Title: Distraction

Disclaimer: I don't own or claim to own these characters, this universe, etc.

Pairings: Percy/Oliver (One of my favourite ships, but I rarely get to read them)

Rating: T, despite the arse jokes

Warnings: Pretty much the lamest jokes I've ever come up with, and a lot of dialogue.

Summary: Oliver just wanted to watch the Falcons vs Harpies match in peace, but it was impossible to do so with Percy Weasley next to him, of all people.

Word Count: 3,226

Prompts: "I didn't put it there," broomstick, happy ever after.

Author's Note: This was written for the Finals of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition.

Jesus Christ, the finals already! I've been participating in this competition since July, and I can't believe eight months have passed already. Shout out to my darling teammates: Mark Geoffrey Norrish, erm31323, MaryRoyale, LuxaLucifer, NiceFwoops, Caluminator, and vcbxnzm21. I love you all, and it's been an honour working together with you for all these months. Win or lose, I will still love you. :)

Note that all the drama between Puddlemere and Holyhead is from the Wiki (I have no idea how accurate that is, but that's my only source for now).

Anyway, what am I going to do fanfic-wise once I submit this? Well, I have several things to write, but I'm not going to make any deadline promises here because I just break out in hives at the thought of it, so...we'll just see, okay?

For now, I hope you'll enjoy this, assuming the formatting doesn't screw me over. (Seriously, what the hell, FFN?)

P.S. I may or may not write a sequel to this. It depends on whether anyone's interested in seeing a sequel and whether or not I have the time.

Oliver Wood quietly made his way through the stands at Falmouth's stadium, holding his navy blue cloak close to him, ensuring the hood covered part of his face. He braved the sea of dark grey and white clothing surrounding him, focussing only on reaching his seat. If he had turned to look behind him towards the other side of the stadium, he would have seen the crowd wearing dark green, but he was doggedly keeping his eyes averted. He would only look at them when he had to.

Three years had passed since the big fight between Puddlemere United and the Holyhead Harpies, but it was still on his mind, and he wasn't likely to forget it soon. He had been right next to Wilda Griffiths when she simply vanished from the field, leaving her broomstick to take a nosedive towards the ground; the Harpies had apparently been sore that Puddlemere managed to poach her from them for a mere thousand Galleons.

The ensuing riot was terrifying on both sides as diehard fans fought each other ruthlessly with wands and fists, and it had taken several weeks to restore the stadium after all the damage it took. They found Wilda eventually, but it had taken her a long time to recover from the events of that match, despite the best efforts of Oliver and the rest of the team to provide support and comfort.

He shuddered and tried to dispel the memories of her colourless face as he neared his row. Regardless of the bad blood between the two teams, he would just have to accept that there was a high chance they'd play against them again soon, since the winner of this match would go against Puddlemere in the next one. He had behaved professionally in front of them during the match they had between the riot and now, and he was determined to behave professionally the next time they met, too. So he showed up to this match, for the only way to keep calm was to observe and gather information about his potential opponents before ever having to face them.

Then again, the Falmouth Falcons also had a good chance of winning this match against the Harpies and being the ones to face off with Puddlemere, so Oliver was here to watch the two of them battle it out. It was bound to be an interesting match, as both teams had changed their line-up, more notably the Falcons. It was rumoured that their new captain wanted to promote nonviolence and fair play. Oliver wanted to see how their tactics would change now that their Beaters were no longer allowed to literally beat up their opposition.

He grinned at his internal pun, but his grin faded as he finally reached his seat and saw a red-haired bloke with horn-rimmed glasses sitting rigidly in the adjacent seat.

"Damn," he muttered, halting in his tracks. What the hell was Percy Weasley doing here, of all places?

Weasley must have sensed his presence, for he turned suddenly and raised an eyebrow at him. "Pardon me, but are you lost? If you look at the aisle seats, you will find the numbers clearly denoted on the armrests."

Damn, but the man still grated on his nerves after all these years. "No, I'm just in shock to see you here, Weasley. I thought you were too busy inspecting cauldron bottoms and writing tedious reports about them to ever see the light of day." He moved closer as he said this, not wanting to draw too much attention by having a fight several feet wide; it was better to battle in close quarters and keep their volume to a minimum.

Weasley leaned closer as Oliver took his seat, squinting at him through his glasses. "Ah. It's you, Mr Wood. I would have recognised that impudence anywhere. Shouldn't you be obsessively p-polishing your broomstick somewhere?"

Oliver cracked a smile at the stutter and at Weasley's reddening ears. "Come, now. Surely you can think of a more original insult than that. What's the point of being a Weasley if you don't learn a thing or two from your mouthy siblings?"

Weasley scowled and turned away, pushing up his glasses with one of his fingers. "Yes, well, I do not usually feel the need to insult anyone in my line of work. Which, by the way, has absolutely nothing to do with cauldron bottoms; I do not know where you got that notion."

"Oh, spare me," replied Oliver as he dug through his satchel for his Omnioculars with one hand. "I do not actually want to know what you do for a living. I'm just here to watch the game."

"Are you sure you can see anything with that ridiculous hood of yours? Let it down. It may be sunny, but the breeze should keep you cool enough. In fact, without a strong sticking charm, your hood will be blown back anyway, unless you plan to hold onto it for the duration of the game."

Oliver sighed at the practical nattering and let go of the fabric, digging through several pockets of his bag with both hands now. "Huh, what is my first aid kit doing there? I didn't put it there." He finally found his Omnioculars next to said kit and pulled them out before turning to face Weasley. "Anyway, I have no desire to be spotted by the other team or by anyone else, really."

"So you wore navy blue, your team colour?"

Oliver gently side-kicked Weasley's foot, even though he had a perfectly good point. It was the only response he deserved.

To his disappointment, Weasley did not respond or retaliate in any way. He simply stared pointedly in the direction of the field with a slight smirk on his face.

Oliver ended up being the one scowling instead. Percy Weasley should not be allowed to smirk like that. Ever.

Thankfully, it was at this moment that the announcer began talking, taking Oliver's mind off his annoying seat neighbour. He held up his Omnioculars and focussed on the balding man with the booming voice.

"Welcome to the Falcons' Aerie! Today we have an amazing match. The winner of this game—whoever it may be—"

The people around Oliver and Weasley interrupted the announcer, erupting into shouts and shrieks of "FALCONS!" Oliver glanced over at Weasley, only to catch him rolling his eyes. It was a surprisingly endearing sight, and Oliver almost regretted kicking him. Almost.

"—will compete against Puddlemere United for the England Cup!"

Oliver felt a glow in his chest at the mention of his team, but he kept himself composed, knowing that Weasley was likely waiting for some reaction from him. Weasley shrugged beside him but made no comment.

"Now, let's give a nice Falcons welcome to the Holyhead Harpies!"

Oliver glowered as each Harpy was introduced, although he did clap enthusiastically for Ginny out of Gryffindor loyalty. The riot was not her fault, for she had joined after the incident, and she had been a brilliant player during the last match he played against them, especially considering the fact that the match had lasted five days and she showed no sign of fatigue. He was willing to acknowledge her, at least.

Weasley was also clapping beside him, which brought a thought to the forefront of his mind.

"Hang on, why are you sitting on this side, Weasley? Shouldn't you be on the other side with all the Harpies supporters?"

Weasley shrugged. "I didn't know that there was a particular side I was supposed to sit; I just wanted a seat. Besides, she likely doesn't know I'm here."

"What?" His disbelief was almost drowned out by the roar of the people around them as the Falcons team members were announced, but he was now shouting loud enough for Weasley to hear regardless. "You're her brother! Surely you'd at least mention to her that you were coming?"

Weasley shrugged. "I sent a short note, but I highly doubt she read it. She rarely reads her correspondence; Mum has been trying unsuccessfully to get her to respond to post for years, and she probably wouldn't read a letter from me."

Oliver blinked at the bitter edge in his tone but chose not to point it out. "Then…what was the point of travelling all the way to Falmouth?"

"Has it ever occurred to you, Mr Wood, that perhaps I just want to watch a Quidditch match for the sake of it?"

Oliver gaped at him for a long moment, but then he shook his head and focussed on the comprehensible part of that sentence. "Why do you keep calling me 'Mr Wood'? It makes me feel like a middle-aged man."

"Shall I call you 'Ollie,' then? I suppose I might get used to it after a few passes. Ollie."

Oliver turned towards the sky to hide his blush. "That's even worse. How about calling me 'Wood' or maybe even 'Oliver'?" He directed his Omnioculars towards the rising players as he said this, admiring the grace of the Falcons Captain's ascent. He was less impressed with their Chasers' flying, though, but then again he had never been fond of Marcus Flint and Adrian Pucey.

"No, I think I am warming up to your new name. Ollie Ollie oxen free!" He let out a laugh after making this ridiculous statement, and it was the sort of awkward high-pitched braying that was even funnier than his attempt at a joke.

"Sod off," Oliver grumbled as he watched a Harpies Chaser do a delicate dance to avoid a Bludger. "Your insults just get worse and worse. I don't blame you, though—it must be hard to be witty when you're constantly distracted by the stick you have up your arse."

"Well, to be honest it's not the most distracting thing I've ever had up there."

"Wait, what?" Oliver actually took his eyes off the game to look at Weasley, but Weasley was placidly paying attention to the game, and his ears weren't even red. It was almost as if Oliver had imagined the words. Perhaps he had.

Suddenly a roar erupted as the announcer said, "And Flint makes the shot! 10 points to the Falcons!"

Oliver cursed and turned his attention back to the game. Maybe the heat from the sun was getting to him, causing him to hallucinate that Weasley would even say such a thing. He unclasped his cloak with one of his hands and let it fall off his shoulders, bunching up behind his back.

Weasley reached behind Oliver and yanked the cloak away.

"What are you doing?" Oliver did not turn away from the game this time, though, instead watching one of the Falcons' Beaters swing her bat toward a Bludger, successfully sending it towards one of the Harpies' Chasers, who didn't dive down in time.

"Just folding your cloak like a civilised human being."

"Are you sure you're really here to watch the game? You seem to be getting distracted by all sorts of mundane details."

"Well, you are a very distracting person, Ollie, what with all your fidgeting. Did your mum never teach you how to sit still?"

"Stop calling me that, you twat."

"Hmm. I might be persuaded to stop calling you Ollie if you agree to explore the aquarium with me after the match."

Oliver was tempted to put down his Omnioculars again at this even more outrageous statement, but he forced himself to focus on the Falcons' Keeper, who was currently diving to block the Quaffle Ginny had thrown.

"Aquarium? You mean the big one in Falmouth? Why would you want to go there with me?"

"I don't know exactly why, but I suppose I am just having a fit of nostalgia. I haven't seen a former classmate for a while now; I mostly work with people at least ten years my senior. I guess I want to…catch up?"

Oliver snorted; Weasley said the words "catch up" as if they were from a foreign language. "There's really not much for us to catch up on. I have my job, you have yours, and we've each found our happy ever after, so to speak. I do not have any particular goals for the future, and I'm not sure that you do, either. We'd run out of things to talk about after about fifteen minutes."

"We could look at aquatic creatures in between topics; that would stretch the conversation out to about an hour, at least."

The announcer roared. "And Weasley makes the goal! 10 points to the Harpies!"

Percy let out a startling whoop, and Oliver clapped him on the back-so he did care about his sister, at least a little. "Why would you want to force a conversation, though? Wouldn't you be happier curled up in an armchair in front of the fireplace with a good book or some paperwork?"

"Is that how you imagine me, Oliver?"

"All the time," he said offhandedly, distracted by a sudden dive from both teams' Seekers. Both women were fierce, subtly trying to edge the other out; they seemed melded together in their struggle. Oliver stood up, as well as the people around him, and they all held their breath.

"And the Snitch eludes both of them! My, my, what a tricky one! The game's not over yet, folks!"

Oliver sighed and sat back down, only to feel Weasley's intent gaze.

"Yes? Can I help you, Weasley?"

"Call me Percy. 'Weasley' could be anyone at this point, considering our increasing numbers."

Oliver risked a glance at him, since the Quaffle was currently being passed around in a pointless circle at the moment. "Alright, then…Percy."

Percy's ears reddened again, and Oliver thought that he could get used to the sight. He filed the thought away for now, though, for he had a game to watch.

"Oh! And Flint nearly knocks Jones off her broom, but she has a firm grip! Boy, does she look angry! Never mess with someone holding a club, folks!"

"Good god," breathed Percy, and Oliver could not help but notice how nice his voice sounded when it got all breathy like that. "What is she doing? Is she—is she going to break Flint's leg?"

He winced. "Knowing Gwenog Jones, that would not be a surprise. She can get vicious when provoked, and she's only gotten more fiery with age."

The Falcons' Captain abandoned his pursuit of the Quaffle and flew closer to them, hissing with his eyes narrowed at Flint and at Jones. Jones was giving him the two-fingered salute, and other Harpies were joining in, leaving Ginny and another Chaser alone to deal with the Falcons' Keeper.

The referee sped towards them, waving her hands, calling a time-out.

Jones threw her club at Flint before anyone could stop her, but Flint caught it and threw it back, nearly hitting her in the head. She dodged just in time, and the club fell towards the ground.

"This is a disaster," groaned Oliver. "Now I'm nervous. We have to go up against one of them?"

"They do seem highly uncivilised," agreed Percy.

"This just in, folks! Apparently the referee is calling for a fifteen minute break for both teams to cool off!"

Oliver sighed and put away his Omnioculars. "Well, then. There is no telling how long the game will take at this rate."

"Will that be an issue? Do you have to get back with your team and train soon?"

"You ask that now, after you've already gotten me to agree to visit a bloody aquarium with you?"

Percy shrugged. "I only just had this thought."

"Well, my team is already burned out; any more training and we'd tire ourselves out before the match. We simply do some flying exercises at this point to keep in shape, but nothing too strenuous. The last time we trained fiercely, one of our players tore a muscle, which really isn't pleasant to heal, magic or no magic."

Oliver stood up and stretched after saying this, suddenly reminded he had to take care of his own muscles. Percy's eyes followed his movements, which was amusing. Now that the game had halted, Oliver thought back to all the little "moments" they had shared throughout the game, and he couldn't help but wonder if Percy had been flirting with him the whole time. If he had, then he was terrible at it—no finesse at all. It was oddly cute.

He was especially interested in the arse comment, but he couldn't think of a way to bring it up without sounding barking mad, so he supposed it'd just have to remain a mystery.

"Say, Percy, were you serious about genuinely wanting to watch a Quidditch match? This isn't just you acting on some family duty to support your sister?"

He shrugged. "I watch every Quidditch match when I can. My sister being on a team is simply an added incentive, but I watch other games, too. I have watched most of yours, for instance."

Oliver stared at him speechlessly.

A tiny smirk appeared on Percy's face before quickly vanishing as he noticed the cloak on his lap. "This is yours, Ollie…ver. I do not know why I held onto that."

Oliver took the proffered cloak, still not sure how to respond.

"And we're back," said the announcer, his voice cutting through their conversational lull. "Get back to your seats folks, for the battle continues!"

Oliver rolled his eyes as he sat down and pulled his Omnioculars out again. "This announcer can get pretty cheesy. And how many times has he said 'folks'?"

"He does the job, though. At least we know what's going on for the most part."

Oliver scoffed as he watched the players take off again. "I do. You, on the other hand, keep being distracted by all sorts of things in your—"

He cut himself off as he realised what he was about to say. Merlin, he was never going to bring it up. Nope. He was just going to focus on—

"You know, Oliver, I must say that you are a rather pleasant distraction."

Oliver released a huff of air, his hands gripping the Omnioculars tighter. That was it; he really could not concentrate with this thing hanging in the air; it was time to settle it. "I could be more of a distraction if you'd like."

There was silence as the two of them watched the two opposing teams' Beaters accidentally clash their clubs together in their attempt to hit a Bludger, which would have started another fight if it weren't for the quelling looks from the Captains. Oliver tensed as he watched the conflict above, well aware that there could be a conflict brewing right here as well.

Then Percy said, "We can discuss various forms of distraction later on our trip to the aquarium."

"Alright," Oliver murmured. Was Percy delaying the answer or simply prolonging their contact? Perhaps both? "Sounds like a plan."

Percy lifted the armrest that was in between them.

Oliver raised his eyebrow as he felt the armrest move, but Percy did not move closer, instead maintaining his rigid posture.

He sighed and grabbed Percy's hand while continuing to hold the Omnioculars in his other hand.

"Ohhhhh, this game just got more exciting," exclaimed the announcer, and Oliver could not help but agree as Percy squeezed his hand.

He had a feeling it wasn't only the game that was going to be exciting from here on out.

The End (for now)