Fic: The Blind Date (7a/7)

[merelyn]

*drum roll* Yes, the final chapter. *sigh* My little baby's going out in the world.

Title: The Blind Date
Author: Merelyn25 (merelyn)
Pairing: Percy/Oliver
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: The characters, universe, etc. in this story don't belong to me. They belong to JKR and Warner Bros. I'm just borrowing. :) No copyright infringement is intended, and I'm makin' no money off this.

Notes: Still not OoTP-compatible. Here's Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, and Chapter Six.



The important thing, Percy decided, was to maintain normalcy. So he left the office that Tuesday at exactly 7:00. Once in his flat, he set his briefcase down just where he normally did. Percy got a glass of water. He did some work. He got another glass of water. He read a book. All in all, it was a normal evening at home. Except for the tiny little fact that he had inconveniently fallen for his closest friend.

But still normal. Very, very normal. Percy exhaled.

Oh, God. How had this happened? Why had this happened? Why? Why? Why-

Percy took a strangled breath. Everything was fine. Fine. It would be fine. Even if he had spent all of Monday in a kind of daze, to the point where he got nothing done at all (well not nothing- compromised as he was, Percy wasn't completely useless). Mabel had asked him four times today alone if he was okay. (As though he would tell the nosy little witch anything.)

Personally, Percy wasn't okay. He felt like he wanted to fly and vomit at the same time. Dreadful.

Percy wasn't planning on acting on his...feelings, or whatever you wanted to call it. In fact, he was going to file it away in the back of his mind along with all the other things he wasn't telling people (especially Mabel). "I fancy Oliver Wood" was right behind "I'm gay" and "I used to sleep with a stuffed teddy bear named Edwin".

The only thing to do now, though, was to get rid of it. Maybe if he wanted it badly enough he would never have to feel that tiny, aching jolt every time Oliver so much as looked at him again.

Of course, as Percy well knew, just wanting something seldom accomplished anything. Percy had, therefore, taken steps. He had compiled a list in his head, entitled "Reasons Not to Fancy Oliver Wood."

The problem was that the entire list had been full of irritating things like, "He has no respect for Nerian cauldrons and falls asleep during lectures on them," which ended up making Percy smile and only had the opposite intended effect.

The only useful reason he'd come up with so far was that it would prove Fred and George right. Damn them.

Percy sighed, picked up a book from the coffee table, and tried reading it again. Focus this time.

Percy's fingers twitched on the spine of the book.

No. He needed to do something or he was going to go crazy.

After cleaning his flat (twice), Percy sat back on the sofa, attempting to bask in the satisfaction of its cleanliness. Basking proved to be a little difficult, though, when certain thoughts keep sneaking up on him from behind. Thoughts like: I wonder what Oliver is doing now? and I wonder what he meant when he said that before? which he tried to brush away, and the especially treacherous Would it be impolite to show up at Oliver's flat uninvited provided that once there I snog him within an inch of his life? (Percy was forced to brain that particular thought with a blunt object and sweep it under the rug next to the file cabinet with things he wasn't telling people).

Percy frowned. There was now a rug next to the file cabinet in his mental landscape.

He needed a cup of tea.

Percy went over to the stove, deep in thought. Hopefully he would be able to get himself under control before he saw Oliver again. (There had to be a point when he got used to this, right?)

There was a knock on the door.

Because if Percy saw Oliver anytime soon, he was bound to do something really embarrassing.

Which was why, of course, Oliver was standing in the doorway. "Hi-"

Percy let out a sort of yelp and slammed the door shut.

Embarrassing. Just like that.

Okay. Everything was fine. His mind, distracted as it was, had clearly hallucinated Oliver. In fact, he had probably just made an ass of himself to some little girl selling Witch Scout cookies. Right.

He should probably check to be sure. Percy peered out his door and blinked once.

Nope. Still there. "I...um-" Every single nerve on Percy's body thrummed into awareness. Since when did Oliver wear nice sweaters that? Oliver had always been the annoying type of person, even back at Hogwarts, who put no effort into his appearance at all, yet managed to be bloody gorgeous anyway. And now he looked really nice-

Percy, his brain commented, you do realize that you've been standing there not saying anything? Mooning away?

Ahem?

"Could you hold on a second?" Percy shut the door again.

Crap, crap, crap.

Percy resisted the urge to bang his head on the door and viciously tried to wrench his mind back to order.

Eventually, after several deep breaths, he settled for an orderly facial expression.

Percy opened the door. "Hello. Again. Sorry about that. My hand...slipped." Oh, that was smooth. "No. I mean, I just put the kettle on. Very delicate stage and all that."

"Ah." Oliver's mouth twitched.

Go away, go away, go away. "Come in." Go away.

He watched Oliver wander over to the kitchen; Percy remained in the safety of the other side of the room.

Oliver idly picked up the spoon Percy had gotten out for the tea. He began twirling it between his fingers in a rapid, almost nervous motion.

I wonder what else he can do with that hand? Shut up, Percy thought, watching the back of Oliver as he fiddled around the kitchen for a few moments. Percy was completely unprepared when Oliver seemed to remember himself and whipped around.

"Right. So. Do you want to get a bite to eat, maybe? I know this little Indian place on Wyndham Ave that's got great butter chicken and I'm starving." There was something about the way Oliver couldn't quite me his eyes and the tiny little shrug of his that made Percy take a step away and blurt,

"I can't," before he even realized that he'd said anything. Oliver looked practically crestfallen. Percy felt like the worst person that had ever lived. "No. I mean, I was going to just cook something here. If you'd like to join me..." He was going to cook? Where had that come from?

"Sure." And just like that Oliver brightened and began rooting around in Percy's fridge. "What were you going to make?"

What was he going to make? "Chicken a la King," Percy answered inexplicably.

Oliver emerged from the fridge victorious, clutching a bottle of butterbeer. "You know how to make that?" Oliver asked.

Did he know to make that? "Of course." Thank goodness for that cookbook mum had given him when he'd moved out.

Oliver smiled; Percy reminded himself that this would all be okay if he kept a respectable distance. From Oliver, and that mouth of his. "Can I help?"

Tense though he was, Percy couldn't quite contain the skeptical look on his face.

"What? What is it?"

"Oliver. I was your partner in Potions for one whole year." Percy shied closer. Oliver was still approximately two meters away.

"So what?"

"The Shrinking Potion? You adding the dragonfly wings at the wrong time? The potion exploding all over Snape? His head- just his head- shrinking?" Percy was still a little mad about that. Enough that he almost forgot about being freaked out. For about a second.

When Oliver took a step toward him, Percy was just barely able to keep from flinching. "For your information, Percy, that potion didn't just explode," Oliver said quietly.

"Oh?"

"No." Oliver crossed his arms. "It turned pink, made some odd noises, the cauldron fell over and then it exploded. Get it right," he admonished with a smile. "I can't believe you're still holding that against me," Oliver added.

"That was the only 'F' I ever got at school, Oliver. It sticks in my mind." Hey- that sounded normal. He could do this.

"Oh, and what was your final grade that year?" Why did Oliver keep coming closer? Why?

Percy muttered something.

"Hmm? What was that, Perce? I didn't hear that." How the hell was the "avoid Oliver and when you can't, stay at least five feet away from him" plan supposed to work when Oliver kept coming closer???

"An 'A-'," Percy said.

There was silence.

"You know what that sound was, Perce?" Oliver asked. "That was the sound of my heart weeping for you."

"Well, it was an A minus," said Percy.

"I'm impressed you didn't chuck yourself out the owlery window." Oliver cocked his head. Why did Oliver have to lean toward him when he talked, so that Percy could smell his aftershave? It was like those magnets he'd learned about in Muggle Studies. If he got too close he'd be pulled in by the electromagnetic force of Oliver's smell and that smile on that thrice damned mouth of his until there'd be nothing he could do to stop himself. Just like magnets.

Merlin. He really was losing his mind, wasn't he?

"Besides, just because I was crap at potions doesn't mean I can't cook."

"Really?" Doubtful. That was the way he'd normally sound. Right?

"Yeah." Oliver returned confidently. "I can make...pasta, and stuff. Besides, that whole Snape midget head thing was your fault, anyway," Oliver said, gesturing vaguely.

"It was not," Percy retorted automatically.

"It was. You were being an insane control freak and you wouldn't let me do anything." Percy remembered it now- Oliver had grabbed for the pile of dragonfly
wings to chop them up; Percy had grabbed them back. The tug of war that followed ended up dumping them into the cauldron at exactly the wrong time. So maybe it hadn't been exactly Oliver's fault, but...

Percy opened his mouth, shut it, and finally said, "It was a complicated potion and..."

"I'm thick as a brick when it comes to anything that doesn't involve Quidditch." Oliver finished. He gave Percy a grim smile.

Percy hated his mouth. He knew Oliver was touchy about that. Percy grabbed his arm. (Okay, so apparently the "avoid Oliver and if you can't stay at least five feet away from him especially don't touch him, you idiot" plan was out the window.) "I...you aren't...I didn't mean it like that. You aren't stupid, Oliver." It was vitally important to Percy that Oliver believed him.

Oliver sighed. "I know you didn't. It's just...never mind."

Percy never knew what to say in these situations. "Well. I'm sorry I used to be such a pretentious prat." There was an opening even Percy could spot.

"Who said anything about used to be?" Oliver smiled just the tiniest fraction.

Percy, his brain asked, why is you hand still on his arm? Run away.

Percy pressed his lips together, took a mental breath and marched right past Oliver to the counter. He found the cookbook and opened it. "Here," he said. He briskly handed Oliver a wooden spoon. "What? You are going to help me, aren't you?"

"Oh. Yeah."

"After the mixing spell is finished you can put them on the sheet and bake them. And make sure you don't-"

"Percy."

"Right."

Percy was the type of cook who put the ingredients back in the cupboard right after he used them, making clean up easier. Oliver was the type of cook who managed to get flour on his sweater five seconds in. At least he seemed to have cheered up some.

Percy discovered that he could barely cut up a carrot properly with Oliver standing next to him.

This was terrible. He couldn't function at all.

Percy chopped the carrot in front of him into a pulp before he realized it.

Oliver was humming. Off key, Percy noted. Oliver began glopping biscuit dough on Percy's Magic Chef baking sheet. Percy couldn't keep from shooting pained glances in Oliver's direction. He almost said something, but changed his mind and went back to beating his carrots into dust.

Percy could see Oliver's smile out of the corner of his eye. "I bet this is driving you absolutely crazy, isn't it, Perce?" Oliver finally said.

"It isn't." Percy said, frowning at his mutilated carrots.

"You mean the fact that I'm not spacing them evenly apart in perfect rows doesn't make you nutters?"

"Of course it doesn't." Percy flashed Oliver a convincing smile.

"Okay. Good," Oliver said cheerfully. He went back to glopping. "See? It looks like a smiley face," he said gleefully.

There were tiny bits of dough trailing all over the baking sheet. "That's nice," Percy said.

"I think so too." Oliver's grin reached blindingly sunny proportions.

Percy put down his knife. Despite himself, Percy smiled for the first time that night. "You're quite easily amused, aren't you?"

"Bugging you, Percy, is always entertaining. Besides, it takes so little effort." Oliver slung a friendly arm over Percy's shoulders.

A sharp intake of breath was Percy's only response for a second. "I just have to put the final spell on the...on the thing, so why don't you cook the biscuits? Here's the spell for it," he said, sliding his cookbook over and stepping away.

"Right then. I can do that," Oliver said. He rubbed his hands together and eyed the sheet. "Nothing to this cooking thing."

*~*~*~*

The kitchen looked like the inside of a Chicken a la King. A Chicken a la King in a blender.

So maybe there was more to this cooking thing than he'd thought.

He hadn't meant to burn his hand on the baking sheet (that thing should come with a warning label) or to jump and run into Percy right when he was in the middle of some complicated final spell thing that might have gone just the tiniest bit wrong.

Which might have caused the kitchen to explode.

Which might have covered Percy from head to toe in flour and bits of vegetables.

Oliver had avoided the onslaught, thanks to his finely honed, superior Quidditch reflexes. He was currently crouched behind Percy; his hands on Percy's shoulders, his eyes squished shut. After the dust settled, Oliver peeked to survey the wreckage.

"Oliver. What are you doing?" Percy asked. The words were quiet and almost strangled.

Oliver ducked back down and pressed his forehead to Percy's back. "Using you as a human shield?"

"I see." It sounded like acid dripping from Percy's mouth.

Oliver straightened up again, but he left his hands on Percy's tense, almost-shaking shoulders. For one second, Oliver thought that maybe Percy had grown a sense of humor and was actually laughing about it; until Percy whipped around, that is.

He wasn't laughing. He looked more murderous than amused, really. Kind of like a temperamental hippogriff with ruffled feathers. When Percy took in a breath- no doubt to start yelling- Oliver had no choice but to pull out the "You can't be mad at me- I'm cute and adorable and it wasn't my fault and besides I burned my hand. Owwie." look.

"I'm not falling for that," Percy snapped. "I...You...This really isn't fair." Percy deflated, looking down at himself.

"What?"

"Nothing." Percy shook his head. "It's just...why does this always happen whenever I'm around you? Every single time! I'm either publicly embarrassed or starkers or something and you just take it so calmly! How do you do that? It's- ack!"

Percy had taken a step to the side, only to slip on puddle of biscuit goo and go crashing forward into Oliver.

"See what I mean? Every time," Percy muttered into Oliver's shoulder. He sounded so resigned and put-out that Oliver couldn't help smiling. Oliver didn't even notice when his arms slipped around Percy's waist as if they'd always belonged there; as they'd never really belonged anywhere else.

Percy made a noise and relaxed into him. Oliver swallowed. He couldn't seem to let go.

And if Percy would just stay...

Percy lifted his head up. There was a strange ache in his eyes and a speck of flour nestled in the freckles on his nose.

"Hmm," murmured Percy.

Oliver could feel his heart climbing into his throat. "What?" he asked.

Without saying a word, Percy reached into his hair and smeared Chicken a la King down the front of Oliver's sweater. Percy smiled.

Oliver chuckled sounded a little forced. He raised an eyebrow. "Do you feel better now?"

Oliver could almost hear Percy's eyes open wider. Percy felt like a mass of awkward angles for just a second before he pulled away.

"Um. I'm going to go take a shower," Percy said.

Witches and Wizards, please run, do not walk, to the nearest exit. "Right," said Oliver. Thinking about Percy in the shower was a bad idea, he told himself. Bad, bad, bad- oh hell.

*~*~*~*

One shower and a drying spell later, Percy emerged from the bathroom to find Oliver sprawled over the sofa, looking completely at home on it. Percy watched him from the doorway. Unfortunately, the shower had done nothing to clean the confusion from his head. Percy could feel his self-control chipping away every time Oliver so much as touched him. If Oliver kept it up for much longer, Percy knew, with a horrifying certainty, that he would jump the poor sod before he could stop himself. Whoopsie, I apologize Oliver, I didn't intend to snog you. It was an accident. I tripped.

It had been such a long time since anyone had held him like that.

Percy shook that thought away just as Oliver turned on the couch to face him. "I cleaned up the...kitchen," Oliver said; his face changed in a way that was difficult to determine. "Nice pajamas."

"Oh." Percy was barefoot and wearing a pair of navy blue silk pajamas. "Thanks. They were a Christmas present from myself last year. A little expensive, but..." He shrugged.

Percy toed the ground. Why was Oliver still looking at him like that?

"Oh. Right. I completely forgot to tell you." Oliver settled into the couch, a secret smile on his face.

Percy waited.

"Well? What is it?" Percy asked.

Oliver smiled some more. "Guess."

Percy took a few careful steps closer to the couch. "I'm terrible at guessing. Why don't you just tell me?"

"No."

"Hmm." Percy put both hands on the arm of the couch, so that he was leaning over Oliver's head. "You forgot to take your shoes off before putting your feet all over my sofa?"

Oliver stuck his tongue out. "No. I didn't forget. This is just to annoy you." Oliver wiggled his feet smugly. "Quite frankly, you're lucky I put a cleaning spell on my sweater before I sat down on your precious sofa."

Percy smiled to himself. He could do this. It was easy to slip back into being friends with Oliver, even though Oliver made it so easy to pretend that maybe...

"Guess again."

Percy put his elbows the sofa arm and leaned down until he could smell Oliver's shampoo. "Could it be that you finally agree with me that running is the sport of Satan?"

Oliver made a face, which looked especially funny upside down. "No. And don't hold your breath on that one, Perce. Here." Oliver pulled a ticket out of his pocket and handed it to Percy.

Percy turned it around. "It's the opening game of the season," he said with a smile.

"This Friday, at 8:00. It's against the Wimborne Wasps but we're sure to win. You'll come?" Oliver sat up again and twisted around. "And before you say that you have work, this is my first season off the reserves and it would mean a lot to me if you were there and if you say no I'll be forced to kidnap you and tie you to a seat and I don't think-"

"Oliver! Of course I'll go." said Percy. A warm sleepy feeling had wrapped around him like covers on a really cold winter morning. It would mean a lot to Oliver, would it? "I mean, I wouldn't want you to tie me up or anything," he said. Percy winced. "That's not-"

"Good," said Oliver; he took a breath and settled back down on the couch, amused.

"On one condition," Percy amended.

Oliver titled his head back. "What?"

"Take your bloody shoes off my sofa."

Oliver smirked and crossed one leg over the other. "Make me." So that's how it was going to be, was it? Oliver clearly didn't think Percy was going anywhere near him.

"Fine then." Percy, all-business, walked over to the front of the couch, sat down on Oliver's stomach and had his shoes off and neatly placed by the sofa before Oliver could make more than a huffed choking sound. Percy did his best not to look too smug.

"Nice," said Oliver.

Percy blinked. Why did he keep doing this? No matter how...friendly Oliver might be, there was no appropriate explanation for sitting on him. The warm fuzzy feeling evaporated instantly. "Sorry," Percy muttered, and started to get up.

Oliver put a hand on his arm. "Percy."

Percy forced himself to look at Oliver. "What- what? What is it?" Oliver was staring at him strangely.

Oliver's voice came out so low it was hard to hear him. "You didn't think I'd let you get away with that, did you?"

It took almost all the strength Percy had to repress a shiver.

*~*~*~*

"St-stop that at once," Percy stammered.

Tickling Percy was addictive, Oliver decided. Percy was clearly trying hard to remain impassive and dignified, but he was also squirming with almost-silent laughter. It put the funniest expression on his face. Oliver smirked.

Then, just asOliver finally got through the layers of clothes to Percy's sides, Percy made a noise in the back of his throat that sounded so much like something else that Oliver's hands stilled.

That was his fatal mistake. Before he knew it, Oliver found himself trapped flat on his back on the sofa. Percy, victorious, was sitting on top of his stomach again calmly reading a book.

"Perce?" Oliver asked.

Percy made a little noise and turned a page.

"If you're going to keep sitting on me all the time, I think you should consider cutting back on the scones for breakfast."

Percy whacked him and went back to his book.

"Perce?" he asked a bit later.

"What?"

"You're not going to get off me, are you?"

Percy looked up as if to consider the question. "No," he said, and started reading again. Percy's left hand settled on Oliver's chest. Oliver could feel the warmth of it all the way through his sweater.

There was something nice about just lying on Percy's couch watching him read. Percy seemed relaxed for a change.

Oliver had come to terms with the fact that he wanted Percy. He had come to terms with the fact that he really wanted Percy. That he could barely keep his hands off him.

He also knew that doing anything about it would be wrong- and what's more, damn stupid (not that that had normally stopped him in the past). The problem was that Percy unwittingly kept doing things that made it impossible to think about that (or anything else). Like right now, biting his lip when he read.

"What are you reading?" Oliver asked to distract himself.

"A book." Percy did that almost-smirk thing.

"I know that. What kind of book?" Oliver pulled his hands from behind his head and put them on his chest, right next to Percy's hand.

"It's Muggles and the Wizarding World: a Brief History," Percy replied.

"Eck." Oliver looked down. Their pinkies were almost touching.

"What? It behooves everyone to be informed about our relationship with the Muggle world. Besides, it has a bit about the Floo Network and Muggle fireplaces that I need for work. It's not as though I only read things for the Ministry," Percy added at the look Oliver gave him. "I have other books. Biographies of famous wizards and things like that."

"Can I see it?" Oliver poked Percy.

"No. Stop distracting me." Oliver could see Percy's almost-smile peaking out from behind the pages.

Percy went back to reading and biting his lip. Oliver began to feel twitchy. "I can't breathe," Oliver lied after a bit.

"Right," said Percy.

Oliver coughed. Nothing. He let out a pathetic wheeze.

Percy turned a page, not even moving his head. "Nice try."

"I had no idea you were so heartless." Oliver did his best to look like a kicked kneazle.

"I may be heartless, but you are lumpy," Percy pronounced, and he shifted. Oliver's eyes widened.

Oh crap. Oh crap oh crap oh crap.

Percy needed to stop moving. He really needed to get off him right now, because if he didn't Oliver's body would see to it that Oliver had no secrets left.

Sorry, Perce. "Heh. Lumpy? Really?" Oliver sat up abruptly.

"Hey!" Percy toppled off him and landed in an indignant heap on the carpet. He crossed his arms and turned to Oliver, glaring. "Excuse me. What was that for?"

Oliver leaned forward on his elbow. "Sorry. My legs slipped," Oliver said with what he hoped was an apologetic smile. Percy watched him.

Percy finally sighed, smoothed his hair- the first thing Percy always fixed whenever he got ruffled, regardless of whether it was messy or not- picked up his book again, and leaned back against the sofa so that his head rested against Oliver's leg. The room felt very still.

Oliver's hand found its way to Percy's head. He felt Percy sit straight up. Hmm.

Oliver's hand scraped all the way through the copper hair, from the nape of Percy's neck to Percy's forehead. After a stiff second, Percy let out something like a sigh he was trying to keep to himself. He settled back against Oliver's leg.

Soon Oliver was idly running his fingers through Percy's hair.

"Hey Perce." Oliver's voice sounded strange coming out of the silence.

"Mmm?" Percy said. His hair felt really soft.

"Do you want to go out with the team after the game on Friday?"

"If you want me to come," said Percy. He sounded hesitant.

Oliver gave Percy's head a gentle shake. "Of course I want you there, you prat. After all, Perce, you're my best friend, which means you're not allowed to let me face that lot by myself. You're duty bound to go." Oliver could feel Percy's smile though he couldn't see it.

"Well when you put it like that," Percy said, and he almost managed to sound grudging.

"Good," said Oliver, and he returned to the soothing perusal of Percy's hair.

The room slipped into silence again; Oliver was nearly asleep himself when Percy spoke.

"Oliver?"

"What?" Oliver murmured and looked down. Percy had pulled the ticket for the game out.

"I- This might possibly sound like a stupid question. Why are so obsessed with Quidditch?"

Oliver hand stilled. "You mean, why do I play Quidditch?"

"Not exactly." There was a pause. "I know it's a big part of your life, but you-"

Oliver sat up at little. "Oh. You mean, why do I never shut up about it? This from the bloke who could go on for hours about the International Floo Network." Oliver muttered fondly.

"I don't- you should have said something if I was being overly effusive," Percy put in, looking embarrassed. "It's just, it's the first real project they've ever given me and...I need it to go well, I suppose. I didn't mean to talk your ear off."

"Shut it. You're not boring, so don't try to convince me."

Percy blushed. "So Quidditch...?"

"I guess...I guess it's because Quidditch is the only thing I've ever been good at. Really good at, even though I have to work my arse off. Everything else I seem to...I don't know." Oliver raked a hand through his hair and gave an off-handed shrug.

"I know what you mean." And Percy actually did, Oliver could tell. Percy put his head back against Oliver's leg.

"That, and flying is the best damn feeling in world."

"Really?" Percy sounded...wistful, Oliver realized sadly. He probably had no idea what that was like.

"Yeah. Just about."

Percy titled his head, revealing the freckled column of his throat. When Oliver's hand fell back into Percy's hair, he couldn't resist running his thumb over that soft spot beneath Percy's jaw. Percy closed his eyes and made a soft noise. Oliver wondered what sort of noise Percy would make if he put his mouth there and sucked at it.

Right, he reminded himself. And how would you explain that? Sorry, Perce. Didn't mean to give you a hickey. It was an accident. I tripped.

What the hell was he doing? Oliver ripped his hand away and sat up a little.

Percy stirred and shook his head. "Wow it's late," Percy muttered. "Oliver?"

"What?" Oliver blinked.

"It's late," Percy said again. He stood up and faced Oliver.

He looked so-

Merlin this was frustrating. Oliver hated this. He hated having to stop himself from going after something he wanted. Sure once in a while that kind of thing backfired, but when that (ever so rarely) occurred, Oliver could deal with it. In fact, Oliver prided himself on dealing with failure in a very mature, positive fashion. (Just ask his teammates. He was the picture of sportsmanlike behavior. He was.) This, though- it was like forfeiting a game before you even hit the Quidditch pitch. You just didn't do that.

Right then, Oliver knew he what he was going to do.

"What?"

"I'm going to bed now," Percy explained.

Which means I get to come, too? He almost said it aloud.

"Which means you have to go home. You do have your own flat, right?"

"Yeah," Oliver replied. It was the best comeback he had, because his hands were already itching toward Percy and it was hard to tear his gaze away from Percy's mouth.

Percy grabbed onto Oliver's hand to haul him up from the sofa.

When Oliver stood up, he was standing flush against Percy. Very close, and still holding on to his hand.

Percy's glasses weren't quite on straight. But it was the eyes behind them that did it.

This time he wasn't drunk, and there was no Fred and George to interrupt things and keep him from what he wanted. And right then, Oliver wanted nothing more than to kiss Percy until those damned glasses of his steamed up. His hand tightened around Percy's.

When he leaned forward it felt kind of like vertigo.

Only Percy was stepping away; Percy dropped his hand like it was fire. "Well...goodnight Oliver. Don't bother locking the door, okay?" Percy was nothing but a pair of tense shoulders and eyes that wouldn't meet his.

"Right," Oliver said. He was so stupid sometimes.

"I will see you on Friday, right?" Percy flashed him a panicked, earnest smile and practically bolted away.

He stood there, his hand still reaching out to where Percy had been, and the only consolation Oliver had was that voice of sick satisfaction in his head, whispering, 'You must have seen this coming. I did.'

"Right." Oliver swallowed and apparated home.

That was that.

Hey- no big deal, really. It's not like he'd never been shot down before (Oliver was forced to acknowledge that one other time back in school). He'd get over it. He'd get over it. Oliver crawled into bed and wondered how just badly he had fucked everything up.

It didn't even make sense- he'd actually kissed Percy before and nothing this horrible had happened.

It wasn't until two hours later, when the look on Percy's face wouldn't go away, when he still felt so awful that everything, from deep in his chest to the tips of his fingers, hurt in a way that made him want to curl up into a ball and never get out of bed again, that it hit Oliver.

He jolted up.

Not only had he been rejected, he'd been horribly rejected by someone he was arse over elbow in love with.

"Crap," whined Oliver, flipping over and burying his face back in his pillow. He was never getting out of bed again. Never never never.

*~*~*~*

It was 9:00 on Tuesday and Weasley Wizard Wheezes had just closed. Fred and George were in the process of closing when a silhouette appeared in the window. A stiff-shouldered silhouette that looked rather pissed off.

"We're closed," Fred called and turned around to pick up his coat.

The door slammed open with a crash.

Fred and George whirled around. A finger moved into the light, pointing menacingly toward the twins.

"You," Percy said, stepping forward.

Fred and George took a step back.

"You..." Percy said.

"Yes George, what did you do to poor Percy?" Fred asked. "He seems rather distressed."

Percy's hand clenched into a fist.

Fred and George stepped back again, putting the counter between them and their brother.

"Hello sir, and welcome to Weasley Wizard Wheezes. How can we help you?" Fred asked.

"Fizzing Whizbee?" George offered.

"You..." Percy said again. He was beginning to sound hysterical.

"Fred," George whispered, keeping his eyes fixed warily on Percy.

"What?" Fred whispered back.

"I think Percy's finally gone 'round the bend."

"I have not!" Percy exclaimed, finally recovering his vocabulary. "Wait- here." Percy reached into his bag and smacked a scroll down on the counter. "Look at that."

Fred unrolled it. "What? It's blank."

"Exactly. Do you know what that was supposed to be?" Percy crossed his arms.

"A letter confessing you undying love for Oliver?" George asked.

The look Percy shot him could have withered any number of hearty houseplants. "No. It was supposed to be a report on the potential long-term effects of restructuring the International Floo Network."

"Ah," said Fred.

"Do you know why it's blank?" Percy asked, tilting his chin up and looking down his nose at the twins.

"I'm going to take a wild guess and say it has something to do with us," George said.

"And you'd be right!" Percy snapped. "I can't get anything done, I can't focus at work, I can't sleep, and it's entirely your fault." Percy snatched the scroll back and stuffed it into his bag. "It's unacceptable! And none of this ever would have happened if you two bloody idiots hadn't set me up with Oliver!" Percy began pacing back and forth in front of the counter.

Fred and George shared a look. Of course. It made perfect sense. Now that he had finally fallen off ye old pedestal of repression, of course Percy was going to go completely bonkers.

"What are you talking about, Percy?" Fred asked with his patented 'what did I do?' expression.

Percy glared at them. "You know perfectly well what I mean," he said.

"Percy. Why don't you stop, think about what you just said, and explain it again for those of us fortunate enough not to live inside your head," Fred said.

"Oh shut up!" Percy snapped, tense and fidgeting. "This is completely ridiculous-"

"This?" Fred prompted in mock-puzzlement.

"I...How did I let this happen?" Percy sank down onto a stool in front of the counter. He ran a hand through his hair and squeezed his eyes shut. "I am completely out of my depth here, and now he thinks-" Percy broke off and slumped over. "I hate this," he muttered to the countertop.

"This being...?" Fred asked.

"I wish I drank," Percy muttered.

"Um. I wish you did too," said George. He pulled a chair up to the counter.

Percy snorted. He looked up. "Don't you understand? I...like Oliver!"

"So what's wrong?" George said slowly.

Percy leaned forward. In a desperate confidential tone he hissed, "I think he might like me back!"

"'Like you back?' Percy, what are you, twelve?" Fred rolled his eyes.

"Then what's the problem?" George looked very puzzled.

"What's the problem??" Percy was getting hysterical again.

"'He might like me back'," Fred muttered, shaking his head.

"I almost think you'd rather Oliver didn't." George was looking at him strangely.

"Of course I'd prefer it!" Percy snapped. "I was entirely prepared to wait until my- my feelings or what have you went away; I could have lived with that. Probably. But no. He has to go and try to- and like me back, shut up Fred, don't even say anything." Percy looked very disgruntled.

"Percy, you do realize that you're completely mad?" George said.

"And I wanted him to- God, I really really wanted him to, but he wasn't supposed to actually try and do it! And now he probably thinks that I hate him."

"Hmm. Lost you again, Percy," said George.

"The point is that I'm a moron," said Percy.

"Okay. Can you tell us something that's not obvious?" asked Fred.

Percy glared.

"Sorry. Couldn't help that one."

Percy sighed, dropped his head to the counter and began picking at the surface. He said something very quietly.

"What was that?" asked George.

Percy gritted his teeth and muttered something again.

"What?" Fred asked.

"What am I supposed to do?" Percy finally snapped, red-faced.

The twins looked at each other.

"My god. I think I need to sit down." Fred stumbled over to a stool.

"Percy actually coming to us for advice." George blinked.

"I thought this day would never come." Fred wiped away a tear.

"Jeez, you must be really desperate, eh Percy?"

Percy's jaw clenched.

George's expression softened. "Fine. I'm going to tell you something, Perce." He moved around the counter and clapped a hand on Percy's shoulder. "Now this isn't going to be easy. It's not going to be pleasant. You may or may not come out alive. But unfortunately, it's the only option that I think is going to work."

Percy eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Tell him how you feel, doofus!" George mussed Percy's hair and moved away.

"But don't use the phrase 'I like you back,'" Fred said.

"I..." Percy turned to George. George nodded grimly.

Percy fixed his hair. Percy stared at the counter again. He looked at Fred. Then back at George. And finally, without saying a word, he got up and left the shop.

When the door jangled shut, Fred's gaze flicked sideways to his brother. "You think he's actually going to do it?"

George eyed the door. "No way in hell."

*~*~*~*

The first game of the season started in an hour; Oliver felt the familiar rush of adrenaline and nerves coursing through him. He tried for the third time to clear his mind and focus on the game. He shook out his shoulders, twisted his head, and then frowned at himself locker room mirror.

He'd told himself a thousand times before that Percy didn't think of him that way. Oliver snorted. Yeah, but he hadn't actually believed it. Come on. He'd been sure in his gut that Percy was interested in him.

Unfortunately, the expression on Percy's face back in his flat had said it all- something like, "If you come any closer I'm going to chuck my book at you and run far, far away." Oliver's jaw clenched in the mirror. He'd made a complete ass of himself. Stupid. What on earth had possessed him to do that when Percy obviously didn't want him? (Besides the obvious answer, which Oliver was not not not going to think about.) Oliver's reflection cocked its head.

Why didn't Percy want him, anyway? Why?

Oliver pulled his shoulders back; he flexed. He was in good shape.

Oliver tilted his chin in the mirror. He wasn't troll-ugly or anything like that. (In fact, if Oliver was going to be brutally, brutally honest, he was rather the opposite.) And he played Quidditch. What? Was Percy blind or something?

Oliver put his hands on his hips and frowned again. What wasn't to like?

Oliver heard a snicker behind him.

He turned around to find Brad and Mark, his teammates, doubled over in hysterics, leaning against each other for support.

"You...you..." Brad trailed off into a low machinegun-like burst of laughter.

He'd been caught mugging in front of the mirror like some cheap model from an underwear ad.

"Shut it," Oliver said and walked past Brad, who was still laughing; Oliver shoved him against the wall. Muttering, he sat down on a bench and yanked on an arm pad.

He jerked on the other arm pad. This was him, not thinking about Percy. Take that. "Ha," Oliver huffed, to no one in particular. He swallowed.

He'd been so sure, too, at least for a moment...

Oliver ripped his robes from his locker, and began struggling into them, which was apparently a lot harder to do when you were rejected and pissed off.

There had to be some other reason...

He halted all of a sudden, his left arm tangled in the right hand sleeve.

Aha!

He hadn't even bloody tried, had he? Percy remained immune to his charms because he hadn't even turned them on.

Of course, Oliver chuckled to himself. How stupid of him.

That was all he had to do. Because when Oliver Wood set out to seduce someone, he was irresistible.

"Ha," he said. Oliver casually shrugged on his robes. He swaggered over to the mirror again. Smiled his patented smile that he liked to call "Hey."

Just as he had thought- irresistible. What the hell had he been worried about?

Oliver grabbed his broom with a vengeance, ready to grind the Wimborne Wasps into the dirt. He nodded at his reflection in the mirror as he passed.

Percy Weasley did want him- he just didn't know it yet.

Go onto Chapter 7b.