh, you haven’t heard the news about Messirs Weasley and Wood?” McGonagall lets out an audible groan, dropping the spoon in her oatmeal with a wet plop. If she had to hear anymore about those two she’s retiring early. 

That was the only thing the school has been talking about for the past day. And it’s only been a day but she’s so sick of it. Truly, she’s happy they finally got together, and she’s also happy that people have found some sort of happiness in the midst of all the gloom that’s enveloped Hogwarts because of Sirius Black’s presence on campus. But holy shit Mr.Weasley and Mr.Wood are people too, and McGonagall has heard the most heinous disgusting comments about their relationship. 

“What haven’t I heard about those two.” 

“Perhaps their new dog?” 

“THEIR NEW WHAT?” McGonagall says, calmly. Her stomach drops. Because while Percy is her star academic and Oliver her star athlete, both of them have some of the shittiest luck she’s ever seen. Just to confirm, she asks Dumbledore. 

“What does the dog look like?” And Dumbledore smiles. 

“A big, black dog. Very friendly.” She wipes her mouth primly with the napkin, thanking Albus kindly for the information, then stands up to go and skin Sirius goddamn Black. 

She just exits the Great Hall when she sees some of the most troublesome children she’s ever had the misfortune of having gathered up in a little group. At the head are Fred and George, looking almost sick with fear. Then gathered around them are Harry, Hermione, and Ron. Some of the other Gryffindors are there too and—for fuck’s sake it’s the Quidditch team. Fuck, shit, maybe she should retire now. 

“Might I ask why you’re causing congestion in the hallway this morning.” Ron makes a cutting motion with his hands, mouthing no to his brother like McGonagall doesn’t understand him. 

“It’s about Percy.” One of the twins, probably Fred, he’s the more impulsive one of the twins, says. He and George wring their fingers in unison. 

“We barged into their dorms to wish them—” 

“Well wishes on their recent nuptials—” 

“They’re not married,” McGonagall says. But they continued like they hadn’t heard her—which they probably hadn’t. 

“And then as soon as Percy wakes up—” 

“He’s clawing at his arms—”

“Like some sort of animal—”

“And there was blood all over the sheets—”

“It’s like he couldn’t even see us—”

“And he was looking right at me—”

“Like he had seen—”

“Some kind of ghost.” Well, fuck. McGonagall gathers herself up, putting her own concern to the side to ask the relevant questions that needed to be asked. 

“Is he with Madame Pomfrey right now?” The twins shake their heads. 

“Oliver calmed him down, said—”

“That Percy ‘just gets like this during finals.’”

“Has Mr.Weasley ever done this before?” McGonagall asks. The twins shrug. 

Ron speaks up, “During finals we don’t see Percy. He just disappears into the library or his dorm.” 

McGonagall nods, processing the information, “I’ll go up to their dorm and make sure Mr.Weasley gets the medical attention he needs.” 

“We’ll go with you!” The twins say, Harry, Ron, and Hermione also stepping forward. 

“Us too.” Ron says. 

Before Alicia could speak up for the Quidditch team (McGonagall saw her making her way to the front of the small mob of Gryffindors at this point), McGonagall held up her hand. 

“Just the five of you, then. But if Mr.Weasley wants his space we will respect this and,” She looks dead-on at the twins, “I would advise to keep this within Gryffindor ears. Let’s go.” They depart swiftly as McGonagall tallies up the things that have gone wrong this morning. 

Oh, dear. It was quite a lot. 

McGonagall was ahead of the small party, but only by a hair, Fred and George on either side of her. Well, now her concern was significantly higher. While it was true that the Weasley family was a close family, the twins had never shown outright concern for their siblings, until Ron and Ginny had entered the school. Then again, McGonagall thought cynically, Ron and Ginny entered Hogwarts at a particularly bad time. Ronald especially. 

When the twins first entered Hogwarts, Percy was one of their main subjects of pranking. They weren’t outright cruel, save for a few instances including public humiliation, but there’d never been any usual displays of affection held by the twins for their older brother. 

How bad of a state was Percy in that Fred and George reacted to such lengths? 

Well, they would find out. McGonagall said the password then knocked on the 7th year boys’ dormitory. 

“Mr.Weasley, Mr.Wood, may I come in?” 

The door is yanked open by a confused looking Oliver, even more confused when he spots the twins and the “Golden trio”. 

“Professor? Guys? What’s going on?” Oliver moved his body to block the sight of the room from the party at the front but McGonagall could see someone moving underneath the blankets in the bed nearest the door. 

“Good morning Mr.Wood. About one-third of the Weasley clan has brought to my attention a matter concerning Mr.Weasley,” McGonagall gestures to the inside of the dorm to show which Weasley she was talking about, “ And if he’s ready, I’d like to talk with him about this matter. If he’s comfortable with it, then his brothers…and friends are welcome to join.” Aforementioned brothers and friends all try to squeeze into Oliverʻs eyesight, waving. 

“Uhh, Perce did you get that?” Oliver says instead, turning his head into the room. The lump underneath the bed moves once more and disheveled ginger hair pops out. 

“Yeah, let them in Olly.” McGonagall nods, strolling into the room. Percy sits up straighter on the bed, and the professor is taken aback at just how pasty he looks. Most of the Weasleys in general were faired skin, but Percy looked like all of the color was drained out of his face. His arms were perched lightly on top of the layers of blankets, bandages tied tight around them. 

“My dear boy, what happened?” McGonagall asked, holding back a gasp at how weak Percy looked. 

“Finals are not the best time for me, Professor.” He says instead, voice rough. Oliver runs to the bathroom to get him water. 

“My my, I understand your academic rigor but for you to be bedridden.” McGonagall nods to herself. If she remembers correctly, Percy was taking all of his high level classes and electives for his last year. “I’ll make sure that your teachers understand your workload and give you extensions to your papers and final projects.” 

Percy goes to protest, using his hand to perch himself up, almost falling on his right side when his arm collapses under the weight. Oliver is at his side, returning him back to leaning against his pillow. Quietly, he hands over a souvenir Quidditch cup. McGonagall notices, then adds, “And I’ll make sure Mr.Wood has the same extensions so he’s able to look after you.” Oliver also tries to protest, but stops himself. 

“Thanks, Professor.” 

“It’s come to my attention that Mr.Weasley refused to go to Madam Pomfrey, who put the bandages on his hand?” Oliver raises his hand. 

“That was me, Professor, got really good at it after Quidditch practice.” Harry nods his head enthusiastically. 

“I should’ve just had him bandage my hand last year instead of having Lockhart delete all of my arm bones.” McGonagall felt her migraine returning. Thank Merlin they had Remus. Despite being in a gang of hooligans, he was still alive and not in jail. 

“Be that as it may, I still want Mr.Weasley to go to Madam Pomfrey to make sure there’s no lasting damage.” The ginger hesitates, but nods. 

“Good. Now that that’s out of that way.” McGonagall clears her throat, “Would you mind regaling me with the story of how you found your dog?” McGonagall knew that, above everything else, she had to tread with care over this topic. Because if it turns out that “Brutus” was Black in disguise…

Well. Truly, she didn’t know what she would do. She looks back on those memories, although burnt at the edges with the bitter remnants of war (as war does), she adored the little Marauders as her students. Sad to say, she still had a soft spot in her heart for Sirius. Or at least, the Sirius not tainted by Voldemort’s image. She shook her head a bit to rid herself of the bitter taste that had crawled its way up her throat. 

“Oh, actually Professor,” Percy pulled back the covers to reveal pin striped pajamas, leaning a bit on Oliver to scoot his legs off the edge of the mattress, “Oliver and I were going to head down to Hagrid’s to feed Brutus. And. well.” His ears are tinged pink, “It’s not a very long story, and I don’t think there’s necessarily anything against Hogwarts’ bylaws with the Gamekeeper simply watching over a dog that just so happens to be owned by a student. Be that as it may—” The professor holds up a hand for Percy to shut up so he can catch his breath. In the corner of her eye, she sees Ron nudging Hermione and pointing at Percy. He gets shoved by both Harry and Hermione. 

“Alright then, are you alright to walk?” 

“Yes Professor, I’m just a bit lightheaded but the main damage was, was my arms.” He and Oliver stand up together, and the group makes their way down to the Gamekeeper’s hut.

“Well, Oliver and I were in the area shopping for muggle ballpoint pens.” Hermione’s eyes light up. 

“I didn’t know we were allowed to leave school grounds to go shopping!” She says, mind going wild with the stationary she missed out by going to Hogwarts. Truly, her multi-colored binder folder pockets she had before Hogwarts is one of her greatest sorrows. Percy goes red in the face, Oliver doesn’t make eye contact with McGonagall, and McGonagall herself wishes sorely for alcohol. 

“Well said, Ms.Granger, 5 points to Gryffindor. And five points away from Gryffindor for going off campus and to a muggle-occupied zone without the express permission of a teacher.” Oliver’s shame has worn off while Percy stutters through an apology, so he picks up the story. 

“After we went shopping, Percy asked me out then made out with me—” 

“I did not!” 

“Who’s gonna corroborate your story?” Percy shoves Oliver lovingly into a stone column. “ANYWAY. We go walking around and find an adoption center, where we met Brutus. So we took him to Hagrid’s. But he’s about one, and he’s already got all of his shots!” 

Well. That was definitely. It was definitely something. McGonagall zones out a little bit as she focuses on the Sirius Black sightings. He was nowhere near London. 

“What does Brutus look like?” Oliver, a bit thrown off at the question, answers it regardless, “Uh. He’s brown. Short hair, has some black fur too.” McGonagall nods. Dumbledore, that meddling fiend. He probably knew their dog wasn’t Sirius all along, he was just trying to see how far he could get her blood pressure to rise!

They reach the stone pathway to Hagrid’s hut, their shoes squeaking from the residing dew along the grass. The sun was once more covered, the previous night’s rain unable to evaporate in morning light. McGonagall knocks, and a small boof sounds from inside the house. 

“Come in!” Shouts Hargrid, “I’m holding back the little one.” 

Throughout the course of the trek, the twins were eerily silent. If McGonagall didn’t have her attention occupied with analyzing Percy and trying to ascertain his mental state, she would have been significantly more focused on the way the twins were hanging at the back of the group. 

Nevertheless, the group enters and crowds into Hagrid’s very cramped hunt. 

As soon as Fred shuts the door, Hagrid releases Brutus, who runs into Oliver’s waiting arms. He laughs, carrying the dog in his arms. Because of the sheer size of Brutus, despite being a puppy, Oliver could only hold just underneath the dog’s front legs. He wiggles Brutus in front of McGonagall. 

“Professor, meet Brutus!” Then lets go of the dog. Brutus tries to charge McGonagall but one severe look from her has the poor dog cowed, instead tackling George, then Fred, to the ground. On top of a pile of gingers, Brutus settles and lets his tongue roll out of his mouth. 

“Good boy!” Oliver cheers. The Golden Trio takes to the couch, Ron settling near Fang while Hermione and Harry ask if there’s been any updates with Buckbeak. Hagrid is very brave, but still breaks down in tears. 

“Oh, it’s terrible!” Hagrid wails, blowing into his handkerchief. “They chose tomorrow for the execution! Malfoy is gonna bring down his own executioner too!” His handkerchief becomes drenched in snot. Hermione casts a cleaning spell and lightly pats his shoulder. 

McGonagall looks from the various activities of her Gryffindors. The twins are struggling under Brutus’ weight while Percy and Oliver are at the dining table, trying to figure out which spell to cast on the abnormally heavy tea pot for tea (Percy wants to use the warming spell, Oliver is adamant that they could get the same result with Bombarda. Percy calls him an idiot, McGonagall ignores the language because of how justified it is). There truly never is a dull day with these students, was there? 

She decides to completely ignore the twins and the couple, instead picking one of the seats and transfiguring an errant button into a new handkerchief, offering it out to Hagrid. 

“I’m sorry Hagrid, I know how much Buckbeak meant to you.” 

“I raised him for a little egg, you know. Just out ‘o Hogwarts, with my wand snapped. Was with my brother, I was. Running through the woods with me Mum’s family, I found a trampled nest. That side of the family, not good. But there was one little one left, and I took him in, used me own shirt and a fire to keep ‘im warm.” Hagrid sniffles. “Oh, him and Aragog, they were siblings they were.” McGonagall can feel her eyes twitch. She remembers Aragog, the thrice-damned man-eating spider. 

“I'm sure Aragog misses him." Harry tries to console. Hagrid sobs louder. 

As Percy and Oliver continue to argue over why exploding Hagrid’s teapot is a bad thing and the  Golden Trio plus McGonagall try to comfort Hagrid, Fred and George begin plotting. 

Because Percy, though that dunce tried to hide it, was still very much leaning on Oliver any chance he’d get. Pausing in between his sentences to catch his breath, filling up his silences with playful glares at Brutus’ energy or Oliver’s stupidity. But the twins could very clearly see that he should not have made such a long walk in such cold weather, still winded from whatever came over him when they woke him up. And. Fred looked at George, who looked back at Fred. 

Not once had Percy stopped looking at them. Every spare glance, every caught breath. A glance to Fred’s shoulder, or a short peer at George’s leg. The twins made sure to hang at the back of the group to see if Percy would continue looking at them. But if anything, his glances were even more frequent! 

And not once did Percy look them in the eyes. 

“Well, this was nice and all, but I think me and Forge need to bask in the sunshine before we get taken in once again by our evil master.” Gred says, mock dusting off his pants, Forge follows suit. 

“Absolutely right Gred, he’s an evil one our master. Made us almost collapse on our brooms Friday. Horrible, horrible slave driver.” Forge replies, tipping an invisible hat and opening the door for Gred. It looks like they had a lot to talk about, then. 

“Good riddance!” Oliver calls after them in between laughs, picking up one of the tea saucers to throw at them. When the twins saw his arm winding back, they scrambled out the door, crying for mercy. 

McGonagall shot him a glare, and Oliver put his hands up in mock offense. “I wasn’t actually going to throw it at them.” Percy looked at him this time, and Oliver had the sense to fully put down the saucer, “That hard, anyways.” 

“My goodness,” McGonagall murmurs under her breath, then gets up herself. “Mr.Weasley please do not forget to go the hospital wing, I will be checking in with Madam Pomfrey tonight to see about your health.” And also to go drinking, but she wasn’t about to tell her little lions that. Her expression lightens a little, grasping Percy’s shoulder, “And, please, do not hesitate to come to me or your peers about any of your anxieties that you may be feeling. The transition from student to adult is one of the biggest ones you’ll face, and you have people to help you with it.” She tightens her grip for just a second before releasing it, bidding a farewell to Oliver and the trio before going back to the Great Hall to finish her breakfast. 

“She’s a good Head of House, McGonagall is.” Hagrid says, folding up the tissue and pocketing it to wash later. 

“Did you go to school together?” Hermione asks, shooting a confused look at Percy and Oliver as Oliver almost casts the bombarda spell.

Hagrid nods, his dread momentarily forgotten as he reminisces on a young Minvera McGonagall, “Not school, school. But I was the Gamekeeper here when she was doing her Hogwarts schooling.” 

The students looks at Hagrid in shock, horror, some even awe.

“What?” Hagrid asks, confused at their confusion. 

“But. But.” Ron tries to piece together, in a not so rude way, but that’s what Harry is for. 

“But isn’t McGonagall older than you?” Harry finishes. Percy wheezes. Oh to be socially unaware. He finally decides to make Oliver carry the empty teapot over to the fire. When he has the stupidly big thing on the stove top, Oliver moves water from the well to inside of the kettle to boil. 

Percy sniffs, “Much easier than a bombarda.” 

“You didn’t have to carry the damned thing.” Oliver mumbles. 

Hagrid looks at Harry, then to the other students who are looking back at him, then laughs. 

“Fer goodness sake, Minnie? Good heavens no! Oh, her and little Pomona are years younger than me, Snape and little Remus the young’uns in the teaching staff.” 

More shock, horror, a healthy amount of confusion. But Hagrid keeps on going. First he stands up, stretching his legs and opening the door so the dogs can go outside to do their business if need be, before telling his favorite stories about Minnie the Brave.