Normal Days

Saturday finds Percy and Oliver on a bench in the dog park somewhere in Muggle London. Brutus is panting at Percy’s feet, lapping up water from the dog bowl Hagrid gifted to them when he heard about their (approved!) excursion. Pretty trees with shady outstretched branches provided the idealistic picnic spots or areas to play fetch. For a Saturday, it was pretty slow at this particular park. There was another couple on the other side with a little chihuahua, while an older lady stood at the edge of the pond with breadcrumbs to feed the geese. 

Technically this was one of Percy’s finals, for his Muggle Studies. Since the professor had a soft spot for Percy, and all of the professors had heard about Oliver and Percy’s recent injuries (as well as the most recent adventures of the Golden Trio, poor Minerva. It was always the Gryffindors doing the stupidest shit), the Muggle Studies teacher approved the off-campus event to ‘go and be in the environment of the muggles. See what they see’. Percy would’ve rolled his eyes, but he was a respectable student! 

“Alrighty Brutus, you all set?” Percy leans down to ask the dog, petting his head. He lets out a boof. They start meandering down to the community center where the kind lady at the shop said her son would be competing. But more importantly, where the free food would be. Percy, with his mega mind level of pre-planning, already checked with the regulations that they allowed pets in the center. 

“Here, your collar’s a little crooked,” Oliver mumbles, both of them stopping so he can make Percy’s shirt collar lie just so along his neck. “Thanks.” Percy says, smiling. His collar wasn’t crooked, Oliver just wanted an excuse to be closer to him. 

They check in as guests. The community center was a large building, with wide windows on three out of four of the walls. There was a stage at the other end of the main “gaming” room. Four long tables stretched across the room, students about Percy and Oliver’s age on either side. There was a chessboard for every two students, but that’s not what had either of the boy’s attention. Instead, they looked at all of the tables pushed up against these windowed walls. Outfitted with, as Mary promised, a buffet of free food for the players, parents, and errant wizards. 

“I’m still a little shocked you wanted to go to this.” Percy confesses, holding Brutus’ leash tightly so he didn’t table surf to get the wheel of cheese he was eyeing (even though Hagrid had assured them, multiple times, that Fang trained Brutus to not table surf). 

“Why wouldn’t I? With the last game on Friday, I don't have to stress about anything. Can just focus on the important things in my life.” Oliver eyes Percy meaningfully. Percy just rolls his eyes.

“Food?” 

“Food!” Oliver cheers, but kisses Percy on the cheek. Fast enough that (hopefully) people didn’t notice. “And you.” Percy reddens, pushing Oliver to the buffet table. 

“Go get your stupid buffet, Wood.” Oliver goes along, blowing Percy a kiss and a wink, which makes his face even more red. Percy, a bit awkwardly, wonders if he should’ve gone with Oliver and just risk Brutus eating whatever he gets his mangy little paws on. It’s a little weird for him to just watch people play muggle chess. 

Muggle chess was particularly boring as it was, non-animated and the like. Instead, when each piece was about to be taken by the other player, that player had to shout out how the piece was executed. A particularly loud blonde haired student, in a distinct irish accent, called for one of the pawns to be drawn and quartered. Percy was a little taken aback at how gory some of the executions were. He’s really fucking grossed out when one of the competitors breaks down a Salem witch trial death when someone behind him clears their throat, tapping him on the shoulder. 

Percy startles, hand going to his wand that was hidden in his sleeve. But relaxes when he sees a familiar face. 

“Mary!” Percy exclaims, hugging the older woman. Was a hug too soon, they had only met each other once. But she did extend this invitation to them? And she seemed like the hugging type. 

And the hugging type she was. She laughed and returned the gesture. 

“Oh my, I’m so happy you came! Did you bring your friend too?” 

“Yes, he’s off raiding the buffet area. Thank you for inviting us!” 

She waves her hand, “None of that inviting nonsense, this is a community event! I’m just happy you could make it with your finals schedules. And, oh dear me, I don’t think I caught you or your friends’ name.” 

Percy rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment. Of all the things his Mum etched into his head about manners and he forgets simple introductions. 

“I’m Percy, and the lumbering oaf is Oliver.” 

“Very nice to meet you, Percy. Oh, a brave name that one. Were you named after the knight?” 

“Yes, my father has a love of mug–” Percy fakes a cough, “of history. He had a knight phase.” Mary laughs. 

“Don’t we all! My Malcolm loved attending those medieval fairs with his brother.” Percy nods, he’s heard about those, where muggles reenact medieval times. 

“My dad was also very interested in those. But my Mum uhm. Wasn’t.” Which was an understatement. Mum was threatening divorce, and to show him what a real dragon’s fire felt like. 

“I think they’re quaint, the costume perhaps a bit stuffy. But oh, Malcolm’s sister was so against them.” Mary says, launching into a story about how Malcolm, who Percy is guessing is her husband, tried to trick his sister into attending a Renfaire and ended up in the dragon mascot instead. 

“A lively family!” Percy exclaims. Malcolm’s sister sounded batshit crazy. Oliver comes back with a plate overfilled, maybe half of the buffet taken with his serving. 

“Here Perce, I got some for you too. Oh, Mary!” Oliver notices the woman, Percy grabbing his plate before it can spill while Oliver goes in to embrace her. 

“Oliver, yes?”

“Yes. Wow, this center sure is a lively place. Which one is your kid?” Oliver accepts back the plate, which is a half-sandwich and a handful of blueberries lighter. Percy slips Brutus some of the blueberries. 

The duo follow Mary as she weaves in between the other parents. They come up the other end of the table they were just in front of. Still a little ways away, Mary points to the boy with the bright ginger hair. His hand is poised over one of the pawns with a little AK-47 slung across its back. He moves it in a zigzag motion to one of the horsey pieces (this horsey piece’s two arms are raised above its head holding a giant hammer). 

In a very Scottish accent, the ginger—now known as Gilligan, proclaims, “My pawn shoots your horsey piece through the chest three times, it’s a fatal shot. Checkmate.” His other player lowers his head, but both still stand to shake hands and declare a fair game. 

“Nice, did he just win?” Mary nods, pride shining in her eyes. 

“Good job Gilligan!” She cheers, he turns, smiling at her and waving before sitting down to battle another competitor. 

“He’s a very skilled player.” Oliver says. While not one for chess, he’s gone head to head with the entire Weasley family so he’s had to hold his own against literal beasts at the game. Gilligan’s tactics were funny with how familiar they were. Each move was one that either pushed his competitor into a corner, or one to protect his piece. Even the weaker ones. 

“Why does he keep on protecting his pawns?” Percy asks, also picking up on the strategy. 

“Because my boy is loyal. Just like his father, he plays chess with the intent not to win, but to make sure all of his pieces come out of it alive. Winning just seems to be a by-product for him.” 

“My brother is scarily good at chess, but I’ve never heard of a successful strategy like that.” 

“My Gilligan, capable of such extraordinary things.” Mary says, sounding a little sad for a moment. Then she notices someone in a crowd and she lights up again. 

“Malcolm!” She calls out, waving him down. Percy steels himself to meet the infamous Malcolm, but is a little floored by how familiar he looks. 

Bright ass orange hair, with sparse freckles dotted over the entirety of his skin. His blue eyes could have mistaken him for a Weasley if the gray in his hair was a little less noticeable. But still. There was something almost familiar. 

“Malcolm, these are the dearies I was talking about from the shop. Percy and Oliver.” 

They exchange their greeting, then, because Percy is blunt in times of social situations. “Are we related?” he asks, because the Weasley similarity was almost uncanny. Even little Gilligan. 

Oliver nudges him in the ribs. “Not all ginger are related, dude.” He says between gritted teeth.

“But this ginger looks really similar to me.” Percy responds in kind. Then steals more blueberries off of Oliver’s decimated plate to feed to Brutus. 

Malcolm grins broadly, laughing a hearty laugh. “Perhaps we are, laddy.” His accent was thick compared to Mary’s and Gilligan’s. “Should we retrace the family tree? How much of the bark can your brain recount?” 

“Maybe three generations back?” 

“That’ll do! I’ve got five of them on my Ma’s side, another 11 documented on my Da’s.” 

“Eleven!?” 

“Eleven! He was part of the clergy, had to keep a strict eye on those kinds of records.” He cheerily recounted. 

“My Rook poisons the Bishop’s tea. Checkmate!” Gilligan says, stopping the timer. An important looking man with a clipboard walks up to Gilligan and his competitor shaking hands, scribbling something down before directing Gilligan to a table closer to the stage. 

The group migrates with Gilligan, the boy accepting a quick hug from his Ma and a pat on the back from his Da before sitting down with his next competitor. 

“Wish I could say that I taught him everything I know, but the real strategist here is my Mary.” Malcolm says, hand lightly taking Mary’s. 

“You snake charmer.” Mary says, smiling all the same. Percy knows, as he watches Mary and Malcolm, that he wants what they have. And looking at Oliver, knows that he’s got it. 

“Ah, sorry about that.” The older man clears his throat, “Let’s start with two generations back, but I doubt we’re kin, laddie.” Percy shrugs. 

“Better to try than to never try at all.” 

“Ah! Percy, like Percival. I see the connection now. Let’s see. In my main family is me, my late brother, my sister and parents all under the McGonagall name, but Ma’s—” 

“McGonagall.” Oliver cuts in, feeling like the world slowed down to a startling halt. 

“McGonagall.” Percy repeats. 

“Queen tackles pawn to the floor and punches repeatedly. Checkmate!” Gilligan says. After a few murmured talks from important men and women with clipboards, one of them goes up to the stage. 

“Moving up, we have Sandra Smiths, Mickey Lowes, Amy Snow, and Gilligan McGonagall.” 

Mary and Malcolm cheer for their boy with the other proud parents as the students make their way to the closest table to the stage. But Percy and Oliver are too floored to speak. They know him, they just heard about his run in with a manticore for Merlin’s sake. 

“Oh, a family connection already?” Malcolm says. And both Gryffindors can now very clearly see the similar slope of eyebrows, even the way his chin is angled, all of it. A direct match for their Head of House. 

“Is your sister’s name Minerva McGonagall?” Percy asks. 

“Yes, oh.” His eyebrows draw close together as he thinks, “Are you her child? I’m almost certain she didn’t have a child around that time. But, hmm.” He starts half-muttering to himself and to Mary, “Well, old Elphinstone would still be alive during that time. No, no, no, she would have very obviously told one of us if she was pregnant.” 

“Oh! I’m not her kid. Well.” She called all of them her little lions, so technically weren’t all Gryffindors her kids? 

“What Percy means to say is she’s our teacher. And the head of our dorm room. We’re Gryffindors.” 

“Oh.” Malcolm and Mary look at each other, and that look in Mary’s eyes, when she talked about how extraordinary Gilligan was, returns. She turns away, and Malcolm places a comforting hand on her shoulder. 

“So, wizards?” Malcolm lowers his voice, but the ambient noise of the community center was enough to cover their conversation. They nod, then Brutus paws at Oliver’s leg, a sign that he needs to go outside.

“Sorry, that’s his signal to go outside for a bit.” 

“Ah, of course. Maybe this conversation is one that’s better where certain ears can’t hear.” Mary says. The older couple follows them out of the community center, walking a little ways to the dog park. 

“I didn’t realize Hogwarts lets their kids out on weekend excursions now.” Malcolm says, breaking through the tension. The man seemed to go through a personality change. Where before he was unabashed with smiles and witty jokes. Now he seemed more reserved, on edge. Constantly shooting glances towards his wife. Percy felt the same, casting his own glaces at Oliver. 

“Not really, I was given a special exception for my uh. Muggle Studies class.” Malcolm nods. 

“You know, the Gameskeeper told us about Professor McGonagall’s run in with the manticore.” Malcolm sucked in a breath, little chuckles reverberating through his chest. 

“That beasty was something else. I thought it was the end of all of our lives, not as spry now though.” He pats his stomach, taking a seat on one of the nearby benches. 

Mary, still with that same glazed look, gets shaken out of it when Percy touches her wrist. 

“I’m sorry if we’ve upset you in some way. I understand the misdirection can be a little much.” But she shakes off her concern, squeezing the hand on her wrist in that gentle sort of way before letting go. 

“No, no lovey my wistfulness is not for you. My Gilligan, special he is, is.” She pauses, hesitating on not if she should say her next words, but how to say them in a kind way. “not special in the way that holds magic.” 

“He’s a squib?” Percy confirms, getting knocked again in the ribs by Oliver for his lack of tact. 

Mary nods her head, although something upsetting crosses her features, “Yes. Oh, he was so sad to never be a part of his Aunt Minnie or even his own father’s world like that.” Malcolm’s hand once more finds Mary’s. 

“I wouldn’t have my boy any other way.” 

“I know, dearheart.” She says, cupping his cheek, then directs her attention back to Percy and Oliver, “But I gave him what I have of my own world. Teaching him chess, the arts, even some cross-stitching, but he was never as great at the fiber arts. And look at him now.” She says, some of her happiness returning. “My extraordinary boy, magical or not.” Brutus comes trotting back, and on that note they head back into the center. 

Gilligan ends up winning the competition he was first pitted against for the finals, but losing the last one. With his second place ribbon and 50 pounds in cold hard cash, the McGonagall’s invite the Gryffindor couple out to eat, but they decline, citing that Brutus still needs his own dinner. His snack of blueberries could only tide him over for so long. 

Their journey back to Hogwarts is filled with them swapping ideas of what McGonagall’s parents would have looked like, with her dark hair and her brother’s very abrupt ginger. 

“But, Perce, what if she is related to you?” 

“If she is, I don’t know who would crack first. Her, or the twins!” 

They drop off Brutus at Hagrid’s hut and when they finally reach the castle’s wall, the first person they run into is, in fact, not McGonagall. 

“Mister Weasley, Mister Wood.” Snape says, cocking an eyebrow at their out-of-breath panting. “I take it your…off-campus excursion was brief?” Even an inane question like that makes Percy want to throw hands. But he doesn’t. Actually, he doesn’t answer at all, Oliver coming to his rescue. 

“Yup, learned all about the muggles and their love of chess.” Snape’s patent glare of indifference does nothing to Oliver Wood. When he doesn’t cow, Snape turns sharply. 

“Very well. Be sure to turn in your essays for my class. Tomorrow, 4 PM sharp.” He briskly walks down the hallway, the wind catching on his robe to billow dramatically. 

When he’s just out of earshot, Percy’s face morphs into an expression of disgust. “Fucking prat, moved up the goddamned deadline.” 

Oliver laughs, “Language, Weasley. A prefect might hear you and take away points.” Percy shoves him, tilting his head up in that patented precocious manner. 

“I ought to take points away from Gryffindor just for that, Wood.” 

“Oh no,” Oliver deadpans, slowing down to match pace with Percy, until he stops completely in front of the ginger. With no self-respecting personal space between them, he asks, “Whatever would I have to do to get those points back?” 

“Well, what about…” Percy trails off, their faces leaving (once again) no room for our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. They don’t finish their conversation with words. When they both emerge from the little alcove a few minutes later, clothes rumpled and both of them a little out of sorts, Oliver snorts to himself. 

“So do I get my points back?” Oliver asks smugly. 

“Yes.” Percy says, in a poor imitation of disgruntlement. 

The rest of their little stroll back to Gryffindor tower is peaceful, hands interlocked as they talk about the rest of their final exam schedule. 

“I really wish Snape hadn’t pushed up that deadline.” Oliver grouses, but Percy looks at him in mock astonishment. 

“Did you not start the paper? He assigned it a few weeks ago.” 

“I finished it! I just haven’t gone through it yet.” Percy relaxes, Oliver smacks him. 

“Oi! I have good time management.” The ginger just laughs at him. 

“Of course you can. I bet your schedule is looking a lot less busy with the last Quidditch game done.” It’s Oliver’s turn to relax. 

“Yeah. Geez, it was a nail beater.” Right after being excused from the hospital, Oliver was immediately put back into Madam Pomfrey’s care with two extremely rigged bludgers to his ribs. One bludger for each side. BUT THEY GOT THE WIN AND THAT’S WHAT COUNTS. “Thanks for the flowers, by the way.” Percy managed to lightly request Neville (threaten) for more of the blue flowers, visiting Oliver every day. 

Well, visiting was not the best way to put it. He was in the Hospital Wing more than anywhere else for those couple of days. Even sneaking back in after visiting hours to curl up in Oliver’s bed with the stupid Quidditch player. Madam Pomfrey, of course, yelled at them both. Even threatened to take Oliver’s broom if Percy did not get out of his sickbed. That was the only joke Oliver would make around Ron when the Golden Trio came to visit. Poor Ron. 

“You keep on thanking me for them, meanwhile they’re just sitting on your desk rotting away.” They make their way through the portrait, Percy politely thanking the Fat Lady while Oliver blushes. 

“They weren’t supposed to wilt. I tried casting a preserving charm on them, but instead it sped up decomposition.” 

“Oh,” Percy softens, hand finding Oliver’s cheek to pull him in for a kiss. “That’s sweet.” 

“Couldn’t help it, reminded me of our 10th anniversary. With the marigolds and roses?” Percy wrenches away his hands as both dissolve into little giggles. 

“Merlin! I can’t believe how corny that was.” 

“You sang to me, oh I wish someone recorded it.” 

“I’m just glad it wasn’t in a public place.” Percy jests. At his desk, he starts organizing his own study materials, cracking open a new ink well to start on the Muggle Studies write up of the chess event. 

“Starting the paper already?” 

“It’s due in a week, Wood. I’m just happy Professor Burbage was able to approve the event so last minute. Don’t you have a Potions essay to revise?” 

“Noooo,” Oliver whines, “Can you at last help me out with the preservation charm before sending me off to my death.” 

Percy pretends to think about it, before cracking a smile and heading over to Oliver’s desk, making quick work of preserving the blue flowers. 

“There you go, now off with you.” He makes a shooing motion, but Oliver captures both hands, placing a kiss on the closest one. 

“I think I owe you a proper thanks.” 

“And what would that be?” 

Neither Percy nor Oliver start their respective tasks until much later in the day.