Chapter Text
It was winter. Finally, finally it was winter. To most Hogwarts students, it meant going back home. To some, like Percy Weasley, it meant more time to study. Such was his nature, and as much as his brothers- which, beginning this year, also included Ron- liked to tease him about his studious nature, Percy’s brains were the only thing he was truly proud of. Apart from his status as Prefect, of course.
Everything else about Percy was, well, boring. He didn't look particularly good, he was about as sporty as a hedgehog, and his social skills were fairly nonexistent. What it all boiled down to was that he was the exact opposite of the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, Oliver Wood.
Oliver Wood was everything Percy was not, and more. He was gorgeous and a practical lass magnet, his body was (as Percy had accidentally noticed in the showers) toned and taut, his muscles showing just enough to be noticeable, and not enough to be repulsive. He had rugged brown hair which matches his slightly messy look, and his charm was unmatched. This slight mess should have put prim Percy off, yet it was one of the qualities Percy adored the most. Too many times had he caught himself thinking about this boy. Despite being dorm-mates, Percy had never spoken much to Oliver. Truth was, he was too afraid.
The years in which Percy had so desperately tried denying what he felt for Oliver had only worsened his affection towards him. So it came that every touch from Oliver was warm and exciting, every bit of eye contact made his heart do a somersault, and every time Percy attempted to breach the topic of romance, he blushed so furiously he thought better of it.
Naturally they still had other conversations, though Oliver did most of the talking. Percy liked it. He could keep his mouth shut and just enjoy the euphonious sound of Oliver’s voice. He could just submit to whatever topic of conversation Oliver felt like breaching.
These holidays, however, Oliver was going back home to his family, and as much as Percy would miss him, it was for the better. He could finally get tonnes of fully concentrated studying done, he could get into that new book of his, and...Percy sighed. He was embarrassed by his awful habit, his dirty little secret, but whenever Oliver was back at home during the holidays, Percy liked to sleep in his bed. Granted it was creepy, but he did wash the sheets after the holidays were done. Sighing, he carried his own laundry, including bedsheets, to the washing.
Upon return to his dorm- he would be the only one staying there over the holidays- Percy let himself flop down onto Oliver’s bed. It smelled like him. It was warm and a thousand times more comfortable than his own bed. The redhead pulled out his book, nuzzled into the corner where Oliver’s headboard met the wall, and began reading.
He didn't get all that far. About 100 pages into his book, the door flew open. Percy’s head shot up, and he was sure he was blushing furiously. It only got worse when he realised who was standing in the door frame: Oliver Wood. He wore a chocolate brown jumper that matched his gorgeous eyes, and his hair was slightly ruffled from the wind outside. He set down his bag, and looked at Percy. Expecting him to cry out loud indignantly at Percy’s disrespectful behaviour, Percy braced himself mentally and decided on an excuse (after all, his own bedding truly was in the washing). But nothing came. Oliver was a bit taken aback at first, but his somewhat confused expression quickly turned into a smile as he flopped down onto his bed next to Percy. Oliver explained that he had changed his mind last-minute, and decided to stay in Hogwarts over the winter holidays after all.
Percy began apoligising profusely.
“Perce”, Oliver interrupted him, Percy blushing at the nickname,“stop it.”
Percy, for once, shut up.
Oliver said no more, simply taking out a book of his own (“Modern Quidditch Strategies”- why was he not surprised?). He shuffled closer until his body was right next to Percy’s, his back leaning against the wall; the brunet pulled up his blanket over their legs (it was winter, after all).
“This okay?”, he asked softly. It was a voice Percy adored, and it was so seldom that he got to hear it. Oliver’s outspoken personality didn’t often allow for this quiet, almost shy tone of voice. But Merlin, if Percy didn’t adore the way it resonated in his chest, the low volume alone indicating that they were close. He nodded and Oliver smiled.
Without a further word, they dove back into their reading. Percy’s book, as interesting as it was, was not enough to distract him from Oliver’s warm leg and arm, pressed up against his own side-by-side. It was not enough to distract him from Oliver’s slightly-furrowed brow, his lips faintly mouthing some words Percy couldn’t distinguish. He recognised the faint remnants of a bruise on his upper cheek as he let his eyes trace every inch of Oliver’s face.
They read for a long time. It surprised Percy, because Oliver never tended to read for more than an hour or so at a time. He didn’t know what time it was, and didn’t want to get up to check, but the darkness outside and the quiet of the Gryffindor common room told him it was late. He yawned, involuntarily, and his eyelids were heavy. Percy kept reading, he didn’t want to stop. Eventually though, he must have dozed off. His head slowly sank onto Oliver’s shoulder, whose body tensed up barely noticeably (not noticeably at all for Percy, who was half asleep) and then relaxed as he felt Percy’s soft breaths against his neck. Oliver sighed, a hint of colour spreading across his cheeks; tentatively he lifted his other arm, the one that wasn’t against Percy’s, and brought it to the ginger’s face. He cupped his cheek, his thumb tracing little circles on Percy’s porcelain skin. His cheekbone was noticeable, but didn’t stick out too far. It was just enough to give his face character, something distinct. Percy had always been something distinct to Oliver.
Oliver Wood had always admired Percy’s looks, his fiery hair and beautiful light eyelashes. He’d wanted to run his finger along the ginger’s cheek for a long time, tracing his thumb along his godly skin. Oliver’s eyes fell to Percy’s lips; they were slightly parted, and glistened in the dim lighting of his bedside lamp. How he longed to kiss Percy. It was a horrible thought, for he knew Percy would never too feel his boyish desires, but he couldn’t help but smile whenever he saw Percy, to let the Prefect be his go-to daydream, and his heart couldn’t help but skip a beat whenever they touched. He should be dead by now, considering how long he’d been caressing Percy’s cheek for. If Percy woke up now, Oliver would sure hope he was, too. But that didn’t happen.
The night dragged on. Percy’s bed was still without bedsheets or even a duvet cover, much to Oliver’s contentment. Carefully he put his arms around the ginger’s thin frame, and readjusted him to lie down. He took Percy’s glasses off and put their books onto his nightstand, then climbed into bed himself. He admired Percy in his peaceful sleep: he looked so untroubled, his chest rising and falling steadily. Oliver could stare at him forever, but was tired himself and so he carefully climbed into bed and layed down next to his friend. His friend.
Oliver repeated it to himself several times. They were friends, and Percy’s bedding was simply in the wash. That was it. There was nothing more.
It didn’t stop Oliver from turning sideways and pulling his friend into a loose embrace. His heart melted when Percy tightened it, nuzzling his head into Oliver’s chest.
The moonlight faintly illuminated their faces, and Oliver fell asleep smiling.