The Story

7th Year - 1993:

Pen in his hand, journal on the desk, lamp off to the side, barely enough to make it possible for Percy to write; It was late but still before dinner, the Gryffindor team was out on the pitch, suffering from Oliver’s constant drills and desire to work. Percy relished the tranquility of his dorm room, cherishing the moment of solitude it afforded him as he diligently penned his thoughts in his journal.

Percy, ever the studious and tidy individual who adhered strictly to his routines, penned whatever came to mind within the pages of his cherished leather-bound book. A Christmas gift now worn to its very end, it held only a few remaining pages. Yet within those dwindling sheets, Percy chronicled his recent activities and poured out his innermost feelings. This journal, a repository of months' worth of memories, schedules, random musings, and even snippets of poetry, served as a faithful companion through difficulties and emotional turmoil.

Initially, Percy detested the notion of sitting down and jotting anything random; he thrived on structure, everything meticulously planned. Deviations from his routine would irk him to no end. However, over time, he found solace in the act of putting pen to paper, expressing his emotions, outlining plans, and brainstorming solutions to alleviate his troubles.

Practice had ended, unbeknownst to Percy, who was lost in his own thoughts, the echoes of the day's training fading into the background. Oliver cleared his throat, prompting Percy to look over, his gaze finally snapping back to the present moment.

They were alone, and Percy's heart quickened its pace, despite knowing nothing was likely to happen. Yet, an undeniable tension lingered between them. He averted his gaze from Oliver, unable to maintain eye contact. "Hey, Quidditch practice over?" he asked, his voice slightly strained, attempting to break the palpable silence.

Oliver must have started to move around; Percy could hear the shuffling from where he was staring at his journal. “Yeah, I kept trying to go around a bit more, but the twins practically pulled me off my broom.”  Oliver laughed, while Percy gave an awkward chuckle. “Well, um, I’m going to head down for dinner.” The door to the dorm opened, “You coming?” Percy shook his head; he couldn't handle being with Oliver much longer.  “Well, alright then.” Oliver nodded curtly before silently slipping out of the room, leaving Percy to grapple with the lingering unease. And once again, Percy was the only one in the dorm room, the solitude now heavier than ever.

Tears, long held back, finally spilled from Percy's eyes, landing on his journal with a soft plop, smudging the ink. "Shit, shit," he muttered, hastily wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "Get your shit together, Weasley," he chided himself, his voice tinged with frustration and self-reproach.

Percy had prefect duty that night, paired with a seventh-year Hufflepuff. Before, he used to do the rounds with Penelope, but since their breakup, everything had changed.

Every day it seemed to get more and more miserable, ever since that day.

Other than exchanging simple pleasantries, Penelope and Percy haven’t spoken to one another as of late. The awkwardness hung heavy between them, a silent reminder of the rift that had formed since their breakup.

By the time he got back to the dorm, the curtains over Oliver’s bed were closed, assuming he was asleep. Percy, too, retired to bed, but sleep eluded him for a while. Lying on his back, he stared blankly at the ceiling, lost in thought. His mind drifted to the things he wished were different – his relationships with his siblings, enduring the incessant teasing from Fred and George, seeking his parents' approval, longing for Bill’s and Charlie’s acknowledgment beyond being the annoying younger brother, and yearning for Ron’s and Ginny’s acceptance, especially considering their recent disappointment in him. He wished he could turn back time and undo his relationship with Penelope. And above all, he really fucking wished Oliver Wood liked him back.

A few months Prior:

As Percy delved deeper into his Transfiguration studies, Oliver's presence in the dorm room seemed to fade into the background. The complexities of the subject matter captivated Percy's attention entirely, filling him with a sense of intellectual satisfaction; He even entertained the idea of discussing it further with Professor McGonagall.

Meanwhile, Oliver lounged across his bed, idly toying with a snitch he had taken from the Quidditch pitch some time ago. "Do you really like Clearwater?" he suddenly asked, his question interrupting Percy's concentration.

Percy, accustomed to Oliver's unpredictable nature, didn't look up from his paper as he replied, "Why do you ask?" He remained focused on his essay, feeling confident in the work he was producing.

The room fell into silence, and it took Oliver a moment to respond. "It seems like nothing has changed between the two of you. Have you guys even kissed?"

Dipping his quill in the ink, Percy answered, "We have."

"I see," Oliver murmured.

Something about Oliver's reaction struck Percy as odd, prompting him to turn around and finally meet Oliver's gaze. It was then that he realized Oliver had been staring at him the entire time. Their eyes locked, and Percy couldn't help but feel a twinge of nervousness as he asked, "Does it bother you?"

Oliver's intense gaze faltered as he crossed his arms and looked away. "Kinda..."

"Why?" Percy inquired; his curiosity piqued.

Breaking their eye contact, Oliver muttered, "I don't know."

"Alright," Percy replied, turning his attention back to his essay, assuming the conversation was over.

But his concentration was shattered, and he found himself unable to focus on his writing. Setting his essay aside, he absentmindedly reached for his journal. Running his finger along the worn spine of the leatherbound book, he contemplated its contents.

The dormitory was shrouded in a heavy blanket of silence, the dim light casting elongated shadows across the room. Percy opened his journal, intending to pour his thoughts onto the pages, but it was hard to focus with Oliver's odd questions swirling around in his mind.

"Percy," Oliver's voice pierced the quietude, his tone laced with curiosity that seemed to hang palpably in the air.

"Oliver," Percy responded, his brows furrowing slightly.

A pause settled between them, the absence of words stretching out into the quiet of the dormitory. Percy hesitated over his journal, distracted by Oliver's peculiar queries, while Oliver stared blankly at the ceiling, lost in his own contemplation.

"You don’t actually like her, do you?" Oliver questioned, its directness tinged with a hint of uncertainty, as if he was unsure about something.

Percy hesitated, his mind racing as he processed Oliver's words. "What's with this, Oliver? Do you like her or something?" His own question emerged almost reflexively.

Another moment of silence stretched between them. Oliver's gaze remained fixed on the ceiling, his pauses punctuating the air, each moment of hesitation amplifying Percy's aggravation and anxiety. It seemed as though Oliver was taking deliberate, lengthy pauses to gather his thoughts before continuing, further intensifying the tension in the room.

"If I did, would you break up with her?" Oliver asked.

With each additional question, Percy felt his anxiety surge. Out of habit, his fingers rubbed against each other nervously as his thoughts, momentarily jumbled, struggled to formulate a response. "Do you?"

"No," Oliver replied simply. The word hung in the air, devoid of any elaboration, leaving Percy to ponder the purpose of their conversation.

He couldn't help but feel a pang of frustration at the seemingly arbitrary nature of Oliver's interrogation, leaving Percy with a sense of unease and uncertainty. "Then I don’t get why it matters.”

"Just curious," Oliver murmured, his voice softening as he spoke.

Feeling a sense of finality settled over the conversation, Percy turned back to his journal, seeking refuge in the familiar embrace of his writing. As he stared at the blank page, words began to coalesce in his mind, drawn to him like moths to a flame. Inspired by the odd conversation with Oliver, Percy found himself weaving together a few stanzas of poetry, each line a reflection of his own inner turmoil.

"Percy," Oliver's voice was gentle, a whisper against the backdrop of the dormitory's quiet. "You know you can tell me things, right?"

Percy sighed and set down his quill then glanced over at Oliver, his gaze lingering on the familiar contours of his friend's face.

Meeting Percy’s gaze, Oliver pressed on, "Like if you didn't actually like her..."

Percy stilled; his thoughts momentarily consumed by Oliver's words. "What the hell do you keep going on about, Wood?" he exclaimed, his voice edged with irritation.

"I'm sorry," Oliver muttered, his eyes downcast as he spoke.

This time it was Percy who paused, collecting his thoughts. Needing to regain his composure, he took a deep breath. " I don't actually like her," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper; It was a truth he had been grappling with for some time.

Oliver's gaze snapped up; surprise evident in his expression. "You don't?"

“You sound surprised," Percy observed, his brows furrowing further. "You seemed so sure that I didn’t like her," he remarked uncertainly. The sudden shift in Oliver's demeanor left Percy questioning if there was something he had missed or misunderstood.

Oliver shrugged,” Maybe I am.” He admitted.

Amidst his confusion, Percy could only manage a simple, "Huh."

"Do you like someone then?”

"I do," Percy confessed softly, his words barely audible. It was a truth he had concealed for so long, a secret he had guarded with great diligence.

"And it's not Clearwater?" Oliver inquired further.

Percy shook his head and looked away, “No, it’s not.”

"Then who is it?"

"Someone," Percy replied evasively, feeling the weight of Oliver’s gaze upon him, a nervous flutter stirring in his stomach. He shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny, his mind racing to find a suitable diversion from the questions; Despite his attempt at nonchalance, Percy couldn't shake the sense of unease that settled over him.

"You're not going to tell me?"

"No," Percy firmly replied.

"Come on, please."

"No, Oliver," Percy insisted as irritation coiled in his blood. He didn’t understand why Oliver was being so persistent.

To Percy, it seemed as though Oliver was determined to extract something from their conversation. Why? Percy couldn't quite pinpoint. Nevertheless, Oliver persisted, his voice gentle yet insistent. "You can trust me," he reiterated.

"You're right, I can," Percy assured.

"So, tell me?"

"No," Percy repeated.

The tension in the room seemed to thicken with each passing moment, Percy and Oliver locked in a silent battle of wills. Oliver's persistence grated against Percy's fraying patience; the air heavy with unresolved tension.

"Percy," Oliver's voice broke the uneasy silence, refusing to give up until he had the answer he sought.

"Oliver," Percy's response came out sharp; he was done with this conversation. Any longer and he was sure to snap.

Oliver could see the irritation etched on Percy’s face, but he couldn’t bring himself to give up. There was something there, something he needed to know. "Please?" he begged.

This conversation was aggravating, and he wanted to scream. Percy took another deep breath, but it did nothing to ease his rising temper, “No.”

"Percyyy."

"Will you stop?" Percy's patience was wearing thin, his frustration evident in the tightness of his jaw and the furrow of his brow. He had reached his limit with Oliver's relentless probing, each insistence feeling like another jab at his already frayed nerves. Despite his best efforts to maintain composure, Percy could feel his temper simmering just beneath the surface, ready to boil over at any moment.

“Why won’t you tell me?”

"Because it's you!” Percy shouted, his frustration boiling over as he finally laid bare the truth that had long remained hidden. “Now will you stop bothering me.”

As Percy's words echoed in the dormitory, Oliver's eyes widened in shock, his mind racing to process the unexpected revelation. The weight of Percy's confession hung heavy in the air, suffusing the room with an undeniable tension that crackled like electricity between them. Oliver struggled to find his voice amidst the charged atmosphere, his thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and disbelief. It was as though everything had shifted in an instant.

Neither wanting to address the confession, the silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating, broken only by the sound of their ragged breaths.

His voice barely a whisper. "Oh," he managed, struggling to find the right words.

"Oh?" Percy echoed, his heart pounding in his chest, his mind racing with a whirlwind of emotions: He wanted to scream, to run away, to bury his head in his hands and cry.

"You, uh, like me?" Oliver's voice wavered slightly, his eyes searching Percy's face for confirmation.

Tears formed in his eyes, threatening to fall as he slowly nodded. It was a truth that he had long kept hidden, buried beneath layers of denial and fear.

"Oh," Oliver repeated, the expression on his face undecipherable.

"I, um,” Oliver trailed off, his chest squeezed, regret pulsing through his brain. “I'm sorry. I don't feel the same..."

"I figured," Percy replied quietly, nodding through his disappointment. It was inevitable, something he had already accepted with a heavy heart.

As the reality of Oliver's rejection settled in, Percy couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness. He knew this would be the outcome, that his feelings would not be reciprocated; But deep down, he had hoped for another outcome. Now, faced with the confirmation, he resigned himself to the truth and prepared to move forward, albeit with a lingering sense of sorrow.

Oliver cleared his throat, "I should, uh, probably go," he muttered, his voice strained.

Percy nodded mutely, unable to find the words to respond. He watched as Oliver shuffled about the room, his movements stiff and awkward. He reached the door, and paused, hesitating for a moment. "Percy," he began, his voice tentative.

Percy met Oliver's gaze once more and saw a vulnerability in his eyes, a rawness that mirrored Percy's own.

As he hesitated, Oliver cleared his throat, stalling for time as he searched for the right words. “I, uh,” he began, his voice faltering slightly. “I appreciate your honesty," he stated, his voice softening. "And I'm sorry if I, you know, made things awkward."

Percy managed a weak smile, the tension in the room easing slightly. "It's okay, Oliver,” he said, though they both knew it was a lie. "Thanks for understanding."

With a nod, Oliver turned and exited the dormitory, leaving Percy alone with his thoughts. As the door closed behind him, Percy let out a heavy sigh, the weight of their conversation still lingering in the air. He cast a longing glance at his journal but found himself unable to focus on its pages. Instead, he sat in silence, grappling with the mix of emotions swirling inside him. The room felt emptier now, the absence of Oliver's presence leaving an undeniable void. Percy couldn't shake the feeling of disappointment that settled in his chest, but he knew that time would eventually dull the ache. For now, all he could do was try to make sense of the tangled mess of feelings that consumed him.

Penelope's voice was tinged with concern as she addressed Percy, her intuition alerting her to the somber mood he carried into their meeting. "Hey, you wanted to talk to me?" she inquired, with a sense of apprehension.

Percy nodded, though his restless fingers betrayed his inner turmoil, a telltale sign of his mounting anxiety. He struggled to meet Penelope's gaze; the weight of his impending confession heavy upon him.

"What's up?" she asked.

It took Percy a moment to gather his thoughts, the words catching in his throat as he steeled himself for what he was about to say. With a deep breath, he finally mustered the courage to speak. "I'm sorry, but I think we were better as friends," he confessed.

"Oh." Penelope's response was barely a whisper, but the pain in her eyes spoke volumes.

Percy winced at the hurt he saw reflected in Penelope's eyes, a pang of guilt twisting in his chest. He knew that his words had caused her pain, yet he also knew that he could no longer ignore the truth of his own feelings. "I am so sorry, Penelope, truly," he offered, his apology tinged with genuine remorse.

"It's... ok..." Penelope's voice trailed off, as she struggled to hold back tears. Grief welled within and she knew she had to get out of here before she broke down in front of him.

"I'm going to go though, see ya, Weasley," Penelope murmured, her voice barely above a whisper as she turned away, desperate to escape.

"See ya..." Percy's whispered response hung in the air, as he watched Penelope walk away. Even as she retreated from view, he could sense she was crying. And though the pain of their parting tore at his heart, he knew he made the right choice, if things had carried on further the pain would have only been worse.

Percy had found solace in the quiet corners of the library lately, seeking refuge from the lingering awkwardness of the dormitory and the painful reminders of his recent breakup with Penelope. Even the familiar company of his ex-girlfriend during study sessions was now a distant memory, the wounds of their separation still raw and tender.

A few days after their breakup, Percy had reached out to Penelope, however she expressed her need for space, a request he understood and respected, albeit with a pang of disappointment. Despite his efforts to remain composed, the sting was undeniable when he discovered that she had requested to switch prefect partners.

As he sat amidst a scattering of books, sunlight streaming in through a nearby window, Percy immersed himself in the task at hand: an essay for Professor McGonagall's class. The topic, a comparison between Verbal and Nonverbal spells, excited him, offering a welcome distraction from the turmoil of his personal life.

Lost in his thoughts, Percy was startled when a familiar voice broke through the silence, drawing his attention to the nearby shelves of books. It was Oliver, engaged in conversation with a couple of unfamiliar voices.

"I found out this guy likes me," Oliver's voice carried a hint of amusement, though Percy couldn't help but detect a note of discomfort beneath the surface.

"Dude gross," one of the unfamiliar voices responded, echoing Percy's own sentiments.

Oliver chuckled awkwardly, a forced laugh masking the unease he felt. "I know right."

"What did you do?" another voice asked.

"Rejected him obviously," Oliver's response was matter of fact, though Percy detected a hint of defensiveness in his words.

"Yeah, good," the other guy agreed, his tone tinged with a hint of disdain. "Didn’t think there'd be people like that at this school."

Oliver's reply was curt, his discomfort palpable. "Yeah, agreed."

"Just got the bad luck of the draw, I guess," the other guy remarked casually, though his words held a weight that lingered in the air long after he spoke.