It is important to note that, regardless of the day, the boys' dormitories in the Gryffindor Tower were not the most pleasant places to be in the morning. The sixth year's dormitories were like a battlefield in the morning. Percy Weasley, always up at the crack of dawn, pinning his prefect badge carefully to his robes, making sure his hair wasn't a total mess. Oliver Wood would wake at the last moment shower quickly and pull on his uniform, running a hand through his hair. The other boys would move at various paces, doing anything to avoid the two perfectionists' tempers.

Only in the morning, the curtains to Percy's four poster bed didn't pull open at six. This morning, Oliver rose before him, and, in nothing but his tartan pyjama bottoms, he pottered around the dormitory, sitting on his bed, flicking through his charms essay. The other boys had left for the library to finish potions homework due first lesson, but Oliver hung behind. When Percy finally rose from his bed, Oliver was just coming out of the shower, a white towel slung low on his hips.

Percy did a double take, eyes as wide as saucepans. There Oliver was, hair mussed up and wet, dripping droplets of water down his chiselled chest. His shoulders glistened with hot water, and the scent of his shower gel (some obscure wizarding brand he picked up from a trip to Spain to watch a quidditch match) filled the room.

Merlin, Percy thought to himself. He cleared his throat.

"What's the matter, Weasley," Oliver asked. "Clear off to the bathroom if you're fussing about me getting changed."

And, with a lot of self control, Percy ducked into the bathroom. Disappointed he was, as he had wanted to take in EVERYTHING about his dorm mate. In all honesty, he was rather intriguing…

He sighed, splashing cold water into his face. He should be thinking this at all, for many reason. The most prominent one being, his brothers would never let him hear the end of this. Then there was his N.E.W.T.S to think about, and his future job prospects. Not to mention his Transfiguration essay on Animagi due in two lessons time. He shook his head, mentally scolding himself.

…

"Merlin's pants, Weasley, shut up!"

Charms was not exactly Oliver's strong subject. As much as he loved Flitwick, he did find it rather unnecessary to be in register order after six years. Not that he had anything against register order (that meant he could sit by Aaron Trott, a quidditch enthusiast, when they had lessons with the Hufflepuffs) but in most lessons, he had to test his patience sat next to Percy. Granted, he could always ensure his work was correct, but it came at a dire cost. Every lesson, Percy would find something to complain about, and today it was Oliver's essay.

"Really, Oliver, this isn't the neatest essay. You've had two whole weeks to do this. Two! Look at the state of it, the ink smudges- you even swapped ink colours halfway through. Show some pride in your work-"

"Weasley," Oliver said steadily, cutting off his rant. "If you don't shut up about the state of my essay, I will personally shove said 'display of poor effort' right up where the sun don't shine, you hear?" He growled, growing very annoyed, very quickly. This appeared to work, and Percy was silenced. Grumpily, Oliver got on with his work, making notes in his narrow, slanted writing.

Unfortunately, it didn't take Percy long to stick his nose back into Oliver's work. For a good while, Oliver ignored him, before he cracked. "Shut it, Weasley, before I make you." He said in a low, agitated voice.

The effect of seven words on one of the most outspoken people he knew was rather spectacular. Almost instantly, Percy's ears glowed pink, his eyes widening. He quickly looked away to hide dilated pupils, and bright red cheeks, but Oliver had caught on quickly.

"What's the matter, Weasley?" He teases, a cocky glint in his eyes. His joy was short lived however, by the sound of the bell, and Flitwick squeakily assigning them a few chapters of their textbook to read. Percy practically ran from the classroom, muttering something about Advanced Ancient Runes. Oliver shook his head, going off to spend his free lesson re-writing all of his quidditch plans. He shook off Percy's embarrassment pretty quickly.

Smug prat probably doesn't like being told to shut up, he thought to himself.