Birthday Pie
Oliver does not think of himself as someone rather pessimistic, it is actually the opposite, he believes himself firmly capable of finding the best aspects in shitty situations - that's why Percy and he work so well, while one is embedded in negativity, the other tries to bring the most of positivity to their days. For example, when Minerva caught him and Weasley exchanging notes filled with depraved language - her words. In Oliver's humble opinion, it wasn't anything he didn't normally say, so he couldn't quite find the outrage in it, although McGonagall seemed to have found it quite quickly if he was being honest - and made sure to read the whole thing in front of the class, Oliver had found it in him to whisper to a red-cheeked Percy afterward, “Well, at least she didn't read the one where I commented on her fashion choices.”
Now that he thinks of it, Weasley hadn't found the thought quite as amusing as he had, but still, the optimism was never too hidden for Wood to find it. It was always reachable, even in the most unfortunate moments.
Whenever the duo was faced with unfortunate events - detention - or when tragedy struck - they were caught breaking rules once again and led to detention - Wood presented his ever-present optimism and Weasley had even the pleasure of pretending to be bothered by Oliver's jollity.
However, while watching the sunrise on the horizon, on a very poetic-ridden morning, behind an array of clouds that had appeared weeks ago and that Wood knew not to be close to withering away before the appearance of March, giving way to another day, he already felt how bad it was about to be. He had this gloomy sensation on his chest that was spreading around quite quickly, like an incurable disease and oh, would that be it? Was Oliver dying?!
He would be sure not to begin Snape’s homework then. If he had a handful of hours left, he wouldn't go around wasting them.
Very depressing thoughts, really, - he had two choices, dying or doing the Potions assignment and how could a human being survive with such darkness ahead - considering that it was his birthday and Wood was always fairly fond of the date - cmon, a day where everyone is celebrating you in all your glory, and there's cake, and there's presents, and people do what you want because, well, it is your day. But this time, it was supposed to be better, because, for the first time, he had an actual friend to spend the day with.
And not any friend, he had Percy Weasley.
Even that, though, was not enough to cheer an already disappointed Oliver, not even to shine a small light into all the gloominess inside of him, and the looming knowledge of their Transfiguration test did nothing to help up his humor.
It was evident that the feeling wasn’t just stuck to him, seeing as the miserable atmosphere appeared to have befallen all first years, making breakfast a very dull business.
The anticipation was killing him, truthfully. He knew Transfiguration to be a messy subject, and very obviously not his best, and with Weasley muttering the whole way to the classroom, Oliver felt sure that, whatever was awaiting for him just around the corner of the hour would not be pretty. Not at all.
And yet, not even him in that gory day living inside his even gorier mind and all the negativity in the world could have guessed the fiasco that went down. Not only had his hedgehog turned into a very pointy golf ball that had made Weasley breathe out a surprised chuckle - which, rude! Oliver was trying his best after all, and, worse, it was his birthday, and even worse, his best mate! oh, the betrayal was unbearable - but it had also made him want to rip his eyes out - apparently, the hedgehog was supposed to be turned into a pincushion, without the pins.
Clearly, he had failed. Most evidentiality. Spectacularly so.
At least, in an impressive accomplishment that showed only the force of his will, Wood had avoided Minerva's eyes for long enough to slip away from the classroom without glancing into the disappointment shining in her eyes. Of course, Percy's hedgehog turned into the most perfect pincushion, good enough to be even compared to the example Professor McGonagall had given them. Pitch perfect. Absolutely astonishing. McGonagall’s golden boy - but only because she hadn't read Percy's rather mean opinion on her choice of an outfit that one day, Oliver told himself.
There was no reason for it at all, but Wood began to inch away from Weasley, trying to avoid ending up locked up in Azkaban because of bloody Percy. He was smiling and that in itself was already an affront to Oliver's shitty day and shitty mood and shitty morning and shitty birthday and shitty exam and shitty everything. It was all just shitty.
Sheerly shitty. Simply shitty. Spectacularly shitty. Even surprisingly shitty. Unexpectedly shitty. Unavoidably shitty. Shitty enough to make him consider pushing Percy down the stairs. Shitty enough to consider making Percy push him down the stairs. So shitty, but like, so shitty that he-
“-Christ's sake, Wood, who jinxed your face and made it look like that?” Andrew’s idea of a joke rudely interrupted his creative thoughts. Scrunching his nose, Oliver tried his best to ignore the comment and keep eating, going back to his mental list of shitility before he threw all his tea on Mistbone’s face - only because, in a surprising turn of events, the tea was not, in fact, shitty. It was actually pretty decent.
“Mate. What happened?” That was Sam, the more peaceful version of Andrew, and so of course the question was genuine enough, but it only made his temper flare.
Shitty shitty shitty, Oliver sang in his head.
“Nothing happened.” He said with all the finesse he could master without having to cut out his fingers with his teeth, at the same time Weasley, the bloody traitor, confessed, “He flunked Minervas's exam.”
Comprehensive oohs and aahs rolled around the small group of Gryffindors, but he didn’t quite hear it, too focused on clenching and unclenching his hands, imagining it wrapped around Weasley's throat.
It was fine. Everything was fine. So what if he had absolutely failed that exam? Of course, his parents would be disappointed and he was trying really hard not to think about how much that would impact their already shaky relationship, and then Minerva would be disappointed, not that it mattered much - but in truth, it did. And also, he would have to do extra homework to get better at Transfiguration for the rest of the term, because he couldn't keep making the same mistake again and again. At some point, he had to be good at something, anything. And as of the prospect of his birthday, it was all pretty bad at the moment - some might even classify it as shitty, but not Oliver, clearly he wasn't a fan of the word choice. His friend had wished him the best of days, with fake cheery voices that morning, not because they didn't mean it, but because of the threat of the exam looming over their heads. The bloody exam. It all came back to it, didn't it?
And to worsen the matter - Wood was starting to wonder if it was even possible for it to ger worse, but he wouldn't dare to voice such thoughts, not wishing to be proved wrong -, they had double Potions just after lunch. Should Oliver start crying now and simply declare it the worst birthday ever or wait until he was alone? He really wasn't sure.
Before he could make up his mind, however, he felt Percy's pointy fingers right into his ribs, and gave a shameful girly yell, batting his hands away. “What was that for, you git?” And if he was a tad meaner than he had meant to, who could blame him?
“We're gonna be late, Wood, so finish your food.” God, was Weasley's voice always this annoying? Or was the imminent betrayal lingering around that was messing with Oliver's judgment?
Skulling, he said, “You cannot talk to me like that on my birthday, Weasley. That is preposterous!”
Percy's annoyance, however, was enough to brighten his mood considerably.
A scoffing Percy was the most annoying one, and yet Oliver was fighting a smile when Weasley said, “You don't even know what preposterous means, I'm sure, but surprisingly enough, you used it correctly. So I'll let it slide.”
“How very generous of you.” His tone was laced with sarcasm, but Weasley, in that way of his that only Wood would find endearing, ignored the insinuation and took it as an affirmation.
“I am a very generous person, but you already knew that. So let me be just the generousest-”
“-That's not a word!-”
“- and tell you to shove that pudding down your throat before I do it for you and get your things, or else we'll be late. Again. And Snape will be sure to give us both detention. Then, I'll have to kill you or simply kill myself, because having to spend one more hour of my day with you would bring me to the brink of madness.”
Outraged, Oliver said, “How come you can create words and get away with it while when I use a word correctly you lot make fun of me? Not fair! That attitude on my birthday! Really!”
Walking beside him, Sam laughed, “Mate that was not the part of Weasley's speech that I thought would get to you.”
Trying to keep up with Percy was not easy - because yes, they were a bit late for Potions, and he was right to urge Wood on, but who would it hurt really, if they got there a couple of minutes after the demanded time - and so it was a miracle that he was able to make out his words in the crowded hallways, “And generousest is a word.” Percy said. Oliver hummed but shelved it in his mind to ask someone trustworthy later.
“Well, I don’t mind the homicide-suicide plan of Weasley's, really,” He said to Sam, “because I do agree that we spend more time together than is advised upon, and I see where he's coming from.”
They were already entering the classroom so Oliver was not able to criticize Percy’s incorrect attitude on pointing out how problematic their hours together could be on his birthday, suddenly very aware of Snape’s cutting eyes on them.
“So the birthday boy decides to grace us with his presence…” Opening his mouth, more than ready for a verbal spat, Oliver suddenly felt Weasley's insisting hands on his back. Percy pushed Oliver into a chair, kicking him under the table to keep him from earning a weekend of detention and the robbery of more Gryffindor's points.
So Oliver wasn't the best student, who could blame him, really? It wasn’t like he would save someone's life with all this knowledge that Snape threw at them. And if he one day did enter a situation where such would be needed, he would just ask for Percy. Unless it was Percy's life that needed saving, then it would be a tragedy. But oh well, really not Oliver's fault. He would mourn his friend, of course, but die peacefully many years later knowing he could have done nothing to save his friend - because if he did die of something that could've been prevented by a potion, well that was really his choice, wasn't it?
The point was, he hated Potions. And not only because of Snape or the Slytherins. No, it was more of an omnibus hatred. It was a subject that demanded no mistakes made, and who was Wood to not get one tiny teensy thing wrong? He was otherwise great, but even he couldn't be expected to be flawless.
Percy was, though. Flawless. In everything. Always. In that apprehensive way of his, he made sure to stir the potion clockwise the correct amount of times - after checking obsessively the instructions five times, as if the huge 7 written in their books had suddenly turned into a risky 6 and a half. -, and it turned a delightful pinkish color. As it should be.
Oliver grimaced towards his purple bubbly mess and just wished the time would speed a bit more, so he could go outside to at least fly a bit before considering the day a complete and total failure.
Before the end of the class, Snape managed to take forty points out of Gryffindor and only twenty were from Oliver - so, better than usual. Of course, Percy was to be thanked for that, having elbowed Oliver with just the right amount of force when he was about to throw some of his apparently deadly potions at Snape’s large and obnoxious face.
That small improvement was enough to convince him that things could only be getting better from that moment on, allowing him to justify running out of the dungeons the second the class was over, not caring if it cost Gryffindor more lost points, sweep his broom and go into the thunderstorm outside for a calm and pacific flight.
And because it was the first real smile he had seen from Oliver since the beginning of the day, Percy didn't pester him much with how bad that idea was. He didn't, but perhaps he should have.
.
Percy wasn't stupid. Or perhaps he wasn't usually stupid about normal circumstances in his life, but when it came to Oliver Wood, well, the stupidity just stuck like glue to him. It might've been the smile, or Oliver’s general fascination with flying - always ignoring the weather conditions that strongly influenced otherwise. It might've even been the way Wood’s breathing had quickened when he had the broom firmly in his grip. It shouldn't be Weasley's fault that he had tagged along with the other boy, still unable to shake off the fascination, even when he got scared when Wood was up in the air. That was not the day to point out Oliver's poor choices of the weather conditions.
The wind was blowing so insistently that he had to wrap his arm around a tree and hold on for dear life, while getting drenched in his school clothes, icy water running down his skin, wondering if it wouldn't simply be easier to let go and let the wind guide his way.
Unexpectedly, he didn't complain, satisfied to just observe Oliver's impulsive decision and the consequences of it, how much the weather threw him around and how impressive was the fact that he managed to hold onto the broom with no problem at all.
Well, that is, until he didn't. It happened fast, in a heartbeat, so much so that Percy didn't manage to freak out before the whole thing had happened. One second Oliver was up there, fighting the wind, the next he was lying down, clenching his hand to his chest, rolling in the grass, absolutely pale.
Percy's heart stopped. He was running against the wind and no one had ever talked about how hard it is and how much time it takes from you, how the seconds stretch on and on before you can get somewhere. But Percy felt it. He felt the seconds ticking by, as if they were in two different realities, stuck in different timezones.
It was hard to make out if it was rain or tears on Oliver's face, they didn't have the time to, Percy had already pushed him on his feet and was dragging him back to the castle before they could get even more hurt. When safe inside, he could finally hear him.
“What happened?” They asked in unison and it was the fact that Oliver didn't even manage a laugh that made Percy sure he was actually hurting.
“Where?” He urgently asked, guiding him to the Hospital Wing.
“My finger.”
They didn't talk much after that, Percy ran up the stairs and into the Gryffindor common room to get him and Oliver new clothes, stopping only to explain to a white-faced Andrew what had happened. When he made a motion to say something to him, Percy interrupted, “You can tell me later. I gotta run back down,” and was gone before the other boy could even agree.
Madam Pomfrey was scolding Oliver when Percy arrived, in a firm tone, mad that he would even consider going outside in such wondrous conditions. It didn't take long for Percy to understand the story Oliver had given her but was feeling too sad for him to tell her that they were not, in fact, going to see Hagrid. And that Oliver had not accidentally slipped. And really, it was all messy but he was fine, he had just hurt his finger.
“Hurt it? You've broken it! It's broken, boy. Oh, don't look at me like that, I can fix it, of course I can. But no more afternoon strolling around for you. And you, Mr. Weasley!” Madam Pomfrey turned her sharp gaze at him, and he wasn't ashamed to admit to having taken a step or two back. “Why would you insist on such an idiotic thing? Going to see Hagrid in this weather, honestly!”
Percy stared at Wood with murder in his eyes. It was the pleading expression and the mouthed ‘my birthday’ that made him snap his mouth shut and only apologize for his idiotic idea and promise to never, ever do something like that again.
“And drag your friend into it! Honestly…!” With another outraged glance his way, she trotted away to prepare Wood something.
Throwing his clothes right at his face, Percy said, “You ginormous traitor!” Oliver's apologetic shrug did nothing to appease the indignation, “You told her it was my idea? And couldn't you have come up with anything better than going to see Hagrid? We don't even talk to him that much!!”
“I was under pressure, alright? She asked me what happened and I shouldn't have that broom with me, and I just said I slipped. Of course, I had to explain the dirt on my face and legs and arms and belly and also, surprisingly, on my feet? Anyway, so I came up with that.”
They whispered back and forth, Percy’s anger too fleeting to take root anywhere too permanent inside of him. In no time at all, they were laughing.
“You're so bloody stupid. Don't you ever just think? It was rather obvious something awful would happen, Wood.” Of course, he was forgiven, but that had never meant he was safe from Weasleys I told you so speeches, and Percy suspected he was a bit fond of them anyway.
“I don't think, actually. In general, I mean. Every day I wake up and I try my best not to think because if I do all the thinking what will you do? That's called true friendship, mate. Besides, I knew something awful would happen, just look at that weather!” Blissfully pointing to the storm outside, Oliver scoffed. It was endearing and Percy blushed. He turned his head away and pressed his features into an exasperated frown. “But I think flying is worth it. Just how you think I'm worth all the trouble I put you in, Weasley. You even like me a little bit.”
“Not at all, actually. This is all pity.”
But clearly Oliver wasn't fooled by his poor acting performance. “Is it really? Because you got scared when you saw me on the ground.”
“Well, I mean, you could've seriously injured the grass, Wood. Where would we walk then? You know how worried I am about nature.”
Oliver howled so loud, Madam Pomfrey came back to see who was disturbing her patient and immediately got rid of Percy - to Oliver's chagrin - who shrugged and made his way back to the common room with a promise to come back for Wood if Pomfrey hadn't released him in a couple of hours.
Having left his main source of problems behind, Weasley was surprised to find Whittles and Mistbone empty-handed and desperately running around with Angie in the middle of a heated discussion. “I vote we strangle him!” Angie announced, and Percy had to shake his head twice before being sure he had heard her correctly. But yes, there she was, willingly having a conversation with Andrew Mistbone and Sam Whittles, although murderous, the topic didn't involve any of them in the concerning part - Percy always knew Silverblood to be inclined to commit heinous crimes at least once in her lifetime, it only appeared that the moment had come earlier than expected and was not, in fact, directed at Wood nor Sam.
“I think we could go limb by limb” Offered Andrew Mistbone in a helpful observation. Angie considered him for a second before turning her eyes to Sam, who shifted uncomfortably on his feet.
“Nice one!” She muttered.
“Right. So. Main ideas right now: Dismemberment, or stranglement -”
“Not a word” Angie corrected.
“-, but we should really consider something that could be framed as suicide.”
“Shouldn't we be focused on the problem at hand?” Sam interjected, a bit forcefully.
“You're right, of course. They wouldn't just off themselves, they would need a reason. Actually, we already have that. Look at their faces. That's reason enough! I wouldn't want to look like an ugly git!” Percy didn’t point out how unoriginal they sounded, mostly because he didn't know who he'd be defending.
Angie pointed at Andrew with a pleased smile, “There we go.”
“No. I mean. Sure, that too, but I meant the main problem. We don't have the cake.”
Finally understanding the cause of this whole uproar, Percy exclaimed, “Whittles, what did you do with Oliver's cake?!”
Oh, this was bad. So bad. Oliver clearly wasn't having his best birthday - it might even be closer to his worst birthday than his best - and now they didn’t even have a cake to make him smile a bit more. For fuck’s sake, in less than twenty-four hours, Oliver had bombed an exam, failed amazingly at his potion of the day, broken a finger, and lost his birthday cake.
“Nothing! I swear.” Weasley was no fool, he wouldn’t normally trust Whittle's word so quickly, but seeing as Angie was involved in the situation without the intention of murdering any of them, he could safely bet Sam hadn't done anything atrocious to Oliver's cake. On purpose anyway.
“What do you mean then, no cake?!”
“It is pretty evident, I think” Andrew tried to help. When Percy's gaze stopped on him, he fell quiet. “I'm just saying…”
“You're just saying? You are just saying? Stop saying then, and can someone else” he added when Andrew's mouth dropped open once again, “please tell me what happened to Oliver's cake?!”
Angie stepped closer to him, “Don't freak out. Sorry, too late.” She winced, “Hear me out. It's not Sam's fault-” Percy thought hearing Sam breathe out a relieved breath, “- honestly it might've been mine.” Percy made a gesture, urging her on. “Let me walk you through it, shall we?” He had a strong need to yell at her, it didn't bloody matter how the cake had come to not be anymore, it just mattered that Oliver had spent the entire day absolutely sad for a reason Percy had yet to understand, for then to have his finger broken and now he didn't even get a cake.
“Who did it?” He asked.
The other three exchanged a worried glance between themselves as if wondering if the information would lead Percy to actual murder.
“Well…”
“Who did it?” He repeated, although this time the calm tone of his voice sounded extremely forced.
Angie deflated, looking around to the boys for help. When they didn't offer any, she sighed, looking defeated, though never surprised. “Marcus and his special brand of small assholes.”
Percy nodded, feeling rage travel down his body.
“I vote poison.”
.
The four of them then assembled, trying to find any solutions to the imminent problem. It was clear to them all that Oliver couldn't be cakeless, and so a solution was not only ideal but their only choice.
The main problem then proceeded to present itself; none of the four opened their mouths for what was certainly over five minutes.
Percy would've been impressed - he didn't think Mistbone capable of such a feat - if he wasn't absolutely distressed.
“Any ideas, then?” He tried when the quiet stretched on for a beat too long.
“You mean, in a more general matter or about what to do next?”
“What do you think, idiot?”
“Could be either or, really, don't talk to him like that!”
“You heard Sam, don't talk to me like that.”
“Alright. Okay. I apologize…”
“Don't apologize, Weasley, you weakling!”
“I'm not weak, Silverblood, I'm just really trying to have this conversation be an effective one, which is always hard when in the presence of these two.”
“And to think it could be worse…”
“I don't think so, actually.”
“I mean, she is right. Oliver could be here, it would be worse then.”
“I second that.”
“Could you please stop seconding every single thing Andrew says?”
“It is not a right reserved for him, don't worry, I second Oliver a lot as well. And Percy. Sometimes. Not really though. Sorry.”
“Don't apologize, you weakling!”
“Stop stealing my phrases, Mistbone. And really, Sam, don’t worry about it, I'm sure Weasley isn't hurt by that.”
“I am, actually. People should second me more often.”
“See, now I would have to second you on that.”
“You shouldn't have, I don't second that, by the way.”
“Yes well, I don't really care if you second me or not, Andrew.”
“You sound like you care.”
“Yes, you do sound like you care.”
“Sorry, Weasley, hard one to defend. You really sound like you care.”
“Well, I don't. Alright?”
“I mean, if you say so…”
“He's literally saying so.”
“Don't get witty with me, Whittles. I'll fuck you up.”
“Right Blondie McBlond, stop talking now.”
“Blondie McBlond!”
“Well, mate, you are blond…”
“I second that.”
“Thank you, Percy. Isn't it great to second people?”
“It is mildly entertaining, yes.”
“Any solutions then?”
“I don't know, mate. Hair dye?”
“I meant about the cake situation, you git.”
“Hey, Blondie, stop that. Sam was trying to help you, you inconsiderate shit.”
“Weasley, will you please put some order to this!”
“I second that!”
“You second everything!!”
“Right, sorry”
“Weasley doesn't control me, Mistbone, so just lose the attitude, and let's focus on the real problem now.”
“Fine. Sam, I really think you should stop saying ‘I second that’ every five seconds.”
“That wasn't-”
“No, Silverblood! You asked me to solve the problem without the attitude and I'm solving it. Let me speak. Whittles's my friend and he'll understand when I say, and really I meant it from everyone in the room, stop saying that!”
“Umm, no, actually, I don’t understand. It is not my fault you guys use all the words before I have a chance to do so!”
“I mean, you could occasionally disagree with us…”
“Well, Percy, what does it look like I'm doing right now?! Disagreeing with Andrew.”
“He has a point.”
“Not you too, Silverblood.”
“Well, I'm just saying. He really disagreed with Mistbone. They were having an actual healthy discussion and you ruined it, Weasley.”
“So, you just seconded me, Silverblood.”
“Beg your finest pardon?!”
“You did, you really did!”
“I did not! I never said that! I would never say that. I would rather hang myself with my own underwear in the middle of this common room than seconding anything ever!”
“I second that”
“You can’t second such things, mate, it just sounds redundant”
“Whittles, you’re whole vocabulary can be resumed in two words - and I really don’t think I have to say that they are “I”, “second” and “that” -”
“-That’s three, actually.”
“-so I think I can second whatever the bloody fuck I wish to whenever I wish to, and that you should stop pretending to know what redundo means.”
“I said, redundant you ignorant piece of shit”
“And he is right, you know? You can’t second someone saying they would rather die than second someone, you are literally losing the whole point of the argument there.”
“See, now, I do not second that!”
“Just, whatever. No one cares.”
“I care.”
“Alright, sorry Sam. Now, let's talk cake.”
“I second-”
“Don't say it!”
“I have to say it, okay? It's my personality now. I'm a secondercor!”
“Not a word.”
“Oh, what are you, really? The word police?”
“Witty, Mistbone. Very witty.”
“Witty, very witty”
“Don't do that, it's unbecoming”
“You'll see unbecoming.”
“What does that even mean?”
“I-”
“Let me guess, you second that, Whittles?”
“Well, yes, thank you Weasley, as a matter of fact, I do in fact second that.”
“You're annoyingly charming, Sam.”
“Who even says that?”
“What do you mean, Angie? I just did.”
“No, I know, I meant- Don't call me Angie!”
“Well, if that's what you meant, it was a weird way of saying it!”
“Let me ask you this, Andrew. Are you really this stupid?”
“Well, thank you for asking, Angie. I would say…”
“Stop it, you two. Let's focus please.”
“On what?”
“Cake!”
“Where?!”
“That's the question, isn't it, Whittles?”
“Don't sound so condescending.”
“I wasn’t. I really wasn't”
“Weasley! Some help?”
“You know, Andrew, for the first time I don't think she was.”
“See, now, I am delighted and surprised to know that you know the meaning of condescending.”
“And there you go”
“You little shit…”
“For fucks's sake! Everyone be quiet. Andrew, stop saying odd shit. Silverblood, stop baiting him! And Whittles I swear to god, if you second anything again, I will strangle you.”
For the first time in twenty minutes, there's silence.
“Now. What do we do about Oliver's cake? He needs to have something!”
“Yeah, I remember the Halloween discussion”
“Way to be on topic as always, Mistbone.”
“I am on the topic, you just weren't there to know that! I meant the day Oliver said his birthday was indeed the best holiday.”
“What an obnoxious arsehole. He does know his birthday is not, in fact, a national holiday, right?”
“I mean, I think he believes it to be worldwide, but sure, whatever helps you sleep at night, Angie.”
“Merlin.”
“Right. Anyway. So, any ideas?”
“Is this what all of this is about?”
“Whatever do you mean, Whittles?”
“I mean, I thought we were just talking. As usual. Like this is really normal for us. And, lemme just add this, if I could, I would second myself.”
“Of course you would! Who would ever not second themselves?!”
“Why are you yelling, Silverblood? I know people should second me more, I wasn't trying to trigger you with it, though.”
“I just meant-”
“Forget it, he won't understand it. Please tell us what you meant, Whittles, with the whole ‘is this what this is about’ business”
“Oh, I just meant we should just go to the kitchens and try to get some leftovers.”
And suddenly they had their solution.
.
“So, tell me, please. Is this a special talent or some kind of twisted curse you were both put under when newborns?” Percy hurriedly whispered back to the two boys following him. Angie had flat out refused to leave the Gryffindor common room after curfew - she pointed out that she did not like Oliver all that much and that, if someone should be going it would be Percy, his closest friend, Sam, who got the cake stolen from, and Andrew, just because he was a pain in the arse -, but offered her entire support to the three of them, so it was really just the three of them, trying and miserably failing on the task of being silent and not get caught.
Looking puzzled by the comment, Mistbone and Whittles looked at each other, still clutching their hands together in an impressive show of friendship - Andrew had announced, five minutes prior, that if Whittles got caught then so would he. And while Sam thought it to be the most loving thing to ever come out of Mistbones's mouth, Percy knew Andrew was the one who was probably gonna get caught first so it would be Sam going down with him, and not the other way around. He feared Andrew knew the same to be true.
“All this talking nonstop!” Whisper shouted Percy. “We weren't supposed to be walking these corridors right now and still here you both are, chatting like there's no History of magic tomorrow to do so!”
“That's surprisingly rude of you, really. We thought at least you liked that subject.”
He hummed, thinking, “Not really, no.”
“Pity” Offered Sam, with a comprehensive smile.
“Is it really, though? It begs the question.” Andrew said, in an amused way.
“The only thing begging right now is me, please, please, shut it out, and let's go.”
Walking as quickly as possible while checking every corner they turned into, Weasley led the way to the kitchens, led completely bythe memory of a discussion he had overheard between Billy and Charlie years ago.
When they finally found the place, it was up to Percy to beg the elves for some kind of cake, any kind really, because his best friend would perish if not stuffed with dessert on his birthday and please oh pleaseee could they make something, anything really?!
After what seemed like an eternity of explaining the situation and promising they were in fact allowed to take food to the dorms at that time of night -they weren't, and to be perfectly clear, Sam was the one to come up with the lie because Percy would have never been capable to do it with a straight face - they got a pie. Strawberry pie. Which was surprising, Percy hadn't actually expected it to work - not that the mission was a complete success but it wasn't a failure either - and so they made their way back to the dorms, trying hard not to get caught smuggling pie to the Gryffindor common rooms with Andrew high on sugarcanes the had stolen for the kitchen.
When the Fat Lady Portrait opened up, the three of them were faced with an annoyed Silverblood and a smiling Wood, pestering her about some rumor he had heard about her a week prior. The annoying tone of his voice, however, made Percy smile, surely just glad not to be the aim of Oliver's curiosity.
“Tell me. Pleaseeee tell me if it's true. I gotta know. I gots to know. I need it!! You have to tell me. It's my birthday!!”
Angie shook her head and was content in pointing them out, just to shut Oliver up, he was sure, and with no other way out, Percy offered him the pie and said, “Happy birthday, Oliver.”
The smile he was rewarded with made him want to hide a little bit, a bit like staring directly at the sun.
“You got me a birthday cake?”
“Pie, actually. Birthday pie.”
The smile didn't dim in the least. “I knew you liked me, Weasley.”
“You're wrong actually. I just found this lying around.”
“And you thought of me? How delightful. I must thank you, then.”
It was all it took for Andrew's sugar high to come back, jumping on Oliver and singing a rather creative - if dirty - version of “Happy Birthday”, while Sam did the back vocals, and even Angie laughed hysterically. Pretending to be annoying, Percy plunged his fingers into his ears, grimacing at the other boys.
It didn't last long though, just until Oliver was hugging him and smiling at him, and then, he was singing along.
The celebrations went on for a couple of hours, and all the students who were once trying to study disappeared as soon as it was made clear the five of them weren't about to shut up. There was pie and there was confetti - Angie said, ‘Please don't ask me my methods, I cannot share them’ when asked where she had gotten those -, and Oliver didn't stop smiling for one second.
And when they finally became too tired and too stuffed to keep going, they went to bed. As Oliver was falling asleep, Percy murmured, “You're 12 now, mate.”
Oliver nodded, not wishing to share how much the number didn't matter unless all the other ones were spent with him. He didn't know how to say it, and so he never discovered that Weasley was thinking the exact same thing.