Winning the Game

by: dangermouse

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It's strange.

I never much cared for Quidditch before now. Something about how dangerous it was, how fast it moved, how loud it could be, not to mention the players - never much cared for jocks. Too much chest thumping and strutting about. Sure, I went to the games with my brothers, congratulated Charlie after a hard won game. Upon reflection, maybe that's why I don't like Quidditch. It was Charlie's game. Not mine. Besides, my flying skills were never very good. And, before now, watching sports that I couldn't play never really appealed to me.

But things are different now.

I can't help but watch him, flying around near the goal posts, his face drawn in an expression of great concentration. He is so elegant - it seems as though the broom is a part of him, an extension of his body, flying being the most natural thing in the world for him. I watch, mesmerized, as he dips and spins, blocking the quaffles with a skillful air that makes my stomach tighten. I can feel myself getting excited, though not for the game. I want desperately for him to win. He deserves it. Six years of listening to him talk about his dream seems to have made it my own. I want this. I want this for him.

He'll be crushed if they lose.

Last night, he couldn't sleep. He never can before a game. Since we are the only two fellows to be sorted into Gryffindor our year, I've gotten to know his habits quite well. Oliver has what I like to call a 'Quidditch Ritual,' at least in my own mind. I would never make fun of him. I know how much that hurts.

No, the night before a Quidditch match is always the same, as it has been for the six years I've had to endure it. First, he sits down at his desk and goes over the next day's game plan in detail, muttering plays under his breath and tracing his moves over a rather detailed drawing of the Quidditch field. Then, he consults his weather orb, checking the next day's climate. After that, he goes over the plays again, this time compensating for the predicted weather. Next, he stands up and paces the length of the room about twenty-five times, his slippered steps making little noise against the cold, stone floors. At this point, he usually remembers I'm in the room and apologizes for the noise he's making, then beats a hasty exit, probably going down to the common room to pace some more. When he comes back around a half-an-hour later, he's looking more nervous than when he left, also showing signs of fatigue. Giving up, he flops down quite noisily on his bed and tosses and turns until morning, which for him starts around 5:30.

Usually, I left him to this. We all have our quirks. I myself have a few. For example, on the night before a major exam, I always burn a red candle. Weird, right? Well, maybe so, but it makes me feel better.

But last night, even his 'ritual' wasn't enough to settle him down. And that changed everything.

~The Previous Evening~

Percy walked out of the shower room, wrapped rather contentedly in his robe, scrubbing his mane of wild, wet, red hair with a towel, a half-smile on his face. In his opinion, there was nothing better than a good shower at the end of a long day. True, he could have gone to his private bathroom reserved especially for the Head Boy, but Percy was quite content with the familiarity of the communal showers. In fact, it was almost comforting in a way - grounding.

Walking up the stairs, he finally reached the room he and Oliver shared. Seven years, Percy thought ruefully. It was hard to believe that Percy had been at Hogwarts seven years already. The time certainly seemed to fly by. Pushing open the door to his bedroom and looking forward to a nice, uninterrupted night of sleep, Percy felt his expression quickly turn to one of shock and let his mouth hang open for a good thirty seconds before he got control over himself.

The room was in shambles. Papers were scattered everywhere, the curtains around Oliver's bed were torn down halfway, and the bed linens were crumpled in a corner across the room. He saw that Oliver's Quidditch robes, which he distinctly remembered having seen laid out quite neatly over the back of the Keeper's desk chair when Percy went to the showers, were now hanging haphazardly from the candelabra (fortunately unlit) on the ceiling. And, while all of this did its part to irk Percy's fastidious nature, of more concern to him was his roommate.

Oliver was sitting at his desk, one hand fisted into his brown hair, the other writing rapidly across a piece of parchment. The Gryffindor Keeper was muttering to himself, so softly Percy was unable to make it out. With a low growl that caused Percy to step back in surprise, Oliver suddenly crumpled up the parchment and threw it across the room, a foul curse spilling over his lips. Swallowing hard, Percy closed the door as quietly as possible, then took a soft step towards his roommate.

"Oliver..." he said evenly, trying to use the low voice Charlie slipped into when dealing with particularly ornery dragons. Percy did not want to get burned. Oliver slammed his fist on the desk with such force, Percy could feel the vibrations of the floor in his bare feet. With another curse, Oliver turned around to face him.

"We're gonna lose, Percy!" he growled angrily. "Those fucking snakes are going to beat us!" Percy flinched a little at Oliver's strong language but decided now was not the time to address that. Instead, Percy opened his mouth to offer encouragement, but Oliver cut him off.

"I just don't know what to do!" Oliver stood up and started pacing furiously, his hand going back to his head to pull at his hair. "Six fucking years, Percy! Six fucking years I've been on this damn team and we haven't won the Cup yet! If I have to look at the smirking faces of those damn snakes one more time, I swear I'll... I'll..." Oliver paused, so livid in his anger and frustration he couldn't finish his sentence. With another, even more foul curse than any previous, he reached up and finished yanking down the curtains around his bed, the rings snapping with a 'pop,' one right after the other. He balled the curtains up and tossed them blindly across the room, unintentionally right at Percy. The redhead barely had time to gasp and duck as the maroon sheets flew right over his head and smacked into the wall, settling in a heap on the floor.

Shaking himself out of his surprise, Percy dropped the towel he was holding and walked quickly across the room, closing the distance between him and his roommate. He grabbed Oliver's shoulders and shook him firmly. "Calm down!" Percy practically yelled, not feeling at all calm himself. "Snap out of it!"

For a brief moment, Percy thought Oliver was going to hit him. Then, just as suddenly, Oliver's expression changed from one of frustrated anger to one of bewildered surprise, then slowly slid into one of shame-faced regret.

"Oh, God," he murmured, looking around. "I completely wrecked the room."

To say Percy was caught off-guard by this would be a gross understatement. His roommate just suffered what looked to be a major mental breakdown and his first coherent thought was the condition of the room? Percy felt a little smile tugging at his lips, but at a glance at Oliver's obviously distressed expression, he quickly got himself in check.

"It's okay, Ol," he told him gently. "We can clean it up later." Oliver gave Percy a sharp look at the sound of his rarely used nickname and, seeing a truly sympathetic and heartfelt look in his eyes, felt himself relax.

"There's just so much going on, Perce," he replied in kind, shaking his head sadly. "What with the Quidditch Finals tomorrow and the N.E.W.T.s right after that..." He paused, taking a deep, shuddering breath before continuing. "It's just too much sometimes."

"I know," Percy said with a nod, feeling the tension flow out of his shoulders as Oliver visibly relaxed. "I'm in the same boat, with my Head Boy duties, the year coming to a close, and such. It can be overwhelming." With a sigh, Oliver reached up and rested his hands on Percy's, that were still resting on his shoulders.

"You've been a great roommate, Perce," Oliver told him, a small smile gracing his face. At this, Percy let out a little laugh and rolled his eyes.

"Right. I'm a pompous neat freak with a studying fetish. Just ducky to have around, really."

"No, you really are," Oliver insisted, giving Percy's hands a reassuring squeeze. "What with me being a brash, disorganized jock, it's been quite good for me to have you around. God knows I never would have made it through Transfiguration without you."

They both laughed at this. Oliver was terrible at Transfiguration. He and Percy had worked together since day one, just to make sure Oliver could pass each year. Percy couldn't count the number of failed, half-transfigured things they had laying about the room. Oliver thought they were funny and he liked keeping them. Momentous, he called them.

With that small laugh finally out in the open, the tension in the room seemed to have dropped to a fraction of what it had been. Oliver let his hands drop to his sides and Percy did the same. With a large sigh, Oliver looked around the room again.

"We should clean this up," he said quietly, but flashing Percy a large grin. "I know you'll never be able to sleep with the place a mess like this, you pompous neat-freak." Percy gave Oliver a small smile in return.

"Well, I know you won't be able to sleep anyway, what with the match tomorrow, you disorganized jock," he retorted. With a chuckle, they both started to clean. Oliver moved around the room, picking up the crumpled game plans and tossing them in the waste basket while Percy picked up the sheets and shook them a few times to get out the dust.

"So," Oliver began easily, "I've been so busy with Quidditch these past few weeks, I've been sort of oblivious. How are things on the Percy front?"

"Oh, you know, the same as always," Percy replied with a shrug and a slight smile. "Trying to maintain some semblance of order with this whole Sirius Black scare, my Head Boy duties, that sort of thing. Also, studying for my N.E.W.T.s, of course."

"Of course," Oliver said with a some-what leering grin. "You know I live vicariously through your love-life, Perce. What I really want to know is how things are going with you and Penny-dear."

Percy's smile faltered and he nearly dropped Oliver's bed linens. "Ah, that," he started uncomfortably. "Well, you see, about two weeks ago, we kind of... broke it off." Oliver dropped the crumpled piece of paper he was holding and looked at Percy in shock.

"WHAT?" he asked finally, disbelieving his own ears. "When did you... how did it.... why did you... WHAT?" Percy held up his hands to forestall any further questions and paused a moment before answering, gathering his thoughts.

"We just sort of... ended it," he said after a pause, walking over to Oliver's bed to put down the linens. He was aware of Oliver moving up behind him, but he didn't turn around. "It was mutual - and it didn't end badly. We're still friends."

"But what happened?" Oliver asked, confused. "You two were going so well! And when did I miss all of this?" At this, Percy finally turned around and gave his friend a simple smile.

"You were out on the Quidditch field most of the time. Besides, like I said - we ended it peacefully. It wasn't a big deal. I guess..." Percy, shifted suddenly feeling uncomfortable facing Oliver. Instead, he turned back to the bed and began draping the sheets on it in the appropriate order. "I guess... something just wasn't right," he finally concluded, tucking the top sheet under the mattress.

"Not right?" Oliver echoed, still mildly bewildered. Percy nodded, but didn't turn around.

"Yes, not right. I like Penny, I really do. It's just, when we, well, you know..." Percy trailed off and faced Oliver, sitting down on his now well made bed. Oliver sat down next to him and nodded for him to continue. Percy took a deep breath.

"Well, anyway, when we got close, it just felt... not right. I don't know what it was, but something was off." Percy shook his head and laughed a little. "I suppose this sounds utterly ridiculous to you."

"Not at all," Oliver said reassuringly, resting a hand on Percy's shoulder. "If she wasn't the right one for you, she wasn't the right one. It's that simple, really."

"I suppose," Percy said with a weak smile that slowly turned into a frown, his eyebrows knitting together.

"But..." Oliver prompted, sensing something more on the redhead's mind.

"But," Percy continued, taking a deep breath, "I think it might be something more than that."

"Like what?" Oliver asked, truly curious. Percy shifted a little on the bed, suddenly wishing he was wearing more than just a bathrobe.

"Well, one of the things that made me aware of my problems with Penny was that my attentions seemed to be drawn... elsewhere," Percy began brokenly, staring down at his hands, resting on his lap.

"To whom?" Oliver asked, leaning forward a little. Percy shifted again, trying to will his body not to start blushing.

"Other people," the redhead said softly. He kept his gaze downward, his hand reaching down to pick at the quilt on the freshly made bed. The squares were cut to look like quidditch things - quaffles, bludgers, broomsticks, and snitches, all moving around a bit. Percy recognized it as one his mother had made for his roommate three years ago. Oliver suddenly reached over and covered Percy's fidgeting hand with his own. The quidditch player's other hand touched Percy under his chin, gently guiding the redhead's eyes to his own.

"Who?" Oliver asked, his voice quiet, but adamant. Blue eyes met brown, strong and intense, and Percy knew.

"You know," he whispered, his eyes widening slightly.

"I know," Oliver acknowledged, giving a little lopsided grin. Percy couldn't help it anymore. He laughed, leaning back a little. He felt tears stinging at the corners of his eyes and blinked rapidly, trying to keep them from falling. Finally, he managed to gain some control over himself and sat back against Oliver's headboard, looking at him with an expression filled with a myriad of emotions.

"How long have you known?" Percy asked him, feeling nervous in spite of Oliver's friendly, relaxed expression. Oliver took a deep breath, then leaned back on the bed, resting on his elbows.

"About two years," he said finally, staring up at the ceiling he rarely saw, seeing as how that canopy lying across the room usually covered it.

"Two years?" Percy said in disbelief. Oliver looked over at his friend and nearly laughed out loud at his thunderstruck expression. "I've been attracted to you for two years? I only realized it to myself three months ago!"

"Probably wishful thinking on my part," Oliver admitted, reaching out a hand to pat Percy's bare foot. "But, it's been about three years since I knew I felt more for you than just friendship and I have been watching you closely since then."

"All this time I had a stalker and didn't even know it," Percy said with a rueful grin, while at the same time flexing his foot a little, deciding he liked Oliver's warm hand resting right where it was.

"You can be a little oblivious," Oliver agreed, then frowned. "Though how I missed your break-up with Penny is beyond me..."

"Guess we've rubbed off on each other a bit," Percy said lightly, then blinked, going over the sentence again in his head, Oliver's eyebrows rising up into his hairline. "Not... quite like that," Percy corrected himself, feeling a slight blush ride up his neck. Oliver laughed.

"Not quite," Oliver concurred, "... yet." Percy could really feel himself blushing now, acutely aware of the hand that now seemed to be resting just above his ankle. Oliver's fingers deftly tapped Percy's anklebone in a most unusual, though not entirely unpleasant, fashion. Percy took a deep breath, shaking his head a little, trying to keep track of the conversation at hand.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Percy finally managed. Oliver sighed, looking back up at the ceiling again.

"It didn't seem like the right thing to do," Oliver said slowly. "I mean, you were trying to figure out who you were and what you wanted. I didn't want to interfere with that. Plus, if the feelings were not reciprocated, I didn't want there to be any uneasiness between us, seeing as how we live together and all." Oliver started chewing on his bottom lip, an action Percy knew to mean he was concentrating on something, trying to get it right.

"Go on," Percy prompted gently.

"I was going to tell you at the end of fifth year," Oliver said firmly, sitting up and turning to face Percy head-on, sitting cross-legged on the bed. "But by then, you and Penny were getting... involved." Percy nodded.

"We exchanged a lot of letters that summer," the redhead told him, also sitting up, unconsciously mimicking Oliver's position. "It was nice to write to her, being able to communicate with someone who didn't think the things you believed are important were silly or pompous. It was when we got and were together during sixth year that I started to notice our relationship wasn't... quite what I was looking for."

"Everyone's asexual on paper," Oliver said wisely. Percy blinked at him, looking perplexed.

"Is that a quote?" he asked, confused.

"I don't think so," Oliver said. "I think I just made it up." They both looked at each other for a few seconds, then laughed.

"Anyway," Oliver said, finally managing to pull himself together, "since it seemed like you and Penny were together, I certainly didn't want to break you up. That's why I never said anything." Percy simply looked at Oliver for a moment.

"For a Gryffindor, you're pretty cowardly," he said, smiling a little soften the comment.

"I know," Oliver agreed, also smiling. "I've also heard it called being 'wishy-washy.'"

"Well, I guess it's all in the open," Percy said, scooting a little closer to Oliver. "No more wishy-washiness now."

"Nope," Oliver said, also moving forward, their foreheads almost touching. Percy started to lean in towards the taller boy, then blinked, pulling back. Oliver almost fell forward, barely able to halt his momentum. "What?" he squeaked, a sound that was remarkably undignified.

"It's almost two in the morning!" Percy said, his voice a little frantic. Oliver twisted around, looking at the clock Percy had seen behind him.

"Yikes!" Oliver said, staring at the clock in disbelief, then turning back to Percy. "Where did the time go?"

"We don't have time for this tonight," Percy said earnestly, leaning forward, putting his hands on Oliver's knees. "You need to get some sleep for the game tomorrow!"

"You're right," Oliver conceded. Percy made to stand up and go back to his own bed, but Oliver caught his arm, stilling him.

"Oliver..." Percy began, but the other cut him off.

"You can stay," he urged, gently pulling the redhead back into the bed. "You can sleep here." Percy looked down at his bathrobe-covered form before raising an eyebrow, giving Oliver a curious look.

"I'm not wearing much," he told him. Oliver simply shrugged.

"I don't mind," he said, leering a bit.

"I'm going to freeze like this," Percy countered.

"I can keep you warm," Oliver offered. Percy smiled, shaking his head a little.

"'Fortune favors the bold,'" he muttered, then pulled back the covers, slipping underneath. He squirmed out of his damp bathrobe, tossing it to the floor, then closed his eyes. Moments later, a warm body slid behind him, wrapping a strong arm around his waist. Oliver mumbled a soft-spoken word, the lights in the room blinking out all at once in response. Percy sighed, snuggling easily into Oliver's body. It felt right.

"This is nice," Percy said softly, feeling Oliver's warm breath against his neck.

"You have no idea," Oliver replied. "I've wanted this for so long..."

"I don't know how you managed," Percy said, smiling a little in spite of himself.

"It wasn't easy," Oliver told him, slipping his knee between Percy's legs. "Quidditch is a very erotic game, you know." Percy blinked.

"You've lost me on that one," he said with a small yawn.

"Well, I spend most of my time riding around on a broomstick, clutching the wooden handle between my legs, caressing the end with my hands," Oliver began, shifting, if possible, a little closer to his new bedmate.

"Continue..." Percy said, smiling.

"And then there is the quaffle - a little red ball. Have you ever wondered why the quaffle is red?" Oliver continued, his voice smooth and sonorous.

"Not especially."

"Red is a powerful color. It represents our strongest emotions - love, lust, and anger. It's held firmly in your hands as you try to throw it through one of three perfectly circular hoops, round and rising high above the ground, out of reach of most. You throw it with all your might, one goal in mind, until finally, it glides right through and you score," Oliver continued, reaching up a hand to touch Percy's still slightly damp hair. "Best part of the game."

"So, why aren't you a chaser then?" Percy mused, reaching down to caress the hand that still rested on his waist.

"Oh, the keeper's important, too," Oliver told him, putting his hand back around Percy's waist, nuzzling his neck with his nose. "It's a big job, to keep others from scoring in your goals, keeping them from thowing that deep red quaffle where it doesn't belong." Percy groaned at the imagery, then laughed a little.

"I will never watch a game of Quidditch the same way again," Percy said, then yawned again, unable to stop himself.

"It's really quite exciting," agreed Oliver, placing a small kiss on the back of Percy's neck, then also yawned, and the two drifted off into sleep.

~The Quidditch Game~

I winced as the two bludgers slammed, one after the other, in to Oliver's stomach, almost feeling his physical pain myself. I wanted to get up and scream in indignation like those gathered around me, but I couldn't. Instead, I found myself gripping the bench beneath me, holding my breath as Oliver whirled about in the air, trying to regain his balance as well as his breath. He seemed to recover quickly and caught my eye, giving a weak little smile before flying back into the game.

I breathed again.

The game continued, but I could scarcely watch it. My eyes remained on Oliver the whole time, watching him dip and twist in the air, blocking shot after shot by the Slytherin team, riding his broomstick with a grace and flair I could barely imagine.

"I love that man," I heard myself murmur, then quickly looked around to see if anyone had heard me. No one did - everyone's eyes and minds seemed to be locked on the game at hand, particularly Harry Potter. I looked at the score board and understood why; At some point during my Oliver watching, we'd made a few more goals. If Harry caught the snitch, the game would be over in our favor.

I tried watching the seeker, but my eyes were consistently drawn back to Oliver's muscular form. I stopped fighting myself, instead watching my Keeper do his best. I found myself smiling as he flew close, blocking another quaffle, twisting his legs tightly around his broom to keep his balance.

It really was quite an erotic game.

Suddenly, the world exploded in noise around me. I blinked in shock, not really having any idea what was going on. I looked at the scoreboard.

We'd won.

I watched the Gryffindor team let out an ecstatic cheer, coalescing around their seeker, crying and laughing. I was surprised to feel myself lifted out of my seat by my own accord, my body jumping up and down and yelling just as loud as the rest of them, a joy so perfect in my soul, there was no way not to show it physically.

The day was ours.

We'd won the cup.

Oliver had won.

I barely saw Harry being handed the cup, barely saw him lifting it in the air. Instead, I watched the amazing play of emotions dancing across my lover's face. I suddenly wished I had a broom. I wished I could be up there with him, celebrating his dream together.

He turned and looked at me, smiling a smile so bright it was almost blinding. Before I knew what was happening, Oliver was in front of me, sweeping me up in a fierce hug, smelling of sweat and dirt and everything else distinctly Oliver. My own arms wrapped around him as well, our bodies pressing together so tightly I could scarcely breathe.

Oliver finally let me go, holding me back at arms length, giving me a look of such love it almost knocked me over.

"We won," he said, drawing me close, his voice just loud enough to be heard above the din.

"We won," I agreed, giving him a chaste kiss on the lips, heedless of anyone who might be watching. "We won."

~The End~