The Story

Three Years Later – 30 July 1997:

The sound of a kettle whistling in the background, music playing from a turntable; Bustling cars and city goers as they pass by the apartment. Percy, in the amidst of all the noise and activity lay there, slumped over on his couch with an unimaginably painful and pounding hangover.

He groaned, unwilling to move even for the sweet temptations of tea and biscuits. The turntable had been charmed to shuffle through his records and currently on rotation was T-Rex’s Electric Warrior. The melodious beats of Bang a Gong (Get It On) did nothing for his earth-shattering headache – albeit his foot danced showing his slight appreciation.

At one point he fell back asleep, he knew he had missed work but for once, it felt like it wouldn’t end him – Most likely because he already felt ended by both the headache and the entire reason for his abnormal drinking the night before.  The humiliation he felt after running into his brother, Bill, at the Leaky Cauldron was strong and pulled his mind in utter embarrassment.

When he awoke once again, the turntable had switched over to playing Dum Dum Diddle which to Percy was certainly one way to be jarred awake. His headache this time had eased, and he found himself humming to the song as he went over to the stove to pour a mug of now cold tea.

Sometimes he thinks back to his first day at Hogwarts, when he had been sorted. “Must be a Weasley…” “Red hair… Weasley….” “Weasley? Gryffindor…” Why did it matter that he was a Weasley? And why were all Weasley’s placed in Gryffindor? Those questions haunted him even after he had graduated and left the school. He never found himself brave enough to be put in the house of lion, so why was he? Granted he couldn’t think of himself best in any of the other houses either: Wise? Definitely not. Cunning? Hilarious. Loyal? Well, he surely proved that wrong recently to his family.

At the end of the day, he sometimes found himself wondering if it would have been best if he turned out to be a squib, maybe then he’d find his place – even if it was among muggles.

Percy took a sip of his now cold tea and then stared blankly at his reflection in the dark liquid, questioning why he didn’t just reheat it or even put milk in; both would have been better tasting options.

He looked over to a stack of unopened letters, most of them were from his mother, some from siblings that were most likely only mailing to tell him to respond to mum. He sighed and pushed it off for later – as he always seemed to do. Future Percy really has his luck cut out for him.

Disappointed in himself, he put the mug down and set out to get tidied up. He argued that if he were to miss work, he could at the very least go out and be productive instead of being holed up all sad and mopey.

There was a muggle shop that he quite enjoyed down the road, with its bright accents and eccentric architectural design. The café itself was small and tucked in the corner of a quieter street but its charm was comforting, and he often found solace in its dark and moody interior. It was a place where he could relax and get some work done away from the office, and sometimes on days where he was off from work and mentally at a low, he found himself seeking the café out and writing his time away in his journal.

Today was one of those days, and although he knew he should get work done the idea of doing so seemingly crawled his skin. Percy opened the door and heard the chime above as he was greeted by the cashier. To his pleasure the café was quieter, which would allow him some peace of mind.

He ordered his usual lemon and ginger tea then took a seat in the far corner of the room. It was his usual spot as there were privacy from being in the back and a window to his side where he could watch the passer goers on their travels.

Percy pulled his journal out and flipped through the pages, he has been writing his way through life the last few years; Finding the quiet moments where his thoughts become inked words on the pages alleviated the weight from his shoulders.

It was normal for Percy to write with a quill, but he was in muggle London now and had to write with a pen. Although a pen was much more convenient, there was a delightful fulfillment that writing with quill and ink gave him. He held his hand to the page, taking a moment to think of what to write, the words came easily to him – they normally did.

The pen glided on the pages in a smooth lure that tempted ease as Percy wrote about his interaction with Bill: The embarrassing flush that shaded his cheeks a rosy pink; the condescension of Bill’s words and the condescension of his own.

Percy had been originally at the Leaky Cauldron for a blind date, but the mystery man had never showed, and he had found himself drowning in self-loathing with glass after glass of firewhisky, that had burned with each brutal realization that he’d never be enough, not for anyone and not for himself.

Bill found him then, already drunk at the bar, lacking the perfect posture and normal demeanor for the third Weasley boy. To be honest, Percy thought Bill was an illusion created by his mind to make fun of him, but when the “illusion” tried getting him up and out of the pub his, mind had snapped back to reality.

He shoved Bill off him, and from there is when the memory started to get blurry; He clearly drank one too many. Percy could remember words had been exchanged, not quite yelling but whatever was said wasn't pretty either. His cheeks were heavy from a flush that crept to his burning ears and his words most likely had been slurred.

Yet there was one moment that stuck out clearer than the rest of the interaction. His memory of standing his ground and pointing a finger at Bill and Percy was certain that he had called his eldest brother a hypocrite. For what though? That he could not remember, nor could he remember how the conversation ended.

As Percy wrote the words, "Why did I call Bill a hypocrite?” He underlined it, then his hand stilled on the page. The more he thought about it the more it didn’t make sense. Why? Why? Why? Percy might never know, if his family already hated him, just wait till Bill brings home how shameful his brother acted.

The cafe door chimed welcoming another customer, and Percy wrote more furious questions plaguing his mind: Why did I skip work today; What did Bill say to me; Why was is it wrong to work for the Ministry; Why were all Weasleys Gryffindors; Why was I specifically a Gryffindor; Where did everything go wrong?

Then suddenly Percy snapped away from his piercing questions to the sound of a familiar voice. It was lower but the confident way it was carried was all too recognizable and Percy found himself too scared to look up to confirm who the voice belonged to.

But an unreckonable force made him look anyways and then, there Oliver Wood was, standing in front of the cash register making small talk as he made his order. He’d gotten taller since leaving Hogwarts, must have grown a few inches. And it was clear by the way his shirt defined them that his muscle tone increased. His hair was cut short which brought out his thicker jawline. But despite the growth and changes it was undeniably Oliver Wood, the same boy Percy shared a dorm room with for seven years.

He looked away fast, and back down to his writing not wanting to be caught staring. He picked up the fountain pen to feign sudden inspiration; His best attempt to look as if all was normal and this was some random Wednesday morning.

To his dismay, Oliver did notice Percy was there as he had gone over to him saying, “Well if it ain’t a Weasley!”

Percy glanced up to Oliver who was standing over him with a toothy grin – and bloody hell was he still gorgeous. “Hello there Oliver, it's been a while.” He said curtly with his usual formality.

Oliver pointed to the empty chair across from Percy and asked, “May I sit?” But he sat anyways before Percy was given any chance to respond.  He watched as Oliver unwrapped his sandwich and take a mouthful in which Percy graciously looked away.

It was just his luck to run into someone he didn’t want; A hilarious joke given he was just writing about running into his brother that he also didn't want to.

“So, Percy, how’ve you been?” Oliver said as he wiped the corners of his mouth.

He looked back at Oliver who was still smiling as he continued to chow down his sandwich. “I’ve been alright, just working a lot.”

“Ministry, right?” Oliver asked and when Percy nodded, he continued, “Always knew you’d go far.”

Far? Percy could hardly count being the junior assistant as getting much anywhere especially when it destroyed his relationship with his family.  Not wanting to delve deeper he changed the subject: “And what about you?  I hear your playing for Puddlemere United now.”

The quidditch reference got Oliver going almost as if a light had been flipped on in his brain as his eyes lit up. He nodded ferociously and spoke with impatient joy, “Oh its awesome! The team is great, the game even better!” He kept going on about being the reserve keeper and how he was recently yelled at for practicing too hard.

Honestly, Oliver probably forgot Percy was there as he kept nodding along. Percy knew Quidditch, all his siblings had played growing up so he couldn't escape it at home and at Hogwarts, living with a Quidditch obsessed roommate was enough to fill in the rest.

Eventually the rant that seemingly consumed Oliver dwindled as the conversation changed to simple pleasantries. Percy didn’t want to converse with Oliver but strangely he felt compelled to listen, to catch up on the last two years since they’d last seen each other.

Oliver stood up pulling Percy from his momentary daze, “Well, I’ve got to get going, but it was good seeing you, Percy,” he said.

Percy stood up then too, and shook Oliver’s hand, it was warm yet rough from hours of training, and the contact crept a flush up his arms and he hoped it didn’t show in his face. “It was good seeing you too, Oliver, we should catch up some time.”

It was strange, the conversation had gone so smoothly up till now, yet Percy couldn’t help feeling a slight unease between the two at his suggestion. There was a moment of hesitation in Oliver’s movement that didn’t go unnoticed.

“Yeah, we definitely should,” Oliver replied then gave Percy a small smile and walked away.

His heart was in his throat as he watched Oliver leave, he stood there fighting a silent battle in his mind. Questioning the next course of action, questioning Oliver’s reactions; He didn’t know what any of it meant, he didn’t think he ever would.

Later, back at home Percy would sit on the couch, Boys Don’t Cry playing on the turntable as he went over his conversation with Oliver. It had been weird to see him after all this time and he hated the way his heart practically jumped out of his chest at the thought of maybe seeing him again. After all Percy Weasley got over Oliver Wood a long time ago.