Wounded

I don't own anything you see herein, because if I did it wouldn't be a children's novel.

Author: Solis aka Aloysha

Series: Maybe

Rating: R, as far as I can tell.

Pairings: Percy/Oliver, mainly. Ron/Draco, and Harry/Hermione on the side, with mentions of Penny/Percy and Penny/Flint.

Warnings: Alternate Universe (Since, really, Percy could be considered the only 'confirmed' straight guy…) Violence, gay bashing, homophobia, depression, suicide, and Dark (dark) humor.

Summery: Oliver never paid much attention to Percy Weasley, taking more interest in his younger brothers, but when he stumbles across a startling sight one day his entire world takes a drastic turn.

Wounded, by Third Eye Blind, inspired this story, but I wrote this while listening to 'Afterglow' and 'Fumbling Towards Ecstasy' by Sarah McLachlan.

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Chapter One

Visions Clash, Planes Crash

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To this day, Oliver still wasn't exactly sure what he was doing out there. There being the so-called gay section of Wizarding London, at two in the morning. From a logical standpoint, he could say he'd wandered around so much he'd just gotten lost, but he knew that wasn't exactly true. He knew London fairly well, both Wizarding and Muggle.

During the past six years of playing Quidditch professionally, the major team cities had each become like another home to him.

He was loath to admit it, but during the off season he lived with his parents. It wasn't that he didn't have the money for a place of his own, but why bother with getting one when he would only be there a few months out of the year?

The part he'd wandered into wasn't easy to get to, unless you were looking for it. A hidden door in the basement of a Muggle gay bar lead into the basement of a Wizarding gay bar. The area, in and of itself, was only made up of a few streets, with shops, bars, and restaurants, designed to cater to a person's every whim and fancy.

Oliver knew all of this because this was far from his first trip. He'd spent a fair amount of time here when he was younger, but after a near run in with a reporter, his coach had requested he be more discreet in his 'various endeavors'.

Which was to say, he didn't really care who Oliver wanted to sleep with, as long as he was careful no one found out. He didn't want to say that gay people weren't welcome when it came to sports…but they weren't. Not openly anyway.

Sure, plenty came out after they retired, but while playing…it simply didn't happen. There was still far too much against gay people and, as far as athletics went, a lot of people weren't comfortable with a gay guy showering and dressing next to them.

Oliver, personally, didn't get it. All of the guys on his team were like him, only straight as far as he knew, so why the hell would he be interested in himself? Sure, masturbation had its perks, but if he were actually looking for a partner, he'd want a little variety.

Maybe that was just him though.

Or else it was a concept a lot of guys couldn't understand. After all, since they were willing to chase after any mildly good looking girl, they assumed that all gay men must be after all men, as opposed to just other gay men, including them.

And even if they were interested, on an aesthetic level, a simple 'no' usually sufficed in Oliver's mind.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and sighed. He was thinking entirely too much for a Friday night/Saturday morning. They had just won a game against the London team, naturally, and the rest of the team had gone out to celebrate together.

Oliver hadn't been so motivated. After all, he was twenty-four years old, handsome by most accounts, in great shape, and fairly famous…

He wanted to get laid. It'd been a while and the 'me, myself, and I' routine was getting tiresome, to say the least of the matter. So he'd find someone for the night and then be headed to Ireland for their next match, and that would be the end of that. He couldn't afford anything more.

For all his musing and wondering, Oliver went along with what he was supposed to do anyway. And that was hide his sexuality from all prying eyes and put forth an image as a manly he-man, testosterone infused Quidditch Player. He felt a tiny bit like a hypocrite, but he really didn't know what else he could do about it.

The team needed be just that, a team, and if part of the team had a problem with him the entire chemistry fell about and it would be his fault. If the press found out, then the team would be in the middle of a scandal and that's not what their team was about. Some stars attracted press and controversy, but they had never been one of them. They were pretty much a group of nice, normal guys who came out to play the game, and play the game well.

Anything else was unnecessary baggage and took away from the game. Their fans liked that image, they were a family friendly team of sorts, and it certainly wasn't his place to change that. He didn't want them to be the team 'with the gay Keeper'.

And, more than all of that, he did kind of like keeping his private life private. Sure, it seemed to mean that in order to achieve that he couldn't have a private life, but he also didn't want to be a story for the Daily Prophet to pick apart and trash however they saw fit, in order to get people to read.

"Hey there." A soft voice beckoned for him and he turned. What appeared to be a woman, thought considering the situation he had his doubts, with curly blond hair and dark red, thick lipstick smiled at him. He blinked once, offered a small smile, then kept walking.

The only downside to this was that the only people one encountered out here were freaks and other people with something to hide.

Sure, he was a believer in 'to each their own', but sometimes he wondered if he wasn't getting a little too old for all of this. Sure, for some it was timeless but, and maybe it was the romantic in him, but he had dreams of…being happy, one day.

Sex for the sake of sex wasn't exactly something that made him overwhelmingly happy.

It was at this point, as he wandered down the cobblestone streets and contemplated being plastered and then going back to his hotel, that he heard it. A word often heard around this area, though usually in a playful or mocking manner. Not with the malice and hatred he heard in that voice.

"Faggot!"

Something sarcastic in Oliver wanted to point out that a faggot was a bundle of sticks, and a fag a cigarette, but the voice had a American accent to it, so he knew it'd be a lost cause. Americans had a very…unique way of viewing things that would never be effected by things like logic or common sense.

He didn't even think before going down the alleyway and drawing his wand. It wasn't as cliché as it sounded. It wasn't some dimly let, rat infested alley where people came to get off and some hapless gay man was tricked into following. It was fairly well lit and between two popular clubs, one of which had a side entrance that lead right into the alley.

There was just a general air of 'Never get involved' in this place, as it was built of secrets and a certain degree of shame plagued most who walked the streets, and so people were doing just that. Staying inside the club or hurrying back to the main street and being careful to avert their eyes and pretend they'd seen nothing.

But Oliver Wood had been, and still was, a Gryffindor through and through, and, as a Gryffindor, he couldn't just let someone be beaten in front of him. Especially not when it was four on one, and why was it that people had to have back up in order to beat up one person anyway?

Whatever happened to a fair fight?

He grabbed one guy by the collar and slammed him into a brick wall, face first. He fell to the ground, nose busted open and oozing blood.

And everything stopped.

The other three were so surprised that they actually froze in place. They hadn't expected any retaliation. Obviously. It was kind of sad that ninety-nine percent of the time they would have been dead on in that belief but, unfortunately for them, this wasn't one of those times.

Funny, in the back of his mind he could just hear his coach yelling about him being an idiot and exposing himself for the sake of some guy he didn't know. Oh well…

It was one thing to risk being a hypocrite, it was another to let something like this go on. It wasn't something he could do and then be able to look himself in the mirror when morning came around.

For a moment no one moved then the three apperated away (Figures. Its all fun and games until its your ass that might get kicked), leaving him, the guy with the now broken (if not shattered) nose, and the guy on the ground. Speaking of whom, Oliver should really do something about him…

Medical type…things had never been his strong suit, in spite of how much time he spent in the infirmary and hospital for broken limbs, busted noses, strained muscles and a wide assortment of cuts and bruises. He couldn't really do a simple charm for healing a scraped knee, let alone gauge how beat up a person was.

For a moment he was stricken silent by the amount of…red there was everywhere. Then, it took a moment for him to realize, he saw that some of the red wasn't blood, but hair. He let his eyes drift for a moment, taking in the bits of pale, freckled skin that weren't covered or marred with the beginnings of bruises, the broken pair of glasses a few feet away…

He knew this guy.

"Shit. Shit shit shit." He whispered, cool demeanor cracking the moment who he'd saved sunk in. And, once that sunk in, he knew he faced a very hard choice.

At first he'd been planning to take this guy to the nearest hospital, his own reputation be damned if it came down to it, but now it wasn't just his image at stake.

He hadn't known Percy Weasley particularly well in school, in spite of being the only Gryffindors sorted into their year and sharing a dorm room for seven years. They'd run with different crowds; Oliver more with other Quidditch players and Quidditch fans, and Percy more with the Prefects and Head boys and girls. Those types who loved and cherished the rules, no matter what, and they hadn't exactly meshed well with the loud, raucous bunch Oliver preferred.

Besides, Percy had always seemed a little…boring and predictable to Oliver. Not to mention lacking in a sense of humor…he hadn't been able to really relate to all of the seriousness and caution Percy was all about.

That wasn't really the point though. Percy was, from what Oliver knew, the youngest Minister in the Ministry of Magic, ever. He'd taken over is fathers old position when Arthur Weasley became Minster of Magic last year.

He wouldn't want anyone knowing he was gay, let alone the fact he'd been bashed for it.

So, slight change in plans.

Oliver crouched down next to Percy, trying to see if the redhead was at least conscious. For a moment he didn't even dare breath, then unfocused blue eyes cracked open. Percy let out a breath of air and tried to sit up, but Oliver put a hand on his chest to stop him.

"I know Weasleys tend to be very stubborn people, but it's probably best you stay put." Percy didn't say anything. His eyes slid shut and Oliver felt a brief moment of panic, before realizing he'd just passed out.

Understandable.

He had to think about this calmly and rationally. Where could he take Percy? He didn't know anyone in London that he'd trust to keep their mouths shut, he didn't know where Percy lived, didn't think Percy would appreciate risking the hospital and…

The hotel. The team had a doctor and Oliver knew she'd keep everything to herself. She was really handy in that her contract said she couldn't disclose anything that didn't directly effect the way a team member played the game.

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It occurred to Oliver, as he watched the woman heal Percy's wounds and clean the drying blood from his skin and hair, that he didn't even know her name. That little revelation didn't motivate him to ask or anything, but it was an interesting thing to notice.

This woman saw him at his most vulnerable, like the time he'd gotten the flu and been too sick to move for days and she'd been at his bedside, taking care of him. She kept him and the rest of the team healthy and yet he didn't even know her name. How old she was, where she was from, what it was like being the only female surrounded by a bunch of men, who weren't exactly high on the 'gentlemanly' scale all of the time.

He wondered, for a moment, if she had a family she was working to support or if she was single and enjoying all the traveling they did around the globe.

"I've done what I can." She straightened up. "I healed the most serious of the wounds. I left a list of them, so he can have them looked at later on, just in case. He'll be in a lot of pain, but that just means he's healing. Some painkillers will solve the pain just fine." She handed him a slip of paper, which he looked at, only half-interested. "He still has a lot of cuts and bruises and he may have trouble walking for a while, since his left foot is starting to swell up. I'll look at it again later on."

"Thanks." He said, shoving the paper into his pocket. He'd grab whatever the hell it was in the morning. She nodded, gathering up her things.

"It was my pleasure. It's a shame some people just can't let others be." She shot a very loaded look in his direction and he squirmed a little. She reminded him of his mother, calm and all knowing. It was creepy. "However, if you don't mind me saying, I think your friend is a lot nicer than some of the girls your teammates decide to bring along. Those girls all seem to have fame in their eyes and money on their voices."

It took a moment for Oliver to realize what exactly she was implying, both about the others guys' girlfriends and wives, and about Percy. He felt his cheeks turn red.

"Ah, no, it's not…he's just a friend of mine."

"Of course he is Mr. Wood." She smiled mockingly. "Just let it be said, if I had a choice, I'd rather my youngest bring home boys who looked like him, if not so hurt, than the ones I see so much of." She patted him on the shoulder as she went past. "Now, be a good lad and refrain from any strenuous activity. I doubt he'll be up for any for some time. And be very patient. Even after he's all healed up on the inside, things on the inside will take much longer."

Oliver frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. "I would like to go on record and say I have no idea what the hell you're talking about."

"Of course not." She opened the door and waved at him over her shoulder. "I'll be back tomorrow."

Oliver stood for a few minutes after she left, not sure what to do. Finally he sighed and walked over to the bedroom and glanced inside. Percy was asleep/unconscious in his bed. He took in the redhead slowly.

His hair had grown over the years and fanned out around him. His skin was a milky white and freckles sprinkled his face. Without the glasses that he'd worn since the moment Oliver first met him, his face seemed softer…less stern and teacher-esq. He looked like someone Oliver might have flirted with in a bar, as opposed to tried to avoid while in school.

He turned away, suddenly feeling as if he were intruding, and resigned himself to sleeping on the couch in the front room. He didn't mind much. Besides, it wasn't like this was a long-term deal. Just until Percy woke up and could tell Oliver where he lived or something.

Because, as much as he hated the idea of just ditching Percy somewhere, he could not afford to get involved... He had too much riding on keeping his secret just that...a secret.