A/N: Hey, y'all! Enjoy some silly, fluffy PercyOliver. :)

History of Magic Task 2: Write about someone believing that an item brings good/bad luck, or brings protection

Word Count: 1005

Enjoy!

Percy stared at the worn, red-and-gold scarf Oliver was holding out to him. He lifted a brow, reluctant and unimpressed.

"Oliver... I'm not wearing that again. It's May."

Brown eyes locked onto Percy imploringly. "Perce, you know it's necessary. It's the last match of the year—we need to win if we want Gryffindor to secure the Cup!"

Percy slowly set down his book. They had this argument every time Gryffindor played Quidditch, and even once for a Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw match when Oliver needed Ravenclaw to lose for a chance at the Cup. Every time, Percy caved in. Now he wondered if he should have stood his ground, because his boyfriend seemed convinced that Gryffindor's success rode on Percy wearing that bloody scarf.

"It isn't the scarf that's lucky," Percy insisted. "You are. Your team is. So let's just go enjoy the game, all right?"

Shaking his head frantically, Oliver thrust the item more insistently at Percy. "We can't play if you don't wear this. It would be messing with tradition—and this tradition works!"

Percy sighed heavily. He missed the days when the scarf had simply been a symbol of their relationship, a way to show support during these matches. But once Oliver recognized the so-called trend, their tradition held a new weight.

Some people got to wear their boyfriend's jersey. Percy was stuck with an old scarf that, frankly, had seen better days—and that was a killer in hot weather. As nervous as Oliver clearly was, this crutch was the last thing either of them needed. With steely resolve, Percy shook his head firmly. "You fly fine at practice, love. You'll fly fine this afternoon."

Oliver looked like he wanted to argue, but he knew Percy well enough to recognize a losing battle. He sighed and ran a hand through his brown hair, biting his lip as he did so. "At least bring it with you?" he asked nervously.

Rolling his eyes, Percy grabbed the item and stuffed it in his pocket. It was a compromise he could live with, at least. He pretended not to notice Oliver's sigh of relief.

The match started out sunny and lovely. The rain came out of nowhere.

Percy had to charm his glasses dry to even have a hope of keeping up with the game; he couldn't imagine how difficult it was for the players to see, flying around as quickly as they were. He water was cold and heartless as it fell down to earth mercilessly, and Percy was shivering before long. His blue eyes scanned the area for Oliver, who seemed to just be racing from one goal post to another—Percy recognized it as a nervous habit. He watched Oliver fly and frustratedly wondered why the Gryffindor team was performing so abysmally. They couldn't all have attributed their success to Oliver's good luck charm, could they? Even Ron and Ginny?

He'd seen the way their eyes all snapped to his bare neck when he'd first arrived at the pitch. Surely they didn't all believe Oliver's superstition. Still, Percy had to admit that ever since he and Oliver began dating in fifth year, he'd worn the scarf to every match he could attend—and they'd always won those games. Every time, without fail. He began to feel unsettled, and wished that the guilt that was beginning to creep into his mind would vanish.

Squinting through the rain, Percy watched as the Ravenclaw Chaser weaved through her Gryffindor opponents with ease. When she through the Quaffle, Oliver dove wildly for it—and missed as a clap of thunder distracted him.

"Merlin's beard," Percy hissed. He pulled the scarf out of his pocket and wrapped it quickly around his neck, then waved his arms wildly to get his boyfriend's attention. "OLIVER!"

It took a few minutes, but Oliver glanced in Percy's direction. The relief on his face was obvious, even at a distance, and Percy watched as Oliver straightened his spine with a newfound confidence.

Please, Percy prayed, start flying like I know you can fly.

It seemed to work. Once his good luck charm was back in play, Oliver transformed into an entirely different person. As a result, his team performed better, too. Rallied by their captain, they threw themselves into the game with new vigor, and the Gryffindors in the stands screamed in support. Percy stood with them, for once just as enthusiastic as the other spectators. His red curls were stuck to his forehead, he was drenched and freezing—but his eyes had never been brighter.

Gryffindor won the match—barely, and not with as much a lead as Oliver had wanted. But as his boyfriend slowly descended from the air, Percy raced to greet him. When he got close enough, he noticed how Oliver was grinning at him, giddy with good cheer.

"I told you it worked!" Strong, tan arms wrapped around Percy's shoulders as Oliver pulled him into an embrace. "I told you! We won!"

And as tempted as he was to insist that this was all just in Oliver's head, Percy couldn't bring himself to do so. Instead, he pressed his lips against the other boy's and resigned himself to wearing the scarf to every one of Oliver's Quidditch games for the rest of his life.

It wasn't such a terrible thing.

When another clap of thunder sounded, the two boys pulled apart. Oliver, water streaming down his face as the rain came down harder, cupped Percy's jaw. "Thanks, Perce," he said, his voice barely audible above the rain. "I know you didn't want to wear it, but it means a lot to me."

"Yes, well." Percy cleared his throat embarrassedly, a bit distracted by the feel of Oliver's hand on his face. "I suppose there's something to tradition."

Oliver laughed and squeezed his shoulder, then slung an arm around Percy. "Of course there is! Now, let's go inside before we've completely drowned."

It was too late for that, but Percy let him lead the way to the castle nevertheless.