“Tommyinnit: If You Had To Choose Between Tubbo And All The Money I Have In My Wallet, Which Would

Cicero Headcanons

Yup. It’s time for dirty gremlin jester boi headcanons. Prepare thine bootyholes.

+ Very small lad. 5’ at most, and only 80 pounds when he first gets to Skyrim. He does gain a bit of weight as time goes on and he’s got access to food on a regular basis, but even then, he’s 100 pounds soaking wet. Very small boi.

+ Mid to late thirties, early forties at most. He’s been involved with the Brotherhood most all of his life. Was in the Bruma sanctuary first, and spent most of his twenties there until he was transferred to Cheydinhal. Spent the rest of his twenties and most of his thirties in Cheydinhal, then headed out to Skyrim. Only stayed in the Dawnstar Sanctuary for a couple of months before finally heading to Falkreath.

+ He does like his sweetrolls and carrots in particular, but more as a snack than a staple. He’s actually quite fond of a lot of food, and despite his tiny size, he can and will eat quite a bit! He didn’t have access to much of anything fresh during his time in Cheydinhal, and once he did, he garnered a new appreciation for his fruits and veggies. Hates mushrooms, though. Absolutely despises them if they’re cooked.

+ Is bi/pan, and demisexual. Before he came to Cheydinhal, he kind of took people for granted, in a sense. After contracts he would sometimes spend a bit of his money on some... rewards, shall we say. After everything that happens to him afterwards, however, he is FAR more grateful for good, genuine company. The lad needs a friend, and/or smooches. NSFW happenings aren’t completely off the table, but it takes a LOT of trust and reassurance on his end for him to want to get intimate with someone again. And I mean a lot.

+ He has a lot of tricks up his sleeves. Literally. His outfit is decked out with all sorts of secrets to give him an edge in a fight if he absolutely needs it. Steel toes at the ends of his boots, mini knife compartments also in boots and pretty much everywhere else on his person, knuckles in his gloves, and lots and lots of pockets.

+ Very early riser. When it’s the designated day of the week for oiling mother, he wakes up as early as five in the morning. It’s a very time consuming process, and he likes to get it out of the way as soon as he can so he has time to do other things. Otherwise, he may sleep in till seven at the latest. That being said, if he is sharing his bed with someone, he’s incredibly careful to not wake them, and once he’s done and all cleaned up, he comes back to wake them for the day.

+ Before getting a bit more settled in Skyrim (kind of Falkreath, but more Dawnstar, should he be spared during the Cure for Madness), he had issues with not taking care of himself properly due to issues with disassociation caused by his time in Cheydinhal. Didn’t bathe regularly, didn’t eat regularly. It isn’t until he’s among the company of his family (and was likely fed up with getting shit talked, if I’m going to be honest) that he makes a bit more of an effort to care for himself. Having someone as kind and caring as the listener certainly helps, however.

+ He had some pretty greasy ass hair before he started bathing properly again (the hair we see him with in-game). Once it’s all nice and clean and brushed out, though? Floof. Big ol floofy mane of copper hair.

+ He’s very, very well read on the history of the Dark Brotherhood. Quite the fan of Lucien Lachance, funnily enough. (I’ll get into some headcanons about these two nerds in the future if anyone is interested).

+ Him switching to third person is a very telling sign if he’s having anxiety issues or is otherwise upset. People with mental problems similar to him often switch to third person as a way to comfort themselves. It allows them to disassociate a bit, to make it feel like whatever is happening to them isn’t actually happening to them.

+ That being said, Cicero’s madness is likely comprised of survivor’s guilt (kind of a given), PTSD, and potential issues with bipolar and/or multiple personality disorder. He can certainly be helped, and his past isolation is largely to blame and can assumably be combated against, but it will always leave a mark on his psyche.

+ His laughter can be used as a nervous tic. Not all the time, but sometimes.

+ Speaking of tics and stims, this lad. This boy right here. He jiggle he leggy. He taps his fingers on the table, or his thighs, or wherever his hands may be. Has a habit of feeling at his face whenever he’s thinking, and sometimes picks at it if he’s feeling really anxious. He can’t keep still to save his soul.

+ Has an odd but fitting habit of keeping everything very neat and tidy. During his time in Cheydinhal, he didn’t really have anything else to do when he wasn’t tending to mother, so he spent a lot of his time making everything spic and span, despite him being the only person living there. The place was found almost unnaturally clean when he left. And just like that, in Falkreath (and especially Dawnstar, as he prides that place as HIS sanctuary), he keeps everything very nice and clean to keep himself busy when he isn’t tending to mother.

+ Actually a way better singer than he lets on. A lot of the time, when he “sings”, he’s just screwing around, but when he actually tries? Surprisingly good.

+ When he and the Listener are traveling together, he likes doing a lot of riddles and stuff to keep both himself and his dear listener entertained. Makes I Spy With My Little Eye actually fun.

+ Speaking of him and his relations with the Listener... this lad? This tiny boio right here? Absolutely provides contract advice, as well as leadership advice should they need it (and chances are, they will). When he first brings up such things, he’s uncertain. A bit anxious, worried they may take offense to him providing such a thing despite his experience. But with enough encouragement, he breaks out of his shell and provides his thoughts much more regularly. This lad craves validation, especially when it comes to things like this. He’s very... creative.

+ Very, very appreciative of the outdoors when he comes to Skyrim. He gets cold hella easy, sure, and he hates being cold, but to see the sun again? To see the light glimmering off a lake or river? To see grass and tree branches bending in a gentle breeze? To feel rain on his face, and see lightning flash across the sky and thunder rumbling after it? To see the aurora borealis Skyrim’s night sky so readily offers? He would trade anything in the world to see it again.

+ Fascinated by all things shouts and dragons. He’s like the only person I know who actually comments positively on the Dragonborn shouting.

“For someone known as the Listener, you do an awful lot of shouting!”

“Oh! Hahaha! What a fun trick! Teach me, teach me!”

He never new dragons had actually existed until Skyrim, and while he is respectful of their power and rather wary of them, he still finds them immensely fascinating.

+ That being said, the whole notion of dragons coming back to life, along with the civil war breaking out among Skyrim’s people, really does set him on edge. He’s seen and known enough war, and prospect of even MAYBE having to deal with more stresses him out.

+ He needs to have some form of background noise when he sleeps. Otherwise it gets far too quiet, and it makes him very anxious.

+ As I had stated in a previous artwork post of mine, if he’s in the sanctuary and the listener is away, he spends a lot of his time in the torture chamber if he’s got nothing else to do. While he’s no longer able to fulfill his own contracts, it doesn’t mean he’s entirely forbidden to kill. Besides, he’s got lots of time and subjects, willing or not, to test out all sorts of wonderful, twisted little ideas on. More than likely excitedly shows the Listener what he’s been up to while they were gone.

+ Very heavy drinker. Has had to cope with a ton of shit, and while he knows, deep down, it’s not the right way to deal with things... no one really wanted to talk to him. Hear about his problems. He could rant to mother all he wanted, sure, but... it just wasn’t the same. That’s not to say mother doesn’t care; without a doubt, she does, but for him, not having any kind of response makes it all the more frustrating.

+ That being said, his go-to drink is usually wine. And he tends to get very moody on wine. Be careful. You might get an earful.

Aight folks, this is about all I have on general/main Cicero headcanons. If y’all want me to do more on specific things, like romance, NSFW happenings, or interactions between him and certain canon characters (or my own, if/when I get to introducing them properly here), y’all lemme know. I hope you enjoy! :D

[Cas and A disheveled Gabriel meeting up with Sam and Dean for ice cream after a day at the park]

Sam:*shocked when he sees Gabriel* What happened babe?

Cas:*holding an ice cream cone,sitting on Deans lap* Instead of feeding bread to the ducks Gabriel fed them bird seeds and they all turned on him.

Sam:Turned? *wide eyes* as in..?

Cas:*pulls out his phone,shows him a video he filmed where Gabriel is standing on a bench,clutching bird seeds to his chest while all around him ducks quack angrily*

Dean:If he was standing on a bench then why does he look like the ducks walked over him?

Cas:Watch.

[In the video Gabe jumps off the bench and properly trips over his own feet,ducks attack,pecking and start stepping over him]

Sam:*hugging Gabe* my poor baby.

Dean:*laughing* Aw man that’s awesome. Send me that.

Gabe:Your boyfriend didn’t help me at all!

Cas:If I would have helped you I would have never filmed a great video.

Gabe:You threw more bird seeds at me!

Cas:*smiling* it was very funny.

Incorrect Quotes 9

Sam: you can ask me one question, and one question only that I will answer

Jack: why aren't there uppercase and lowercase numbers?

Sam: what?

Jack: I wanna write angry numbers

---------------------------------------------

Dean: you read my diary?!?

Castiel: I didn't realize it was your diary

Castiel: at first, I thought it was a sad, handwritten book

------------------------------------------

Sam: I'm here

Sam: come out

Dean: I'm bisexual

Sam: I love you and support you, but I meant that I'm outside

---------------------------------------------

Jack: shouldn't we find Gabe?

Lucifer: oh he'll be back

Gabriel: hi guys!

Lucifer: see! Like a shit terminator

---------------------------------------

Dean: what's the WiFi password?

Sam: we are at a funeral

Dean: with spaces in between?

Dean: it didn't work

---------------------------------------

Dean: handcuffs? Kinky

Cop: first of all, I'm a cop

Cop: second of all, you're being arrested

-----------------------------------------

Adam: are you mad?

Michael: no.

Adam: so sharpening knives at 2am is just a hobby?

-------------------------------------------------------

Sam: Dean, we need to talk about your will

Dean: what about it?

Sam: the only thing it says is "bury me with seven extra bones to fuck with archeologists lmao"

------------------------------------------------

Gabriel: are you talking to youself?

Sam: yes

Sam: it's the only way I can have an intelligent conversation here

-----------------------------------------------

Sam: if I ever get killed by a seriar killer, I will die doing what I love doing

Sam: learning too much about seriel killers

-------------------------------------------

Dean: so what's your favourite position in bed?

Castiel: near the wall so I can use my phone while charging

Dean: seriously?

Castiel: what?

----------------------------------------------------

Sam: how are you sleeping?

Dean: like a baby

Dean: every two hours I wake up sreaming

----------------------------------------------

Gabriel: we're playing Scrabble, it's a nightmare

Charlie: Scrabble? Scrabble's great

Gabriel: not when you're playing with Sam, it's not. He puts words like "ephemeral" and I put "dog"

"You're an idiot." "But you love me."

This got way out of control, but whatevs. Thank you to @theroomofreq @frustratedpoetwrites and @ofmermaidsandmarauders for looking over this monster. Siriusly, I love you all.

Summary: Percy and Oliver start dating. Percy doesn’t realize it. 

Ao3 hindsight You’ll see me in hindsight, tangled up with you all night. Burnin’ it down. 

--

Percy receives the wedding invitation on a Tuesday morning when he’s well into his second cup of coffee and struggling through the morning crossword. 

It’s a typical morning until the tiny little owl flutters towards his window, bouncing across the frame twice until it finally makes it in. 

Percy shakes his head, taking the letter off with great care as Pig struggles in his hold. Ron could easily afford a new owl by now. He really needs a new owl, but he’s attached to this little hellion, and Percy doesn’t want to overstep his bounds by suggesting he trade it out like he did with his brother’s best mate years ago. 

Not that he thinks Ron would make the connection, but still, looking at the wedding invitation with his name written out in neat scrawl, he doesn’t want to jinx anything.

He doesn’t quite believe that it’s real.

He’s expecting the letter, of course. It’s for his own brother’s wedding, after all, but there’s still the thumping of his heart when he realizes that he’s allowed to be invited. That his presence is wanted. Welcomed. 

He quickly writes back that he’s planning to attend, and ticks off which dinner entree he would like. 

He goes about the rest of his day feeling just a bit lighter.

--

The war ends up rekindling more than just Percy’s relationships with his family. 

Oliver Wood, who he remembers seeing fighting the Battle of Hogwarts like some sort of vigilante on a broom, is now a constant presence in his life. It started after his brother’s funeral, where he looked up from the old family Oak tree and right into the eyes of the boy he used to give detentions for sneaking out to fly his broom in the middle of the night. 

Oliver had been his first in so many versions of the term. 

His first crush on another man. His first kiss, where he was a fumbling, awkward boy of just thirteen, pressing his lips in a thin, hard line against the open mouth of someone who smelled like sweat and Quidditch gear. And then all the stolen kisses in the years after that, where Percy learned to open his mouth and tilt his head to just the right angle, to groan into the other boy’s mouth, feeling it vibrate and reciprocate in Oliver’s throat. The first time he ever made love, it had been to Oliver.

Oliver had been his first awakening. 

Now Oliver sits across from Percy in Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour for their weekly meet-up, where he makes fun of Percy’s plain choice of vanilla and eats far too many scoops of his own chocolate and raspberry. 

“Ron is getting married,” Percy says, eyeing the way some of the chopped nuts on the top of Oliver’s cone get lapped up by his tongue. “Next weekend.”

“Oh, yeah?” Oliver comments. “To Hermione?”

Percy nods. “I was invited. I almost didn’t think I would be.”

“Ron’s not really one to hold grudges from what I remember.”

“No, that’s more Ginny’s thing, I think.”

And even Ginny had been willing to pick up where they left off. After a few swift punches to his shoulder for good measure, of course. Percy rolls it now, remembering the way it ached for days after.

“Fantastic Quidditch player, that one,” Oliver comments, because he can’t not. They have rule, the two of them. No mentioning of Quidditch or whatever it is that Percy is reading that week for at least the first hour that they get together during their weekly meetings. Sometimes they slip, though. “The Harpies really knew what they were doing when they recruited her.”

“Yes,” says Percy, eyes closed as he eats another spoon full of ice cream. “I think we’ve covered this before. Several times before, if I'm remembering correctly.” 

Percy cracks one eye open just in time to see Oliver grinning back at him. He wills himself not to blush scarlet. 

“Alright, alright, Weasley,” Oliver concedes. Percy gets a tingle of satisfaction down his spine that he is the only one Oliver will shut up about Quidditch for. “So, who are you taking to this wedding?” 

Percy blinks. “Why… no one,” he admits. “I didn’t even consider taking a date. Why would I?” 

“Because it’s a wedding? And weddings are generally something you attend with a date.”

“You don’t have to attend with a date. No one is expecting me to bring one. It’s not like I’m…” Dating, Percy thinks, trailing off because it’s easier to be left unsaid. He adjusts his glasses. “Besides, I’m not even sure who I would go with. Or who would even want to go. You know… with me.”

Oliver blinks at him owlishly. “You’re kidding, right?”

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Oliver says, shaking his head and smiling. “I’ll go with you. If you want me to.”

It’s Percy’s turn to blink now, confused. “You would?”

“Of course,” Oliver tells him easily. Confidently. “I wouldn’t mind going. It sounds like fun.”

“My brother’s wedding… sounds like fun?”

Oliver laughs. “Well, maybe not to you, who I’m sure will iron his socks before attending. But yeah. I think it could be fun.”

Percy bites his lower lip — half in compilation, half to keep from admitting that he actually is planning on ironing his socks. 

“You’d really go with me?”

Oliver tilts his head to the side. “Is it that hard to believe?”

Is it hard to believe that someone would willinging attend an event with him and consider that event to be fun, all while keeping Percy as company? Yes, that’s extremely hard for Percy to believe. 

But if that person is Oliver…

“Well, no. I guess not.”

“Perfect,” Oliver says, smiling. Percy wonders when his smile shifted from boyish to charming over the years. “So that’s that then. Owl your brother and let him know you’ve got a plus one to his wedding.”

--

Ron responds to his letter quickly, telling Percy that of course he’s allowed to bring a date. In, of course, much cruder terms. But still, the affection is there if not just laced between the lines of an insult. 

He owls Oliver shortly after, confirming the time of the wedding and — strangely to Percy — the details of his dress robes down to the color of the tie he is going to wear. 

He makes Oliver promise to be on some version of his best behavior, and Oliver tells him that he is somewhat civilized; he has attended several events and banquets before — all for Quidditch, of course — and knows how to act like a decent human being and not the dolt Percy seems to think he is. 

Percy trades a few more letters with Oliver after that about everything and nothing. 

One where Percy comments on the job offer Headmistress McGonagall has given him for the Transfiguration post — Do you think I should take it? I just can’t imagine myself in charge of children. You’ve been in charge of me before, Perce. What’s a bunch of kids compared to that? I think you would manage just fine. 

One where Oliver complains about Quidditch practice isn’t nearly grueling enough — I woke up at five in the morning EVERY MORNING at Hogwarts. We’re going to get slaughtered at the next match because we aren’t prepared enough. You start practice at six in the morning. I seriously doubt an hour's difference is enough to determine the loss of a match. You’re being ridiculous. 

One where Percy, at nearly two in the morning on a night where he can’t seem to sleep and he can’t seem to get the image of Fred’s hopeful face at him resigning from the ministry and returning to the family right before he died out of his mind. I can’t help but wonder what he would think of me now. I can’t help but feel guilty over the years I lost with him being a prat. Open your floo. I’m coming over.

He folds each response neatly and places them on his nightstand. On the nights where it feels like he is suffocating, he opens them to read and feels like he can breathe again.

--

Saturday arrives quickly, and Percy finds himself fidgeting by the fireplace at half past noon. 

He’s waiting on Oliver, nervous and knowing the other man doesn’t have the same practice of punctuality for other things that he does for Quidditch. He’s in the middle of readjusting his glasses for the tenth time when his fireplace ignites and out stumbles Oliver. 

And, oh. 

He’s positively dashing. 

His dress robes are tailored to compliment Percy’s own, and his hair looks freshly cut and styled. In his hands he holds a bouquet of flowers that Percy blinks dumbly at for a moment. 

“These are for you,” Oliver says, handing them to a bewildered Percy and smiling easily. Percy takes them with trembling hands and wide eyes. 

“You got me flowers?” 

“Of course,” Oliver says as if this is a normal thing to do for one’s friend. Should Percy have gotten him something? He thinks he has a stash of Chocolate Frogs hidden away somewhere. “They’re daisies. I know they’re your favorite.”

Percy doesn’t know how Oliver could possibly know that. He doesn’t remember ever mentioning it.

“Thank you,” Percy says, remembering his manners at the last second. The smile that he gives Oliver is genuine and shy. “I’ll… just put these in a vase. Then we can go?”

Percy decides there is nothing more nerve wracking than someone watching as he attempts to fill a vase with water, and place the flowers in them without having them fall apart from his clumsy hands. He quickly changes his mind when he has to step towards the fireplace and remember to say The Burrow without butchering it. 

He manages, though. 

He’s wiping soot from his robes when Oliver arrives a second after him, adjusting his tie and running a hand through his hair. 

“I think I’ll always prefer to travel by broom.”

Percy rolls his eyes. “If you had asked to escort me here on the back of your broom, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Because I’d be dead.”

Oliver laughs. “Oh, I forgot. You prefer to keep two feet on the ground at all times.”

“You didn’t forget. You just have the ability to selectively pick what you retain in that brain of yours.”

“I still think I could get you to change your mind about your hatred for flying.”

“You’ve been trying to get me on a broom for years now. It’s not going to happen.”

Oliver is saved from Percy telling him to wipe the smug look off his face by Percy’s mother hurrying out from the kitchen. She looks at Percy with such a wave of affection that it nearly bowls him over. 

He’s still not used to it just yet.

“Oh, Percy!” she exclaims, wrapping him in a hug. It’s still strange, after all these years, that he has to bend down when she hugs him. “I was afraid you weren’t going to make it!”

“I told you I would,” he mutters, patting her on the back awkwardly. 

“I know, I know,” his mum says, releasing him just enough to look up at him. “Still, though.”

There’s a lot that rests within those simple words. The fact that his mum is still scared sometimes that he won’t come home. The fact that she gained one son back only to lose another shortly after. It’s something that still sticks with her, Percy knows, the fact that a part of her could be so quickly taken away.

Sometimes Percy thinks the war took the wrong son. Sometimes he still thinks that the world would be better off with Fred still in it instead of him. 

He clears his throat. “Mum,” he says, taking a step back and bumping into Oliver’s chest. It’s strangely grounding and he can feel himself breathe again. “You remember Oliver, don’t you?”

His mum beams. “Of course! Our Harry’s first Quidditch captain, and you boys used to be so close when you were in school. How could I ever forget Oliver Wood?”

Percy stops himself from snorting because it’s unbecoming. Close doesn’t even begin to cut it. Close is what Lee Jordan and George are to each other. 

Percy and Oliver...

Percy and Oliver being two fumbling boys kissing and then never mentioning it aloud, Percy and Oliver closing the curtains around their four poster beds to shut the world out as they explore each other… 

Percy and Oliver are something different. 

Were something different. Maybe. Percy still isn’t entirely sure, and he and Oliver don’t talk about it. Percy doesn’t like not knowing the answers to something, so he shoves it down. Tries not to think about it so it doesn’t bother him. 

It’s harder to do that now when Oliver smiles so handsomely at his mother. 

“It’s nice to see you again, Mrs. Weasley,” he says, easily stepping into her hug. Percy wishes he could do that. Easily melt into another person and allow himself into their space without feeling like a burden. 

Oliver does it so easily. It’s partially why they reconnected after the war. Because Oliver claimed his space in Percy’s life and cemented himself there before Percy even had time to protest.

It’s what makes it so easy for Percy to grab Oliver by the elbow, pulling him away from his mother and back into his orbit. It’s what makes him breath easier, the fact that Oliver is here and familiar. 

His mum smiles at them, taking a step back because she’s so very short compared to them. 

“Why don’t you boys go ahead and get seated?” she suggests kindly. “The wedding is going to start soon. We saved you some seats in the front.”

--

The wedding goes exactly how Percy thought it would. That is to say… it’s a bit odd. 

Ron and Hermione’s decor is a mixture of Muggle and magical, and nothing is too overdone when it comes down to it. Ron has chosen to have only Harry stand next to him, stating that he’s been overshadowed most of his life by his brothers, this time he wants to stand alone. 

Percy’s mum is the only one who shed tears over it, but Percy has a feeling that the rest of his brother’s feel along the same lines as him. He doesn’t give two shits over participating in a wedding. 

But none of that — the decor nor the dwindling wedding party — is odd to Percy.

The odd part is the fact that Harry and Ron are standing side by side, rather than Harry behind Ron, and Harry’s arm slung over Ron’s shoulder as they both gaze lovingly at Hermione after she makes her way down the aisle towards them.

“Are they… all getting married?” Oliver whispers, leaning in towards Percy. He smells like pine and Quidditch leather. Percy draws a breath and the scent stays lodged in his throat. “To each other?” 

“It wouldn’t surprise me at this point, but I’m not here to judge.” Oliver gives him a look and Percy’s lips twitch. “Anymore.” 

In the end, Ron and Hermione are the only ones who end up trading vows after all while Harry looks on with hearts in his eyes. When they’re announced as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley — and then corrected by Hermione, claiming she’s keeping her last name — Percy stands to applaud with the rest of his family and the people in attendance and feels the beginnings of something wet prickling at his eyes. 

He hasn’t cried since Fred’s funeral. It’s an odd sensation to be crying at the beginning of something rather than the end. 

“You okay?” Oliver mutters to him, bumping his shoulder against Percy’s. He lets it rest there and Percy doesn’t move away. 

“Perfect.”

--

The reception is lovely, and Percy is on his second Firewhiskey when he feels a hand clasp his shoulder and turns to find his dad standing there. 

“Son,” he greets in that way that is especially for Percy. The way that reminds him that no matter how much he’s strayed and no matter how much time has passed, he is still Arther Weasley’s son. 

“Dad,” he greets back for the same reason. His dad’s smile is oceans deep. Percy can close his eyes and drown in it. He does for a moment. 

“Your mother mentioned you were bringing someone to the wedding,” his dad says, nodding to where Oliver is currently chatting with Harry and George. He’s gesturing his Firewhiskey wildly so Percy knows he’s in the middle of telling a rousing story. He counts down from five in his head and right on cue Harry and George laugh. 

Ah, he knew it. 

The rogue Bludger story. 

Percy has heard this one endlessly. He probably can tell the punchline better than Oliver at this point.

“Apparently you don’t go to weddings alone,” Percy says, taking another sip of his own Firewhiskey. “Or, at least, that is what I was informed.”

“Hmm,” his dad hums. He is amused. Percy wonders why. 

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. It’s just — you’ve never brought a boy home before.”

Percy chokes on his own spit which is even more embarrassing considering the fact that he’s holding a drink. 

“No! It’s not… it’s not like that.Oliver just agreed to come with me so I wouldn’t be alone. You know, as a friend.”

His dad blinks. “Oh,” he says, not sounding convinced. “But… you are…”

“Gay, dad. You can say it. It’s alright,” Percy says, rolling his eyes. “And yes, I am.” Oliver turns to look back at Percy, winking when he spots him. “Exquisitely so.”

“Ah, alright then. And Oliver is…”

“Oliver is Oliver. He’s always been Oliver.”

And isn’t that enough?

Sexuality has never been something that they’ve discussed with one another, even during those moments at Hogwarts where Percy was allowed to palm Oliver’s unclothed skin, feeling the way his newly developed Quidditch build would quiver underneath his touch and, in turn, Oliver would press his lips to nearly every freckle that scattered Percy’s skin. 

Percy is gay.

But Oliver is Oliver. 

There’s no defining label to him, and Percy knows that.

Oliver has never been anything but himself to Percy. He’s a comfort. Familiar. There are times where Percy feels like he knows Oliver nearly as well as he knows the back of his hand. 

To put any more than that on them, to ask Oliver to look at Percy and see something worth more than Quidditch itself… Well, that wouldn’t be fair. To either of them. 

Percy knows where he stands with Oliver. The ground is cracked with his own selfish desires but steady enough to support them both. He’s not going to reach out and grasp for something that he doesn’t deserve and ruin it all. 

“Oliver is special,” his dad says. 

Percy nods. “He is.”

--

The night begins to wind down and Percy stands in the corner, pleasantly buzzed and swaying to the slow tune of whatever song it is currently playing. 

“Dance with me,” Oliver says, voice suddenly right there by Percy’s ear. Percy blinks at him, attempting to focus. 

“Hmm?”

“Come on,” Oliver says, taking Percy’s drink and grinning at the protesting noise Percy makes as he sets it on the table. Oliver holds out his hand. “Dance with me?”

“Alright, fine” Percy agrees, taking Oliver’s hand with such force that they slap together. “But I'm warning you now, those ballroom lessons did nothing for me as a child. I’ve got two left feet.”

Oliver’s eyes shine as he leads them to the dance floor. “You took ballroom lessons?”

“Yes, my aunt was very insistent. She paid for them,” Percy explains. He isn’t quite sure what to do with his hands, allowing one of them to grip Oliver’s own. He decides to place the other on Oliver’s shoulder. “I never could quite get the hang of them, though.”

“I didn’t know that. Are you keeping secrets from me, Weasley?”

Percy laughs so hard it turns into a snort. His filter is completely gone after about the fourth Firewhiskey. 

“Yes, my deepest, darkest secret. I took ballroom and etiquette lessons as a child.”

Oliver’s lips twitch and Percy focus on them with great interest. “That… explains a lot, actually.”

“Yes, I’m afraid I’m fairly predictable when it comes down to it.”

“I wouldn’t say that, exactly. You’re full of surprises.”

“So are you,” Percy says softly.

As if to prove his point, Oliver dips Percy, leaning him so far back that his glasses nearly slide off his face. Percy shrieks with laughter, gripping onto Oliver tighter. 

“Let me up, you wanker!” Percy cries. People are watching them, upside down from Percy’s perspective, but Percy finds he doesn’t care for once. Between the several Firewhiskeys he’s had and Oliver’s laughter in his ears, he’s happy. 

And he hasn’t been this carelessly happy since… 

Well, since as far back as he can remember, if he’s being honest with himself. Which he hardly ever is, he thinks, as Oliver rights him and pulls him closer.

“This is nice,” Oliver says once they’re settled, cheek to cheek. 

“Dancing?” 

“Hmm,” Oliver hums. “With you.” 

“I like it too,” Percy says, his fear gone along with his filter. “I’m glad you convinced me to take you.” 

Oliver laughs. “Wasn’t that hard, really. Normally you have a well rehearsed argument planned for when you don’t want something. So I figured deep down you really didn’t want to go alone.” 

Percy stares at a point beyond Oliver’s shoulder, his vision going blurry. “No one wants to be alone.”

They stop suddenly, Oliver nuzzling his nose into Percy’s hair before leaning back to look at him fully. His eyes are nearly dark, pupils blown wide the way they used to be when they were boys and the rest of the world was asleep and Percy had only seen Oliver look at a Quidditch pitch in such a way.

“Let me take you to bed,” he says. 

And Percy, who hasn’t heard those words from him in years and who remembers what it’s like to be pinned underneath those eyes to a mattress, can’t find the willpower to say no.

“Okay.”

—

Percy hardly has enough time to stumble out of the fireplace before his back slams against the nearest wall, and Oliver’s lips are on his for the first time since they were sixteen. Warm, aggressive, positively bruising — they’re everything Percy remembers them being.

His body responds to the other man’s automatically, as if the simple act of kissing is enough to awaken years worth of muscle memory when it comes to Oliver. Except this time when Percy parts his lips, there’s no hesitancy, no quivering like there would have been when he was younger. This time, Percy takes Oliver’s bottom lip —still chapped from Quidditch winds after all these years —between his teeth and sucks. 

This time, when he grabs onto Oliver’s biceps — eliciting a groan, so much deeper than it had been when they were boys — his grip is steady. More sure of himself. 

He is flesh and blood and man, same as Oliver. And he wants. Oh, how he wants. 

He cannot take when it comes to Oliver. He won’t allow himself to do so. Oliver is bright and Percy has never done anything but dim the lights of those around him. He refuses to do that to Oliver. But this is Oliver handing something over, giving himself to Percy if only for a moment. And it makes it so much easier for Percy to hold onto when he knows it's just for a brief moment. When it’s placed into his hands, and he knows that eventually he’ll have to let go again.

“Bed,” Percy reminds Oliver, lips barely leaving the other man’s. He’s fumbling with his tie — this blasted sky blue piece of shit that he can’t even remember the reason for wearing in the first place. All it does now is serve as a barrier. “You promised… you would take me to bed. This is a wall.”

Oliver laughs, husky and slightly muffled. “Don’t you ever stop complaining?”

“I might.” Percy finally manages his tie, tossing it down on the ground. “If you ever gave me something else to do.”

Oliver seems to take this as a challenge, backing Percy into the bedroom, and undoing the buttons of his shirt and letting it fall. It’s so very attractive, this coordination. It comes likely from Quidditch, and Percy is struck again by how thankful he is for a sport he does not even like. 

He tumbles across that thought, back hitting his mattress and the reality of the situation he finds himself in suddenly hits him. 

Oliver is crawling on top of him, and this time there’s no curtain around his bed to draw in order to shut the world out. This time instead of fumbling through the darkness, the moon shines bright through Percy’s bedroom window, highlighting all the bits of Oliver that Percy has missed over the years. 

He’s built like a god, Oliver. Sculpted and molded into near perfection, the only flaws gracing his skin are scars from Quidditch, reminding Percy of his humanity. He touches one then, a scar across his ribcage from a nasty fight after a particularly brutal match. Oliver shivers underneath his touch still after all these years. 

“You’re beautiful,” Percy says, unashamed. “Absolutely beautiful.”

Oliver blinks, almost surprised, before his eyes go soft and his smile softer. “I think you’re talking about yourself there, love.”

Percy could argue — should argue, it’s in his nature — but instead he braces himself on his elbows, pushing himself up until he’s kissing Oliver again. 

“I’ve missed this,” Oliver says, grabbing Percy around the waist and dragging him upwards on the bed until his head meets the pillow. “I’ve missed you.” 

And they’re just words, stumbling out, strung together, made to fit this one particular moment, but Percy leans into them — whining, whimpering, giving himself to Oliver because he doesn’t know how not to.

Percy is vaguely aware of his shirt being lifted over his head, and his trousers pulled down. Feels rather than sees Oliver lift his glasses from his face and set them on the nightstand, his eyes so tightly shut as Oliver kisses down his neck. 

He’s had Oliver countless times before this one. He knows where to press to make him keen, knows the exact tilt of his hips to feel himself brush against Oliver. It’s like a homecoming when he finally feels Oliver’s Quidditch calloused fingers wrap around his length, running up and down it a few times. 

“God,” Percy groans, hips bucking. “God, yes. Keep doing that.”

He’s faintly aware that Oliver still knows what he’s doing after all these years. That he still knows how Percy likes it when he twists on the downstroke, the way he flexes his grip a little harder each time. 

“Fuck, baby,” Oliver growls, and god, he’s missed that too — those endearing little nicknames that Oliver calls him during their most private times. The ones no one else would ever consider calling him. He still melts into a puddle for them, sinking into the mattress. 

“Please, god, please —“ 

Percy doesn’t know what he’s begging for, exactly. His thoughts aren’t particularly coherent at the moment, more of a muddled mess. But he knows he absolutely doesn’t want Oliver to stop, so when he feels Oliver’s hand leave his cock, he lets out a protesting whimper. 

“Wanna suck you off,” Oliver says, moving down to settle between Percy’s legs. And how can Percy possibly argue with that?

Oliver’s nose traces the length of Percy’s cock, nuzzling and teasing until he gets to the tip. Before — when they were boys — this would be where Oliver would experimentally lick and suck, attempting to see how far down he could go before he would eventually gag. Now, he drags his tongue over the slit before enveloping him whole, and Percy’s eyes roll towards the back of his head with the sudden heat. 

Oliver has gotten control of his gag reflex, apparently, for he sinks down lower with careful precision each time and Percy is certain he’s hitting the back of Oliver’s throat with the way his hips are moving out of control. 

“Yes, yes! Fucking — don’t stop! Just… just like that.”

Oliver groans against Percy’s cock, the feeling of it vibrating around him. That paired with the sight of his cock sliding in and out of Oliver’s mouth is nearly enough to make him finish. 

“Wait,” gasps Percy, reaching out for Oliver. His fingers tangle in his hair, grasping and pulling until Oliver finally manages to look up at him, mouth wet and eyes dark. 

“What? What is it?” 

“I want —“ 

Percy chokes on the words, attempting to swallow them back down. He still doesn’t feel like he has the right to express his own selfish wants and desires. 

“What do you want, sweetheart?” Oliver’s lips kiss the furrowing of his brow, smoothing it back out easily. “Just tell me.”

“I want more,” Percy admits so softly he’s surprised that Olvier can even hear him. “I want to feel you. I want you to fuck me.”

It’s the most vulnerable Percy has ever felt, lying underneath Oliver like this, asking for something he isn’t entirely sure he even deserves but wants so desperately, nonetheless. But Oliver… Sweet, heartbreakingly handsome Oliver who has never seen Percy the way the rest of the world does, who never judges him with the same sort of harshness that he does himself… Oliver smiles. 

And Percy knows that even if he isn’t deserving, Oliver is willing to give. 

And Percy — tainted, soiled Percy — is willing to take just this one thing, content to have this one moment for the rest of his life. He raises a trembling hand to Oliver’s cheek.

“Your wish is my command,” Oliver says, kissing the inside of Percy’s wrist. 

--

Percy wakes up the next morning pleasantly sore and wrapped in Oliver’s arms. 

It’s an odd feeling, and one he doesn’t remember ever experiencing before. At Hogwarts, they would both retreat to their own beds for the night so that the boys they shared a dorm with wouldn’t suspect anything. He’s never experienced waking up in someone’s embrace before, and the fact that this will probably be the only time does make it bittersweet. 

“Hey,” Percy rasps, his voice thick with sleep. He shifts against Oliver. “Wake up.”

“Don’t wanna,” Oliver groans, tightening his hold on Percy and burying his face in Percy’s back. “Too early.”

Percy laughs. “Oliver Wood? Not wanting to get up at the crack of dawn? What’s the world coming to?”

“Oliver just got laid. He’s quite pacified at the moment.”

“Hmm.” Percy rolls over so that they’re forehead to forehead, Oliver’s eyes shining. “Maybe he should get laid more often. Less Quidditch pitches being burned down if he’s not running himself ragged on them.”

“There’s an idea I’m willing to entertain,” Oliver says, grinning. It’s sleepy and lopsided and Percy wonders if the one night stand rules bleed into morning. He takes his chances and leans in to kiss the corner of his smile. 

“As content as I am to stay here, I’ve got an interview this morning.” 

Oliver’s eyebrows shoot up. “On a Sunday?”

“It was the only day McGonagall had free this week. Plus, it’s not like I have anything preoccupying my time. Or, at least —“ Percy smiles at Oliver, blushing. “ — I didn’t think I was going to when we set up the interview.” 

“So you’re doing it, then?” Oliver asks, smiling and reaching out to stroke Percy’s cheek with his thumb. “You’re going for the Transfiguration position?” 

“I’m going to try,” Percy says softly. “That’s all a person really can do, isn’t it? Try.”

“I think this will be perfect for you. I can see you being a teacher.” 

Percy worries his bottom lip, and Oliver’s thumb leaves his cheek bone to trace the motion. Percy looks at the other man with wide, unsure eyes. He’s got to get out of bed, but as soon as he does, their bubble is going to be popped. 

They won’t get this back again. 

But Percy has already taken so much when he told himself he wouldn’t. 

“Wish me luck?” Percy leans over for one last kiss, letting it linger. When he pulls away, Oliver closes back in for another peck.

“Good luck,” he tells him. “You’ll do amazing. I’m sure of it.” 

Percy untangles himself from the sheets, stretching and finding his glasses on the stand. He doesn’t quite know how to feel. Leaving Oliver — getting over Oliver — is one of the hardest things he’s ever had to do. It always starts this way, leaving the bed and leaving behind who they are in the bed. Who they’re allowed to be. 

This nearly killed him as a boy. 

It’s worse now as a broken man. 

“Will I see you at all this week?” Oliver asks suddenly. 

Percy blinks, confused. “Well, of course,” he says, buttoning up his shirt. “For our weekly ice cream date.” 

Oliver grins. “Okay, perfect.”

—

Percy arrives at his Wednesday ice cream date with Oliver as Hogwarts' latest hirer. 

“I knew you could do it!” Oliver beams, looking happier than Percy’s own mum at the news. 

He’s eating his normal scoop of plain vanilla that Oliver has purchased for him as a congratulations, and trying not to pay any mind to how Oliver’s foot seems to be inching closer towards his underneath the table. Oliver has never been one for personal space.

“I’m honestly surprised Headmistress McGonagall went with me,” Percy says, blushing.

“I’m not. You were top of our class, Perce. Head Boy. You’re practically over qualified when it comes down to it.”

“I don’t know about that.” Percy moves his foot to the side. Oliver’s foot follows. “I’ll have to work on getting my mastery in Transfiguration, but I can study under McGonagall to do that.”

“That’s amazing. Are you going to be living at Hogwarts then?”

Percy nods. “Probably. I’m given a living quarters. It’ll probably be easier just living there instead of commuting back and forth.”

“That’ll be nice. I can visit you at Hogwarts then.”

Oliver’s tongue laps at where some of his ice cream is melting down the cone. Percy tracks it and falls back into a memory of Oliver’s tongue on his pulse point. On his collarbone. On his cock.

“Yes,” Percy says, completely zoned out. He shakes his head. “You know, with that busy Quidditch schedule of yours.”

Oliver looks up, frowning. “You know I’m going to make time for you, right? I’m not planning on going months without seeing you.”

Percy isn’t sure what to say to this. He isn’t expecting Oliver to make time for him. Why would he? It isn’t like they’re dating. Still, Oliver is looking at him imploringly and Percy can never hold steady underneath that gaze of his. 

“Oh. I mean — I guess didn’t know for sure. I would like to keep seeing you as frequently as we are right now. I guess I just didn’t expect anything since Qudditch is going to be starting up for you again soon.”

“We probably aren’t going to be able to meet as often as we are right now,” Oliver says. “But I’m planning on coming home during my off weekends. And then I thought that you could come to some of my games. You know, if you wanted to.”

Oliver looks so suddenly shy that Percy breaks his own rule and reaches across the table to grasp his hand. 

“I’d love to come to some of your games,” he says, meaning it. He doesn’t understand Quidditch like the rest of his siblings, but he understands Oliver. He knows how important this is to him. “Just let me know which ones, and I’ll be there.”

Oliver grins. “Yeah?”

“Of course.”

Oliver laces his fingers through Percy’s, and when Percy leaves his weekly ice cream date he somehow ends up having dinner plans with Oliver that Friday. 

--

“Holy — holy shit.”

Oliver shushes him, pinning him against the bathroom wall and licking at the slit of Percy’s cock again. 

“They’re going to hear us if you’re not quiet,” Oliver teases, looking up at him with mischief in his eyes. He loves this version of Oliver. The one that would burn down the world for Percy. 

“Don’t know how you expect me to be quiet when you keep doing that,” Percy says, twisting his fingers into Oliver’s hair and gripping tightly. “Don’t know why you couldn’t have waited until we got back to my flat. Or why you don’t believe in silencing charms — fuck!”

Oliver takes him into his mouth again, bobbing up and down so slowly that Percy thinks he might die. 

He doesn’t know how they ended up here. Isn’t sure has the ability to even process logical thought at the moment. All he knows is that one moment he is sitting across from Oliver in his nicest jumper that took too much thought process into deciding on, and the next he is being dragged into the bathroom of a restaurant he’s never been to before, and Oliver is claiming that he can’t stand it any longer. 

They’re back to this again, Percy thinks. This exploring stage that he thought they left behind with their boyhood. 

He doesn’t care to figure out why just yet when his eyes are rolling into the back of his head.

“God, please,” Percy begs. Begs. Oliver has reduced him to this. “Please, I need you —“ Oliver hums around his length and the sensation of it causes Percy’s hips to jerk involuntarily, hitting the back of Oliver’s throat roughly. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t —“ 

Oliver cuts him off by untangling himself from Percy’s cock. His eyes are dark again, pupils blown wide. Percy can see himself in them. 

“I want you to fuck my mouth,” Oliver says. 

“What?”

“My mouth,” Oliver says, stroking Percy a few times so his mind clouds over and can’t form a rebuttal to why this could possibly be a bad idea. “I want you to fuck it.” 

“But — what if —“ 

“You won’t hurt me,” Oliver assures. “I’ve been fantasizing about this forever. But we don’t have to if you don’t want to do it.” 

Fuck, Percy wants it. Oliver has no idea how badly he wants it. Is it taking even more if Oliver is offering? 

“If you’re — if you’re certain.” 

Oliver grins. “I am. A hundred percent.” 

Percy wonders what it’s like to have that certainty. To never doubt something. He only wonders for a second before Oliver’s mouth is on him again, and he’s thrusting, hitting the back of Oliver’s throat. 

He makes himself keep his eyes open with great difficulty, watching the way his cock slides in and out of Oliver’s mouth. 

“Look — look at me,” Percy pants, stroking Oliver’s hair. 

In the end, it’s the image of Oliver looking back at him while he’s stroking his own erection to the rhythm of Percy’s thrusts that causes him to cum down Oliver’s throat. 

—

Oliver sucks Percy off again on Saturday when Percy somehow manages to stay the night at the other man’s flat, and wakes up to the same sensation on Sunday morning.

Percy returns the favor Monday after an impromptu lunch date. 

Tuesday Oliver spits into the palm of his hand and strokes their cocks in time while Percy watches with parted lips before he comes first, spilling all over their joint cocks and Oliver’s still moving hand. 

Wednesday Percy brings Oliver over for family dinner at the Burrow. He drags them up to his childhood bedroom, giggling and shushing Oliver with his lips pressed against the other man’s throat while undoes the button to his trousers and sinks to his knees. 

Thursday Oliver fucks him into the mattress until his eyes roll back in his head and Merlin’s name has been chanted so often that Percy is certain the room is spelled by now. 

By Friday, Percy loses count of their activities. He tells himself that it’s better this way. What they have is fleeting. A simple passing of time while Oliver gets Percy out of his system again.

--

Puddlemere United holds a beginning of the season banquet every year for their sponsors and players, according to Oliver. Also according to Oliver, he is allowed to bring a date. Which is how Percy finds himself in his finest dress robes on a Saturday evening. 

“I feel silly,” Percy says, tugging at them and attempting to adjust his tie. “I look silly.”

“No you don’t,” Oliver says, offering Percy his arm. After all that they’ve done the past few weeks, he shouldn’t be blushing when he links his arm through Oliver’s but he does. “You look gorgeous.”

Percy snorts. “Gorgeous is not something I would ever consider myself.”

“Well, that’s alright,” Oliver says, smiling at one of the sponsors who clasps him on his shoulder as he walks by. “I think you’re plenty gorgeous enough for the both of us.”

Percy flushes. This is another territory that he isn’t used to. For all the fooling and fumbling around they did at Hogwarts, Oliver was never so openly affectionate as he is now outside of bed. Percy wonders what the meaning of it could possibly be. He stays up some nights wondering and agonizing over it. 

He understands the basic primal urges that come with all the shagging they’ve been doing lately, but he doesn’t understand this. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Percy mutters. Partly because it’s true and partly because he isn’t sure what else to really say. Oliver seems to find this insult nearly as endearing as the nicknames he’s been so prone to calling Percy, grinning and giving Percy a quick wink. 

“You have no idea.”

“Stop,” Percy says, bopping Oliver on the nose and watching as his eyes cross to look at his freckled finger. “Put that away.”

“Put what away?”

“This… Charming Oliver,” Percy says, gesturing at him madly. “I can’t handle him right now. There’s too many people around.”

Oliver glances around the room. “Too many people?”

“Yes. Far too many. Charming Oliver tends to drag me off to dirty places to do unspeakable things. Things I would never let anyone else do.”

“Oh? So you’re saying if Charming Oliver keeps his appearance up—”

“I’ll wind up on my knees in a broom closet somewhere, or you will and then you’ll have that insufferable look on your face all day.” Oliver smirks at him. “Yes, that one. Exactly. Your ego is higher than that broom you ride after you’ve gotten done with me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Oliver says, eyes bright. 

Percy rolls his eyes, letting Oliver lead him on a lap around the room. He doesn’t recognize most of the people in attendance, but Oliver seems to know everyone. Percy smiles and shakes hands with so many people in such a short amount of time, that he’s thankful when Oliver suggests he gets him a drink. 

He’s desperate for something else to do with his hands other than clasping other people’s, and his nerves are so shot from social anxiety that he thinks a drink will help. 

“Just one Firewhiskey,” Percy says. “We don’t want a repeat of my brother’s wedding.” 

“Yes, what a shame that would be to have you half pissed and on your back again. Whatever would I do with you?” Oliver teases, laughing and heading for the drinks before Percy can scold him. 

Percy watches him go, wondering how in the world he’s ended up here of all places. Not the Quidditch banquet, exactly. But back in that space he found himself in when he was at Hogwarts where he is hopelessly enthralled with Oliver Wood. 

This isn’t going to end well, he knows. He’ll be utterly, wretchedly miserable when Oliver moves on. 

He wonders how much time he has left before that happens.

“Hello,” a voice says from behind him. Percy turns, finding a tall blonde witch standing there. He recognizes her as one of Puddlemere’s players, though he isn’t certain of her position. 

“Oh,” he says, blinking and remembering his manners. “Sorry about that. Must have zoned out for a moment.” 

The witch smiles, her eyes flickering over towards where Oliver is standing at the drink table knowingly. 

“That’s alright. Can’t say that I blame you.” Her eyes crinkle like they’re in on some sort of secret. Percy doesn’t know what it could possibly be. “I’m Gwen, by the way. Gwen Parker.” 

Percy takes her extended hand. “Percy Weasley,” he introduces himself. 

“Oh, I know who you are,” Gwen says, positively beaming. “Oliver talks about you all the time. Or, you know, when he’s not obsessively going over our plays and telling us what we are doing wrong.”

Percy blushes. “He does?” 

“Oh, of course. He’s completely smitten with you. I’m so glad he brought you tonight. I’ve been dying to meet the man who distracts Oliver Wood from Quidditch.” 

Percy isn’t sure if this is a good implication or not. Quidditch is everything to Oliver. He’s made it his career. But he also doesn’t put enough stock in himself to take her claims seriously. He doesn’t think Oliver would let anything take away from his love for Quidditch. 

“I don’t know about that,” Percy says, adjusting his glasses. “It’s hard to get him to talk about much else. Even with me.”

Gwen laughs as if they’re old friends. “What can I say? Oliver is Oliver,” she says and Percy is struck by the same words he told his dad just weeks ago. “But surely you must know, he adores you. I can see it in the way he looks at you.”

You’re wrong, Percy thinks. He adores the freedom I give him to explore himself with me. Nothing more. 

An arm wraps itself around his waist, and suddenly Oliver is back, offering Percy a drink and a smile. 

“Here you go. I could see you adjusting your glasses a mile away,” Oliver whispers in his ear, letting Percy know he’s picked up on his nervous tick. He turns to Gwen. “Gwen, your beating arm doing any better? It was looking kinda rubbish at last week's practice.”

Gwen rolls her eyes. “It’s fine. Well enough to send a Bludger your way, in any case.”

“So what were you two talking about before?” Oliver asks. “Nothing too damning on my end, I hope?”

“Oh, no. Not at all,” Gwen says, waving him off. “I was just gushing to your boyfriend here about how smitten you are with him.” 

Percy nearly chokes on his Firewhiskey. “Oh, no,” he says quickly, face on fire. “It’s not like that. Oliver and I aren’t dating.” 

Gwen’s face visibly falls and she looks so mortified that Percy feels even more embarrassed. “Oh — it’s just — I thought —“ 

“What do you mean we’re not dating?” Oliver’s voice cuts her off. He sounds like he’s been hit in the gut by a Bludger.

Percy turns towards Oliver to find him staring back, wide eyed and hurt. Percy has seen that look after Quidditch defeats but never towards him. It’s magnified somehow directed at him, making him feel like crumbling and dissolving straight into the ground. 

“Just — just what I said,” Percy tries again. “We’re not together… Are we?” 

He feels slightly stupid for asking it like a question. Percy doesn’t enjoy feeling stupid, and it’s a feeling he’s become increasingly familiar with over the years. 

Oliver blinks at him before turning back towards Gwen. “I’m sorry,” he says, taking Percy by the elbow. “If you’ll excuse us for a moment.”

Percy doesn’t get a chance to see Gwen’s response. Oliver is dragging him through a crowd of people who all appear to be looking at them, and straight onto a balcony. It’s cold, the night air settling over them and causing Percy to shiver, but Percy is more concerned with the way Oliver is pinching the bridge of his nose and not looking directly at him. 

“Oliver…”

“Just…” Oliver cuts him off, sighing. He runs a hand through his hair and then finally turns to look at Percy. “If we weren’t dating, what is it, exactly, that you thought we were doing this whole time?”

Percy flounders at the question, staring back a bit dumbly. “What do you mean what did I think we were doing? The — the same thing we did at Hogwarts when we were kids! Fooling around! We snog, we shag, but we never have any strings attached. I thought — I thought that was what you wanted.”

“Do you really think I’m the type of guy who would just… fuck around with you?” Oliver spits. He looks so hurt that Percy takes a step back. “Do you really think that lowly of me?” 

“No, I don’t.” Oliver gives him an unconvinced look. “I don’t! It’s got nothing to do with you! It’s me! I don’t think I’m the type of guy you would ever consider seriously being with.”

“What are you even talking about? I’ve taken you out on a date nearly every weekend since your brother’s wedding. I went to a family dinner at your parents house for Merlin’s sake!”

“That doesn’t mean anything though!” Percy objects. “That doesn’t mean you are with me. That you want me.” Percy swallows. “No one —no one ever wants me. I wasn’t going to get my hopes up.”

Oliver stares at him like Percy has just told him his broom has caught fire. 

“You honestly thought that, didn’t you? Christ, Perce. I want you,” Oliver says, clutching at his heart. “I’ve wanted you since we were kids! I’ve never stopped wanting you. The snogging, the shagging… they’re all great, but they’re not what I’m in it for. I’m in it for you because I want you. Don’t you want me back like that?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” Percy says, tucking his chin and adjusting his glasses. He doesn’t want to be having this conversation. “I don’t deserve what I want.”

“Bullshit,” Oliver snaps. 

“Oliver, please—”

“No, don’t Oliver me. It is! It’s complete bullshit! You won’t let yourself have anything fully because you feel like you don’t deserve it! All because you made a few rotten choices!”

“They weren’t just a few rotten choices!” Percy shouts, his eyes burning with tears that are starting to prickle.”I turned my back on my family, Oliver! I completely sold myself and my morals out for a job that made me feel the least bit important! The least bit heard! What kind of man does that make me?”

“It makes you human! And for fucks sake, that was ages ago, Perce. You’ve been working hard to get back on good terms with your family and they’ve taken you back with open arms. When are you going to do that with yourself?”

Percy takes his glasses off, pawing at his eyes. “Stop. Please, I can’t hear this right now.”

“No, I won’t stop. You need to hear this.” Oliver steps closer at some point, his hands reaching to take Percy’s. “There’s not a choice you can make that you can’t come back from. You shouldn’t deny yourself happiness just because you made one lousy choice. I want you, Percy. I want to be with you. It doesn’t matter to me what you’ve done.”

Percy shakes his head, and it hits Oliver’s chest. “You could have anyone in the world,” he says, voice wavering. “Anyone.”

Why me? Percy thinks but doesn’t say. You’ve got so many options. Why settle for me?

“If I could have anyone, I would still choose you.”

“Stop—“ 

“Above everyone, I will always choose you.Why can’t you see that?”

Oliver’s words are like honey, dripping overtop of Percy and attempting to stick. But Oliver doesn’t know the walls Percy has been putting up since they left Hogwarts. He doesn’t know how deeply barricaded he is inside of himself after everything he’s done. How the hurt he caused everyone else also filled a chasm inside of him so deep down that it will swallow Oliver up if Percy shows it to him. 

He doesn’t want that for Oliver. 

“Mr. Wood,” a voice says, offering Percy an olive branch. They both turn to find a young man Percy had been introduced to earlier standing there, peering at them wearily. Percy can’t remember his name now. It feels like years ago since he first arrived at this party. 

Oliver growls. “Fucking — yes?” 

“There’s, um, a sponsor, sir,” the man stammers. “She’d like to speak with you, and the managers.” 

“Can you tell her I’m busy?” 

Percy shakes his head. “No,” he says, making himself look at Oliver. “You shouldn’t blow one of your sponsors off. It could be important.” 

“You’re important,” Oliver argues, grasping Percy’s hands and squeezing them. “This conversation is important right now.” 

“This conversation can wait. A Quidditch banquet is not the right time nor place for this type of conversation.” 

Oliver’s brow furrows and he gives Percy a challenging look, one Percy has seen when he’s attempting to keep a Quaffle away from his goalposts. 

“You’re pushing me away,” he accuses. “You don’t want to have this conversation, so you’re trying to cut it off. I don’t want that, Percy. I want this to get resolved.”

“Then we’ll resolve it,” Percy says, eyes darting to where the man is still watching them though appearing to be discreet about it. “But not here. Not like this.”

“When then?” 

“Tomorrow,” Percy tells him. “Tomorrow when I can… clear my head a bit.”

Oliver doesn’t look convinced. “You promise?”

“I promise. Now, will you please go talk to that sponsor? I don’t want people to get suspicious of what we could possibly be doing out here.”

Oliver nods, squeezing Percy’s hand one last time and looking like it takes a great deal of effort to let it go and walk away from him. When he’s gone, Percy lets out a sigh. He’s alone now, and the night is quiet. Young. Full of promises that Percy isn’t sure of accepting just yet.

He thinks about Oliver and the happiness he gives him.

He thinks about Fred. The way he died with the ghost of a smile on his face that Percy put there. 

-- 

Percy doesn’t sleep that night, and when the sun finally rises he decides to get out of bed and get dressed for the day. When he ignites his floo network, however, he doesn’t go straight to Oliver’s flat. 

He isn’t sure the place he wants to go to is even open yet, but he steps inside his fireplace with a bit of floo powder, hoping for the best. 

“Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes!”  

Percy remembers the family dinner right before George opened up his shop again, saying he was going to leave his floo open for his family at the shop if they wanted to stop by at any time. He’s thankful that apparently that includes him after all. He hadn’t been sure at the time. But he stumbles out of the fireplace, righting himself quickly — 

And comes face to face with his brother pressing Harry Potter against the checkout counter top, snogging him senseless. 

“Oh — oh my god,” Percy says, shielding his eyes. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t see much, I promise!”

George laughs. Laughs because he’s a fiend. And Percy peeks through his fingers to see him grinning back at him, still very much in Harry’s personal space. 

“It’s alright, Perce,” George says. “You don’t have to cover your eyes. I thrive under an audience.”

Harry, apparently well versed with George’s behavior, rolls his eyes, pushing Percy’s brother off of him. 

“Cut it out,” Harry mutters, tugging on the hem of his shirt. His hair is even messier, as if someone had been tugging on it. 

“Just kidding, love,” George says, immediately settling down. Percy blinks at this. 

“Everything okay, Percy?” Harry asks, tilting his head and peering at him. Percy is struck again by just how grown up his youngest brother’s best friend is. He gets the same feeling when he looks at Ron. How is it that they became men before Percy himself did?

“Um. Yes. No. I don’t know, to be honest.” Percy looks at the ground, feeling himself inarticulate and deflated. “I actually came here to talk to George about something, but now I feel… sort of stupid.”

Silence drags on for a second, Percy looking at his feet and feeling like he’s out of place. He’s tired of feeling this way.

George clears his throat. “Harry, could I have a moment alone with my brother?”

“Yeah, I’ll just unload some of the boxes in the back,” Harry says. Percy looks up just in time to see George lean over and kiss the scar on Harry’s forehead. Harry smiles, nodding to Percy before heading towards the back. 

Percy is alone with George, and it’s unnerving. He doesn’t think he’s ever been truly alone with George. There had always been Fred around too. After the war, after Fred, — there shouldn’t even be an after for Fred — Percy hadn’t come around the shop, only seeing George around his slew of other siblings at their weekly family dinners.

This is, perhaps, the first time he’s realizing George has always been his own person. Separate from Fred. Separate from his family. He wishes he had realized that sooner. Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to look at him right now if he had. 

“So… you and Harry,” Percy tries. It doesn’t land as a joke. The words are uncertain, like the rest of him. “When did that happen?” 

George crosses his arms, leaning against the counter and shrugging. “After the war. I didn’t want to open the shop alone, he didn’t want to go back to Hogwarts. One thing led to another. It sort of… just happened, I guess.” 

“But I thought…” 

“He was with Ginny?” 

“Well, yeah.”

“They never got back together when Harry came back. It’s not really my story to tell. Harry was different. Ginny was different. They just decided to stay friends. Ginny is dating Luna Lovegood now. She brought her to the wedding.”

“Oh.” Percy blinks down at his feet again. “I… didn’t know that.” 

“Well, you’ve done a spectacular job of shutting yourself off from everyone,” George says. “So I’m not surprised.”

“Wha—”

“Please. Don’t think I haven’t noticed,” George cuts him off. “You’re here. You’re coming back around. But you’re not really here. Not when it comes down to it. You’re holding us all at arms length. I just can’t figure out why.”

“I don’t think I know how to come back. Not really,” Percy admits. And that’s the hardest part, isn’t it? Admitting when you don't know something. “I just— I look at you all, my own family, and I feel like I don’t know my place. Sure, I have a hand on mum’s clock and I have a seat next to yours at the dinner table, but…”

“But?”

Percy draws a breath, not surprised to find that it’s shaky. He forces himself to look at George when he asks, “Do you ever think that the wrong brother died?” 

George blinks, surprised. “What?”

“Do you — do you ever wish it was me that died? Instead of Fred?”

“Percy,” George says, breathing his brother’s name. It’s that moment that does it. The passage of breath George uses to say his name that makes Percy’s heart shatter. He doesn’t think he’s worth the air in anyone’s lungs, and it’s been so very hard to admit aloud to anyone other than himself. 

“It’s just that… sometimes I think it should have been me, instead of Fred,” Percy keeps on, tears starting to fall. “I was standing right there. I was right next to him, George. It could have just as easily been me, and sometimes I think the war took the wrong brother. Fred was so much better than me. Why does his life end while mine keeps going? Why is it that my own brother, who was able to make so many people happy in such a short amount of time, doesn’t get to keep doing that for the rest of his life? What right do I have to be happy when he doesn’t get to experience that ever again?”

“Percy, you can’t possibly believe that—”

“I do, though!” Percy shouts, cutting George off because he just can’t stop talking now that he’s started. “I believe every single word of what I just said! And I just thought, that if anyone else could ever believe it too, if anyone else could ever hate me as much as I hate myself, that it would be you, George! Because I got to live when Fred didn’t!”

Percy isn’t sure when George moves, but suddenly he’s directly in front of him, crushing him in the tightest embrace Percy has ever experienced. He closes his eyes tight, burying his face in George’s shoulder until his glasses get pushed up to the top of his head. 

“You fucking idiot,” George says with so much affection that Percy lets out a sob. “You’re so fucking stupid, you know that? I would give up so much to have Fred back. You have no idea. But not you. Never you.”

“It’s not fair,” Percy wails, his hands tightening on the back of George’s shirt. “I miss him so much. It’s just not fair.”

“I know. I miss him too,” George tells him softly. Percy is aware in the back of his mind that George is rocking them back and forth as he speaks, like their mum used to do whenever one of them would have a nightmare. “I miss him every single day. And you’re right. It’s not fair that he died. But it also wouldn’t be fair if you died either, Perce. You understand that, right?”

Percy doesn’t understand it fully, but he’s beginning to feel like he’s starting to. He nods, unable to speak, and feels George’s grip on him tighten. 

“You idiot. Is this why you’ve been so distant with everyone?” George says, sounding like he may be crying too. “What brought this on, anyway?”

“Oliver,” Percy manages, unable to say anything else. George seems to understand, though. 

“Ahh. That makes sense. I was wondering what was going between the two of you.”

“He wants to be with me.” Percy pulls aways, wiping at his eyes. There’s a wet stain on George’s shoulder. “Or, he thinks he does anyway.”

George snorts. “And let me guess. You being all insecure over yourself got in the way? You know Oliver isn’t like that. He knows what he wants. Hell, Perce. The man’s had a crush on you since Hogwarts. I thought he was going to die when he saw you with your Head Boy badge.”

Percy laughs despite himself. It’s a wet, snotty sound. “Don’t joke around like that.”

“I’m not joking! Merlin, Percy. Can you really not see it? That man has been gone over you for years now. And I think you feel the same way about him. I see the way you look at him. If he wants to be with you and you want to be with him, you shouldn’t let your guilt about something you had no control over in the first place keep you apart.”

“You don’t think that I…” 

“That you what? Don’t deserve to be happy because our brother died and we’re still alive? Do you think Fred would want that?” 

“Well, no,” Percy admits. He hasn’t thought about that. What Fred would want. How he would think about Percy holding so much in. 

“Fred knew you fancied Oliver, Percy. We had a bet going at one point over who would crack first. My guess was during your seventh year. Fred guessed right after Hogwarts. Looks like we were both wrong.” 

Percy laughs. “You have no idea how wrong you both really were. We sort of had a thing going on for years while we were at Hogwarts. We never put a label on it though. I never thought that it would mean anything. Apparently I was wrong.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time. Probably won’t be the last.” George shrugs, smiling. “So, what are you going to do about Oliver?”

“I need to talk to him. I’m going to talk to him. I just — I wanted to come here first.” 

“You wanted to get closure,” George says what he can’t seem to. 

Percy nods. “I wanted to feel okay again. With you. With myself. I knew that this was the first step in doing that.”

“And do you? Feel okay?” 

“I’m… starting to,” Percy says. “I know it’s going to be a process, but I think I’ll get there. You know, eventually.”

George nods as if he understands, and Percy thinks it’s likely that if anyone could understand the process of healing, it would be George; George who lost half of himself during the war. George who probably knows what it’s like to have grief nearly swallow you whole. 

“You’ll be okay,” George says, opening his arms up to Percy again. He steps in without hesitation. “We all will, eventually.”

—

Oliver’s flat is quiet when Percy floos over later that evening. Percy nearly suspects that Oliver isn’t home, eyeing the way the dishes are over stacked in the sink and a few empty bottles of Firewhiskey are scattered about wearily. 

He’s hoping Oliver isn’t attempting to fly while intoxicated when he hears the other man call his name. 

“Perce?” 

Percy turns, finding Oliver standing in the kitchen doorway, the light from the hallway spilling over him and illuminating the gruff gracing his face. Oliver always was one who had to shave daily. 

“You haven’t shaved,” Percy comments. He feels like an idiot a moment later, his face flushing. 

“Did you come over to talk about my grooming habits?” Oliver asks, leaning against the doorframe. There’s a trace of humor in his voice and something else that sounds like hope. 

“No, I came because — well, because we need to talk. Obviously.”

Oliver nods slowly. “Obviously,” he repeats. “Though, I was beginning to wonder if you were even going to show up.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” Percy apologizes. He sighs, feeling it deep in his chest. He’s exhausted from crying earlier. “I should have come sooner. I wanted to come sooner. But I had something I needed to take care of first.”

Oliver’s nose crinkles. The way it did when they were students still and he didn’t understand a homework problem. The way it did when they were fumbling in the dark with each other as boys, attempting to figure out how his own body meshed with Percy’s. The way it always does when he’s trying to understand something. 

“What was it?”

Percy doesn’t know how to have this conversation without movement, so he begins to shift. One foot to the next. 

“You were right, you know. What you said on the balcony last night about me not letting myself have anything fully because I don’t feel like I deserve it.” Percy takes a breath, feeling the air he draws in seeping into the cracks of the walls he’s built up. “There’s been… this guilt, I guess. It’s been growing inside of me ever since… ever since I saw Fred die. I was right there, talking to him, just before he died. I was the last person he spoke to.”

“Percy,” Oliver says, crossing the distance to him because it’s what he’s always been willing to do for him and how has Percy never seen it until now? How has he never noticed all the ways Oliver is always clawing to get to him? He lets Oliver cup his face, looking up at the taller man. “Honey— I didn’t… I didn’t know that. I had no idea.”

Percy shakes his head, grasping Oliver’s wrists. “I never told you. I never… I never talk about it. I never talk about any of it. It felt so much easier to shove it down, to let it build up inside of me.”

“Sweetheart,” Oliver says softly and god Percy melts. He crumples right there, falling forward into Oliver’s chest, letting himself be caught up in an embrace for the second time today. 

“This whole time I’ve been carrying around this awful guilt that I shouldn’t even be alive. That the wrong brother died in the war.” Oliver cradles Percy’s head, pushing it further into his chest. Percy can feel the way his fingers are trembling. “And I feel like it’s just been growing inside of me, and at some point I decided that I didn’t deserve to be happy. And you, Oliver? God, you make me so incredibly happy. I deserve you least of all.”

“That’s ridiculous. You of all people deserve to be happy,” Oliver says. “Fred wouldn’t have wanted you feeling this way. It’s not your fault that Fred died.”

“I know. I — I went to talk to George this morning. That’s what I had to do before I came here. I was so certain he would hate me. That he would resent the fact that I’m alive and his twin, his best friend, died. If anyone would hate me as much as I hate myself, it would be George. But he said the same thing you did.”

“Of course he did. Did you listen to him though? Did he manage to somehow get it through that thick skull of yours?”

Percy laughs. “Sort of. In a way, I guess he did. He — well he did for me what you’re doing right now. Though he sort of insulted me a bit more. You know, in an affectionate sort of way.”

“He’s good at that,” Oliver says, his thumbs rubbing over Percy’s cheekbones. 

“Hmm,” Percy hums, eyes closing at the contact. He sighs, realizing now it’s time to let go and push on. That it’s okay for him to take what is willinging being given. “Do you remember the first time we ever made love?”

Oliver blinks at the change of direction, but like most things, goes along with it. 

“How could I ever forget? I was fifteen and nervous as hell. I was so afraid I was going to hurt you. I didn’t have a clue what I was doing.”

Percy smiles, remembering the way Oliver trembled and shook throughout their entire first time. How, after, he looked at Percy like he was looking at his whole world. Percy didn’t understand that look then. He does now.

“I’ve felt like that the whole of my life, it seems. Like I’m not quite sure what I’m doing. The only time I don’t feel that way, it seems, is with you.” He makes himself look Oliver in the eye. “I’m sorry that I didn’t notice it before. The fact you feel the same way back. I forced myself not to look, and I hurt you in the process. I just —I never dreamed that you would ever like me back.”

“Percy,” Olive says, nuzzling his nose against Percy’s. “You complete dolt. I don’t just like you. I love you. I can’t believe I didn’t give myself away from the start. I look at you like I look at a Quidditch Pitch. I was so certain it was written all over my face.”

“Well, to be fair, I thrive more off of logic and theory. It’s harder to read your face than it is a book. Plus,” Percy continues, adjusting his glasses awkwardly with Oliver still holding his face in his hands. “There was also the fact that we never really talked about our sexuality. For all I knew, you were just curious. I didn’t know for sure if you were…”

“If I was gay or not?” Oliver finishes for him.

“Well, yeah.”

Oliver shrugs. “To be honest, it’s not something I’ve really thought about.”

“What?”

“It’s likely that I’m gay. I just… haven’t thought about it, really. It didn’t seem important to figure out a label over the years.”

“Your own sexuality didn’t seem important to you?”

“I think about you and I think about Quidditch, and that’s about it. I knew I loved you, and that was enough for me. Maybe my sexuality is just attracted to Percy Weasley.”

Percy stares at Oliver. “You’re an idiot.”

Oliver grins. “But you love me.”

“I do. Merlin help me, I do. I’m not sure what to do now that I’ve admitted it, though.”

“Well,” Oliver says, moving his hands so his fingers lace with Percy’s. “We could start with a cup of tea, because you always feel better after you’ve had a cup of tea once you’ve been frazzled.”

Percy sighs happily. “Tea sounds nice. And then?”

“And then… we do this thing for real. You let me love you for real.”

It is, perhaps, the most unromantic declaration of love that Percy has ever heard, but it’s Oliver — charming, stupid Oliver that he has loved since he was thirteen and discovering himself just as much as he was discovering Oliver. Oliver who sees no need to dress up his words when he knows that Percy — logical, rational, hardheaded Percy — needs that sort of bluntness in his life. 

And Oliver is perfect for Percy.

“Okay,” Percy agrees. “Let’s do this for real.”

--

One Year Later

“I’ve got to say, this really has been a fantastic match. Don’t you think so Jordan?”

“Indeed I do. But, really? What else did we expect? Puddlemere United and the Holyhead Harpies have both had an excellent season so far. Puddlemere so far remains undefeated, and that’s due in huge part to their amazing lineup.”

“I agree. They’ve really got a solid foundation built with this team. Speaking of which, it looks like Puddlemere’s Johnson has the Quaffle, passing it along quickly to Hodge. He’s really flying, dodging the Harpies Chaser, Ginny Weasley.”

“AND PUDDLEMERE SCORES! That was a brilliant play, if I do say so myself. Weasley looks a bit miffed, though.”

“Even more so now. I do believe she’s shouting something at you, Jordan.”

“Ha. I’m not going to bother translating for our audience what she just said, considering there are children in the stands.”

“Good call. It looks like Puddlemere’s Seeker is circling the pitch, but no sign of the Snitch as of just — WAIT A SECOND, IT WAS A FAKE OUT! FISHER IS DIVING! SHE’S SPOTTED THE SNITCH!”

“SHE’S GOT IT! THAT’S THE MATCH! ANOTHER WIN FOR PUDDLEMERE UNITED! What an excellent game! Exciting until the very end!”

“One of the best I’ve ever seen. The teams are descending now, making their way — wait a moment,  what is going on? It looks — it looks like Puddlemere’s Keeper, Oliver Wood has left his position but he’s not going to dismount his broom.”

“You’re right. It looks like he’s making his way towards the stands? I’m not exactly sure what he’s — oh, it seems like he’s spotted his boyfriend, Percy Weasley. This isn’t exactly unusual. Weasley is usually in attendance for Wood’s games. Though he’s never flown straight over to him after a match.”

“It looks as if Weasley is giving Wood his congratulations. Very sweet.”

“Oh, now they’re kissing. GET A ROOM, WOOD!”

“They’re in love. Leave them alone. Wait. Is that… Is Wood…”

“He is! Wood has just pulled a ring box out of his Quidditch robes, ladies and gentlemen! How he didn’t lose it during that match, I will never know. But it looks as if Wood is proposing!”

“We can’t hear what’s being said, but Wood has taken Weasley’s hand in his and is speaking to him.”

“Weasley is tearing up. His wiping at his eyes, oh, he’s knocked his glasses off his face. He doesn’t seem to care, though. He’s nodding! That looks like a yes, right?”

“That’s definitely a yes! Wood is slipping a ring onto his finger, and now they’re embracing! I’ve got to say… this is the first Quidditch proposal I’ve ever witnessed.”

“Quiet in character too for Wood. He’s been quoted in a recent interview as saying that the only thing he’s ever loved more than Quidditch is Percy Weasley.”

“You attended school with Wood and Weasley, didn’t you Jordan?”

“I did. Several Weasleys, in fact.”

“Did you see this coming?”

“Are you kidding me? We had a running bet one year over when these two would end up together. If I’m remembering correctly, none of us won when they actually started dating, but Fred Weasley, Percy’s brother, did bet that if they ever got engaged, Oliver would propose during a match. Fred, my mate, wherever you are out there, you were right. I owe you a Firewhiskey. I’ll have one tonight in your honor.”

“Cheers.”

“What’s happening now? Can you make it out?”

“It looks like Wood is holding up Weasley’s hand to show the ring to the crowd, and they’re going wild! Just brilliant. I guess you can say we’ve seen everything now.”

“I guess you could. Well, congratulations Percy and Oliver. May your life together bring you nothing but happiness.”

Percy, the wonderful king of firsties

Ginny, the twins, and Ron don't confide in Percy like the other siblings at Hogwarts. Percy feels useless as a big brother and not needed, so once more reminds them that he's always in the library if they change their minds. While Percy's working on an assignment at his normal spot, light shuffling steps stop right before him. Percy's head is buried in a book and he's half paying attention when a small first year asks him for help. The boy confesses that he overheard Percy tell his family he was always available for help, and he thought since he doesn't have any siblings or friends he could ask Percy for help.

Percy agreed reluctantly not realizing he immediately said yes to someone who's not a Weasley sibling. At the end when they finished the first year Gryffindor is appreciative and more confident, rushing off with a big smile.

A couple days later Percy's at the table when he hears something, perking his head up there are now a few first years with pleading eyes. He waves them over and bright smiles shine back at him.

A week later Percy lifts his eyes above his book and he sees he's surrounded by a small crowd of children, ranging in houses and eager for his guidance. There are some Slytherins who show up to the session Percy leads shy and excited. At a certain point the first years bring homemade cookies (requested by children from parents), knitted/crochet items, and drawings of him/random things to gift him for allowing them to hang out with Percy.

Mama an owl behind you

"There's too much of an obsession these days with knives and arrows. You could kill anyone just as easily with a well timed spell."

*Game Crashes*

I love that Aziraphale didn't just miracle them a free table-- he influenced a five foot horseshoe of free space around Crowley's half of it at midday in a wall-to-wall crowded pub so his snake husband would have room to lounge.

Kidnapper holding Stiles ransom: Try anything funny and he gets it!

Sheriff Stilinski: Don't kill him!

Kidnapper: We won't do nothing so long as we get what we want.

Sheriff Stilinski: I wasn't talking to you. Stiles, don't you dare do anything!

Kidnapper: W-what?

Obi-Wan didn’t let Vader kill him on the Death Star to stall for time or anything, he just glanced over and saw Luke and Leia standing next to each other, thought about the pure unbridled chaos of having to deal with two (2) Skywalkers simultaneously, and said nah i’m too old for this shit let me be one with the Force now.