Part Two: 1995

Oliver was ecstatic when he'd received his tryout letter a year ago. He'd almost cried with excitement. He and a few mates had slipped away from Hogwarts to celebrated with a couple of butterbeers at The Three Broomsticks and Oliver hadn't even made the team yet. But everyone knew that he was a brilliant Keeper; they were sure that he would make it. And they'd been right.

Oliver shot through the tryouts like a Quaffle through a goalpost. There were only four other lucky souls selected for the position, two from Durmstrang, one from Beauxbatons, and one from a school in Australia Oliver had never heard of. Oliver outperformed them all. This called for another celebration. All of his old Quidditch team, most of Gryffindor house, even a few Hufflepuffs had been invited to the party of the decade. Someone—Oliver didn't know or care who—had booked the Weird Sisters and it had turned out to be one hell of a night.

After Oliver officially joined the team however, he found that he'd celebrated a little too soon. Coach Deverill was more strict than anyone Oliver had ever met. Even McGonagall. He would make Oliver practice things he been doing for years. Simply because he said Oliver had been doing it wrong. If Oliver had a systematic method that produced consistently accurate results, why did it matter how he performed it?

There were many times Oliver had to force himself to not scowl at his coach. It would do him no good to get into an argument and wind up suspended or worse, kicked off the team. Quidditch was his only source of income. The sport was his life and he was happy to make a living doing it, but compensation for the reserve team was nowhere near as much as the actual team. Oliver only just managed to afford a small two bedroom flat over a tea shop in muggle London.

So Oliver soared over to the goal posts on his company bought Firebolt, and did as he was told, practicing a goalkeeping tactic he had already perfected. But incorrectly let his coach tell it. Oliver had to constantly remind himself that Puddlemere United Reserve was all he had.

He practiced into the night, until he couldn't see anymore, long after his coach and the rest of the team had left. He practiced until was certain he was performing in a way that was expected of him. He was a brilliant Keeper and he knew it. If he did everything right, he stood a better chance of being moved to the front team and he could finally live the life of a real professional Quidditch player.

When Oliver finally made it home to his empty flat, sore everywhere from clutching onto a broom all day, he shuffled with a stiff back to the cabinet in his loo where he kept a more than sufficient stock of muscle relaxing potions from the local apothecary. Though someone's relaxing hands massaging his back would've been much better, Oliver would have to settle. He popped the cork and downed the vile tasting elixir. Then he trudged off to spend another of many nights in bed alone.

—

The next morning Oliver was ambling on a bench in the park that his flat overlooked, enjoying the sun and scenery when he spotted a familiar frame walking by. This person was the same height as the guy he knew and he had the same stride. But in the end, it was the hair that have him away.

"Percy?" The scrawny person turned his head, and Oliver discovered that, indeed, it was Percy. Oliver smiled warmly. He hadn't seen the boy since they finished school over a year ago. Well, Oliver couldn't say boy anymore, because Percy was more than that now.

Percy had the same lanky frame, which had caught Oliver's eye in the first place, but even through his muggle attire, Oliver could see that his body was more defined, that he had more muscle now. His hair was different now as well, cut low in the back and sides, with long fiery curls falling over his forehead, almost touching his eyebrows.

"Oliver?" Percy asked, sounding just as astounded as Percy. He strolled over and joined Oliver on the park bench. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be off with Puddlemere somewhere?"

"I'm only reserve," Oliver shrugged. "We don't play as often. Honestly we're like a backup if something happens to someone on the front line. I spend most of my time roaming the local area. I have a flat right over there." Oliver pointed to the shop overlooking the park.

"Really? I come through here almost everyday on my way to the ministry. Why am I only just now seeing you?"

Oliver shrugged again. "I don't know. I kipped with me gran for a couple of months after we finished school. But I've been here for almost nine months now."

"Really?" Percy repeated. "Well how about that? It's a small world."

"Yeah. It is." Oliver smiled at him. "Well, you look great!" Oliver added, gesturing to Percy for emphasis. "I like your hair like this."

Percy flicked at his curly bang dubiously. "I just got it done a few days ago. I sat in this muggle stylist's chair. Told her to make me look different. And this happened."

"Honestly. It looks nice on you."

"Well, thank you." If Oliver didn't know any better, he would say Percy was blushing. "Honestly, it was a splurge. Everyone knows the goblins charge off the wall to exchange wizard currency for muggle and I go and spend it on a haircut. My ministry job doesn't pay nearly as much as you'd think. I have a shabby flat in a not-so-good part of London. Making the end meet is a struggle and listen to me sitting here rambling about my personal problems. How rude. My mother taught me better. How have you been?"

And then, after listening to Percy's small rant, the idea that would irrevocably change both their lives occurred to Oliver.

"You could move in with me." Oliver had voiced the suggestion before he'd even had a chance to think about the implications. But he quickly realized that he actually meant it. It was a genuine offer.

"What?" Percy frowned, as if he hadn't heard Oliver properly.

"Yeah!" Oliver exclaimed, as if it were a simple concept that Percy wasn't understanding. "I have an empty room. And it would solve both of our problems. You're struggling. I'm close to struggling. So close it's scary. Put our two incomes together…" Oliver smiled and shrugged. "Simple arithmetic. And it's not like we haven't lived together before."

"We haven't. We slept in the same room. That's not exactly living together."

Oliver shrugged again. "Close enough. You'll be off at the ministry all day. So it'll be exactly the same."

"Oliver. As appealing as that sounds," Percy said, his tone suggesting that it was anything but, "I couldn't possibly impose. Thank you for the offer, but I'll figure something out." He smiled cordially and Oliver understood that he wasn't offended in any kind of way. "Speaking of the ministry, I really should be getting to work. It was nice seeing you again." He smiled again and was almost gone before Oliver could get another word in.

"Wait!" Oliver called out, stopping the other man. He hopped up from his bench and trotted over to him. "I'm sorry for running you off with my completely inappropriate proposal, but we should keep in touch. It really was nice seeing you again."

"Yes, it was thoroughly inappropriate," Percy agreed with a chuckle, "but I do appreciate it. And sure. I'd like that. A coworker of mine is actually having a small going away party for his brother. Would you like to attend?"

Oliver eyes widened in astonishment. "You? Party?"

"Oh ha ha," Percy responded sarcastically with a roll of his eyes. "It's not that kind of party. It's just a small thing. There will probably be like ten people at the most. A few drinks and small talk. Besides. I'm not the same tight wad that I used to be. I'm a different man from the boy you knew." Despite his words, Percy said this in the same pompous manner that Oliver remembered. And it only made Oliver laugh.

"Oh really?" Oliver said through his smile, raising a dubious eyebrow. "How so?"

The corner of Percy's lips curled in a clever manner. "You can ask me more about it at the party. Are you coming or not?"

Oliver frowned. "Frankly, it doesn't sound like fun. Hanging out with a small group of strangers."

"Come on," Percy insisted, his shoulders slumping. "I'm only going because the coworker is a friend and he practically begged me to come. He'll be spending most of his time with his brother. It'll be nice for me to have someone there that I actually want to talk to."

"Well," Oliver caved. "If that's the case. If practice doesn't prevent me, I'll be there." Oliver shrugged and smiled at his old friend.

"Thank you," Percy said, his stiff pompous stature returning. His hair may be different, but Oliver was certain that Percy hadn't changed much. "I'll send you an owl with the details."

"Alright. I look forward to it."

"Well," Percy said, with a polite nod, "I shouldn't be late for work. Hopefully I'll see you soon." And with that, Percy strolled away through the park. Oliver smiled. No matter what Percy said—or did to his hair—he was still the same amusing, perpetually pretentious pratt. And he was still Oliver's friend.