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*
"Oi! Watch it!"
He half-expects the Quaffle to bludgeon right into the side of Percy Weasley's head — but as quick as his twin brothers, he avoids it. Percy ducks away with a kind of naturally acquired, but unimpressed, reflex. It makes Oliver's jaw slip open, his pulse racing ever-so-slightly.
"I say, do you have a reason for being out here so late? Either of you?" Percy demands, squinting through the darkness. "Well?"
Oliver looks round to Harry Potter nervously ducking his head and clutching his Nimbus Two Thousand.
He scratches his nose.Â
"McGonagall's orders," Oliver says, mumbling. "Have a word with her 'bout the training session hours if you like."
Another, less frustrated, huff.
In all fairness, Oliver couldn't make out Percy's mop of bright ginger curls, let alone his billowing black robes, no more than Percy could notice them while… hold on, what IS Percy doing out near the Quidditch field at all? When there's rule-breakers to patrol inside?
Then, Oliver sees it. A flash of shiny silver badge on the grass.
"Yours?" he points out, snatching it up to examine the 'P'… Prefect? Prefect Percy? Percy the Prefect?
Before the other boy can demand it back, Oliver approaches, firmly tugging aside Percy's robes and pinning the badge on. Likely it was the twins. They'll prank anyone for a good laugh, but especially Percy. "You'll go losing your head next," Oliver says, the corners of his lips twitching.Â
"I — howveryridiculous — " Percy's voice strains.
"Mind taking Harry to the Common Room while I clear up?" Oliver asks, mostly as a distraction while heading back to the large wooden crate.
His fingertips rub together, aching for more. More touch.
"Yes, yes, off you go. Now. We will report to Professor McGonagall first."
Their footsteps disappear.
Oliver's lips twitch up again.
Blimey.
*
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