A/N: This is set during Percy and Oliver's fifth year, i.e. Harry Potter's first year.

Surprising Actions & Unexpected Reactions

Knock, knock.

"Hey, are you done yet?" Percy asked. He raised his voice when he didn't receive a reply. "Wood, get out of there already! You can't just occupy the bathroom like it's your property!"

"Piss off."

The words were muffled through the door and the sound of the shower, but Percy could make them out with no difficulty. He was used to people telling him off using those exact words.

Oliver had been holed up in their bathroom ever since he got back from the Quidditch arena. Percy hadn't been there for the game, opting to stay at the castle for a much needed session of undisturbed studies. He was a Prefect now; he couldn't afford to let his grades slip because of his duties no matter how time-consuming they were. Judging by the fact that Oliver was currently trying to drown himself in the shower, it had been a bad one. Percy didn't think this was very surprising—the Gryffindor team was one player short as Harry Potter laid unconscious in the Hospital Wing.

Percy sighed. This had happened every year without fail. It had become particularly bad since last year though, when Oliver had been made Captain of the team. Sore loser as he was, he seemed to take every loss as a personal failure since then. Percy was always the one who had to suffer the consequences, listening to his bitter mutterings all night when he tried to sleep.

"Wood, stop sulking already," he tried again.

"I said 'piss off', Weasley! Do you have Pygmy Puffs clogging your ears?"

Percy straightened up. "You know, Oliver, it's fully within my rights to take points from our House for you showing disrespect towards a Prefect. You don't want to try my patience."

He could practically hear Oliver roll his eyes as he replied: "Oh, I'm so scared."

Percy fingered at his shiny badge. "I don't see how you can get so upset over Quidditch anyway. It's a game—people who don't understand that shouldn't be involved with it. In fact, if you want to know what I think, I'd say students would do better studying instead of—"

His lecture was interrupted as the door slammed open, only inches away from hitting the horn-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. Oliver was fuming, eyes shooting daggers as he stood in the opening clad only in the towel wrapped around his waist. White-most steam gushed out from behind him, making the air around them feel almost suffocating as the silence ticked by.

Percy had time to count to ten in his head before Oliver huffed, crossing his arms over his burly frame as he stared him down. Percy was almost as tall as him, but did, even if he'd take the fact to the grave, feel quite intimidated by his classmate in that moment.

"You know what, Percy?" Oliver finally said. "I didn't ask for your opinion. So don't tell me."

Against his better judgment, Percy talked back. "You'd do better to listen to me sometime—then maybe, if you're lucky, you might be able to get a real job once we graduate from here."

"Did it ever occur to you that not all of us want to live a boring life like you?"

"Did it ever occur to you that studying can do wonders even for muscle-brained git like you?"

Percy barely had time to register the movement before Oliver had stepped up to him and slammed him forcefully against the wall. When he raised his hands in an attempt to push him away, the Quidditch Captain grabbed his wrists, his superior strength trapping him where they stood. Percy was too shocked by the whole thing to take any further action—while the two had never actually been friends, they'd never come to blows before. Percy always made it a point to remain civil to his fellow students, Oliver included. He never let anyone get to him like this, letting his cool slip in such a way as to resort to cheap insults, but something about the situation had thrown him.

He felt faint as Oliver's eyes burned holes into his own.

"I'm not an idiot, Perce."

The bitterness of his tone and the use of his nickname pulled Percy out of his stupor. "Could have fooled me," he retorted stupidly, a way of self-defense.

He felt Oliver loosen the hold on his wrists, enough that he could break away if he wanted to, but he found himself strangely unable to move. He looked back up at Oliver, whose look of disappointment was barely concealed on his face.

"I'm tired of it, Perce. So bloody tired."

There was something about the way Oliver said that that shook Percy—something that hinted at something personal, something hidden deep in the recesses of the Quidditch player's heart. This wasn't just about him—this was merely the outlet, the final straw after a string of events.

"You've never exactly given me a reason to think otherwise," Percy noted reasonably.

"That's because you don't pay attention!" Oliver's voice had taken an urgent turn, his intensity trapping the Prefect more to the wall than his hands did. "You'd be surprised."

Percy's reply sounded half-strangled even to his own ears. "Surprise me."

The kiss was nothing like the shy pecks he had exchanged with neighboring girls; Oliver's kiss was rough, almost violent, and held the same urgency as his voice had just a moment ago. Percy let out a gasp, an involuntary reaction, which only served as entrance to the other boy's tongue that immediately sought out his. He couldn't comprehend this, couldn't think, and so he did the only thing he could — let his instincts take over. Before he knew it he was kissing Oliver back, a response that raised all kind of warning flags in the back of his head, but he stubbornly pushed them back.

There was nothing pretty about their kiss; just teeth and sloppy tongues and bruising lips. Their breaths came in harsh pants in-between kisses, and as Oliver pressed him closer to the wall, Percy became extremely aware of the fact that the other boy was naked save for the write terrycloth around his hips. He barely had time to wonder about just how much this idea didn't bother him when Oliver's lips came to a halt, and silence surrounded them again.

Oliver leaned back enough to meet his eyes, and while his eyes still held the same intensity, they also held a tiny spark of triumph. Percy couldn't bring himself to be annoyed. Instead he raised his eyebrows in silent question, to which he received a small, almost imperceptible grin in return.

And when Oliver leaned in for another kiss, gentler this time but with the unbridled passion he put into everything in his life still lurking in the background, Percy finally freed his hands from their loose bounds and used them to pull him closer. So they kept kissing, Quidditch Captain and House Prefect, like they had never done anything else, their argument long forgotten.