A/N: Hey y'all! This was written for Hogwarts. Prompts are below. :)

This is a Squib!AU :)

Word Count: 1921

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Those rights go to JK Rowling.

Enjoy!

"Oi! Weasley!"

Percy stiffened. This was why he hated coming to Diagon Alley; there was always someone who recognized him. And unfortunately, not every pureblood family accepted Squibs like his did.

He turned around slowly, his right hand shaking slightly. The last time he'd ignored such taunts, he'd been hexed in the back. It had taken ages for his brothers to find him. When he saw who wanted his attention, his stomach dropped. Marcus Flint.

He should really stop shopping at Flourish and Blotts alone.

He'd met Flint before, on similar trips. They would have gone to school together if Percy had been admitted into Hogwarts, but their age was where their similarities stopped.

Dark eyes glittered dangerously as the broad-shouldered sixteen-year-old approached. "Where are you heading, Weasley? I can't imagine how this place would be of much use to you."

Percy grit his teeth. "That's none of your business," he snapped, lifting his chin. If this came to blows, he would surely lose—Flint was a Quidditch player, his brothers had told him. Percy wasn't scared of a fight, but he hated being at a disadvantage. If he had been born with magic, he would stand a chance against bigots like Flint.

But he hadn't been, and a sharp mind couldn't always save him.

Flint sneered. "I think it is my business when unnatural freaks like you are where they don't belong."

Percy felt a familiar pang at those words. He hated knowing about this brilliant world but being unable to touch it. He hated living as a part of it, but always as a separate piece. He hated that he was pitied. But he couldn't stand people like Flint who wanted to make this their world. He was living in it too.

Percy adjusted his glasses, glancing around for familiar red hair, but his family was nowhere to be seen. "I can't help how I was born, Flint. And being born without magic is quite a bit more common than being born with it, you'll find."

Flint narrowed his eyes. "You may be a pureblood, Weasley, but that doesn't make your situation any better. I know your family are blood traitors, but I never thought they disgrace themselves even more by letting you—"

"Is there a problem, Flint?"

Percy turned to see a tall boy his age holding two ice creams glaring at Marcus, brown eyes full of warning.

Marcus' expression, if possible, turned even uglier. Dark hair spilled into his eyes as he whipped around to face the newcomer. "I don't remember inviting you, Wood."

Wood shrugged, his eyes flickering over to Percy. "I guess I crashed the party."

Marcus scowled. "Leave, Wood."

Wood licked on of the ice creams. His Scottish accent was thick when he replied, "Don't think I will."

Percy tugged at his red hair. He didn't need this to get any worse, and he definitely didn't need a knight in shining armor. "Wood, was it? You can go. I can handle him."

Flint grinned. "Acting brave now, are you Weasley? I guess you're not a total coward."

Percy took a step forward. He was a couple inches shorter than Flint, but the fire in his eyes made up for what he lacked in height. "I'm not a coward."

A slow, cat-like smile spread across Marcus' features. He pulled out his wand and twirled it almost carelessly in his fingers. "Prove it."

Percy's blue-eyed gaze fell on the wand. His shoulders slumped, but his voice was firm when he said, "I don't need to prove myself to you."

Marcus scoffed, but pocketed his wand. "Worse than Mudbloods, Squibs. Like weeds in a garden—taking up space that the rest of us need. "

Wood was suddenly at Percy's side in an instant, eyes fiery. "You better apologize to him right now, Flint," he growled. "Just remember that I'm of age now; you're not."

The threat that hung in the air was clear. Flint sneered at his classmate for a moment before turning to Percy. "Better take your chance to run along, Weasley."

Wood got right up in Marcus' face, somehow still intimidating despite the cones he was holding. "If that's your apology, then you can shove it."

Percy put a hand on his arm. "I can take care of this," he hissed. "You don't need to—"

Marcus was laughing. "Don't talk out loud, Weasley; you lower the IQ of the whole street."

He was so offended by the dig at his intelligence that he almost missed what happened next. Out of free hands, Wood smashed one of the cones into Marcus' face—Percy watched as the frozen dessert clung to the Slytherin's hair and face, some falling onto his collar. But as unconventional as the retaliation was, it had the desired effect; Marcus stumbled backward, swiping at his face and howling.

Once Marcus had retreated inside a shop—to get to a bathroom, most likely—Wood turned to Percy a bit sheepishly and stuck out a hand. "Sorry about that. Flint's a right prick, though I don't normally go about sticking desserts in his face…"

Percy snorted. He had seen the humor in the situation, and though a prideful part of him didn't want to admit it, he did appreciate Wood's help.

Wood's face softened. "You all right, mate? I dunno all of what he said to you, but—"

"I'm fine, thanks," Percy said a bit shortly. "I wasn't lying when I said I could handle it myself."

Wood tossed the second cone into some nearby bushes, his appetite clearly gone, and crossed his arms. "Why the hell should that mean you have to? I'm a team player, mate. I work with people."

Percy raised an eyebrow. "You don't even know me."

Wood shook his head. "Course I do. I recognize the hair—you're a Weasley. Fred and George are on the team; they told me about you."

Percy frowned. "Team? What—" Then it hit him. "Oh, right. Quidditch. You're that Wood." Percy raised an eyebrow. "Practice at six in the morning, Wood."

Wood let out a laugh, a grin lighting up his features. "That's me. It's paying off, though."

Percy nodded; he appreciated dedication of this level. "I can tell. They play over the summers."

Wood looked proud. "Glad to hear it. You know—" He raised a brow at Percy. "—they've told me quite a bit about you."

Percy leaned against the wall of a shop and crossed his arms. His guard was up; he loved his brothers, but he wouldn't put it past them to shout all his faults to a stranger. "Oh?"

"Mmhmm." Wood's brown eyes twinkled. "Lots of things. You're quite good at your studies, aren't you?"

Percy nodded slowly. He knew he was doing exceptionally well with his Muggle schoolwork as well as the magical aspects he was delving into; magical law did not, in the office, require a wand. "I work hard," he explained.

Wood grinned, but there was something in his eyes that Percy couldn't quite place. "Oliver Wood, by the way—the team just calls me Wood, so I thought there was a chance you didn't know."

Percy took the hand that Oliver offered and shook it, grateful for the introduction. "Percy Weasley."

Oliver cleared his throat. "Your brothers were looking for a… new outlet for their pranks this year, told me to keep an eye out." Oliver jerked his thumb in the direction Flint had blundered off to. "Target acquired."

Percy rolled his eyes slightly. "They don't need to do that. Shouldn't be doing it at all, really; Mum will have their hides."

Oliver laughed. "I've heard stories. So, Percy… do you like Quidditch?"

Percy looked at him warily. He was not a fan of the sport; it seemed like a death sentence, flying at ridiculous speeds on branches while trying to knock each other out of the sky. "It's not my cup of tea, no."

"Well then." Oliver winked at him, catching Percy off guard. "I might just have to change that—at least into an excited spectator."

Percy scoffed. He had a multitude of brothers and a sister who'd already given up on altering his views on Quidditch. "You can try."

Oliver grinned again. "Brilliant." His smile fell after a minute, though. "Percy, are you all right? Flint really was a right prick."

Percy turned to head into the bookshop, but spoke over his shoulder so Oliver would know that the conversation wasn't over; surprisingly, he enjoyed talking to him. "I don't care what people like Marcus Flint think."

Oliver wasn't convinced. "People who say they don't care what people think are usually desperate to have people think they don't care what people think."

Percy looked away. "Whether or not that's true, caring about what he says doesn't make a difference. I can't change the way I am."

"No," Oliver agreed softly, "but why the hell would you want to?"

Percy stopped at that, looking back at Oliver curiously. The Quidditch player looked so honest that Percy found himself holding his breath. "I don't," he said softly, slowly. "It's normally others that want me to."

It was a bit of a lie—it was hard to grow up with eight other people who all possessed a gift that he did not, and sometimes he resented them for it, but he was proud of what he'd accomplished without that boost so far. And he knew better than to think that an insult was worth more than a good opinion.

Oliver ran a hand through his dark brown hair. "That's good, then," he said softly. He cleared his throat, and, in a louder voice laced with shaky confidence, said, "After you finish your shopping, I was wondering if you might fancy a drink at the Leaky? A butterbeer or a firewhiskey, maybe?"

Percy hadn't been expecting that. "You just met me," he pointed out, feeling his face begin to flush.

Oliver shrugged, but he seemed unsure of himself. "I wasn't expecting Flint here, but… Fred did tell me where I could find you."

Did he, now? "That sounds more like something George would do," he murmured, stalling while he tried to think up an answer. He didn't really know Wood, but Oliver clearly knew about him. And it was nice, for once, to be around someone his own age who knew of the magical community but didn't look down on him for not being a part of it.

"It was both of them," Oliver admitted, smiling sheepishly.

Oliver's smile certainly wasn't making it any easier for Percy to think clearly.

When Percy didn't respond, Oliver spoke up. "It doesn't have to be—I mean, it can just be—"

"No, I want to." The words left his lips without his permission, but he didn't want to take them back. "I'd like that."

Oliver bit his lip. "You don't have to spare my feelings."

"No, I want to," Percy assured him, surprised by the sincerity of his words. He adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat. "I want to," he repeated.

Oliver's whole face brightened. "Brilliant!" He stepped forward and slung an arm around Percy's shoulders. "Is this okay?"

Percy glanced around, expertly scanning for identical grins and freckled faces. When he didn't spot them, he nodded. "As long as my brothers don't see, or I'll never hear the end of it," he murmured.

Oliver laughed and led the way into Flourish and Blotts. Percy found himself looking forward to the evening—he was ready, he realized, for something new.

And he really, really hoped that Oliver would be it.

A/N:

Writing Club:

Disney Challenge: Characters 4. Lady Tremaine — alt. Write about someone obsessed with status

Showtime: 10. Be Back Soon — (emotion) worry

Amber's Attic: 3. "People who say they don't care what people think are usually desperate to have people think they don't care what people think."

Angel's Arcade: 3. Cammy — (trait) protective, (action) narrowing eyes, (dialogue) "Target acquired."

Lo's Lowdown: Dialogue 4. "Don't talk out loud; you lower the IQ of the whole street."

Bex's Basement: Carol Danvers 3. "I don't need to prove myself to you."

Fortnightly Challenge:

Elizabeth Appreciation: 2. Lizzy — Write a Squib!AU

Zoo Lover's Day: 4. Lion — Write about a Gryffindor

Easter Funfair: Working Bees: "If that's your apology, then you can shove it.", Marcus Flint, beginnings

Constellation Club: Pisces: Gamma Piscium — ice cream

Auction: Perciver

Insane House Challenge: 71. Percy Weasley