A series of unconnected oneshots/ficlets about Oliver and Percy at Hogwarts... going to update vaguely, tentatively once a week?

Chapter Summary: Oliver goes off to Hogwarts and makes a friend.

Most British wizards went to Hogwarts. There was always an uptight family that picked Beauxbatons instead, or a suspicious one that went with Durmstrang, but familiarity—and a certain amount of nationalistic superiority—won out in the end. Still, most young witches and wizards didn't know enough about Hogwarts until they arrived.

The sorting process was shrouded in mystery, older cousins teasing younger ones about fighting trolls and unmasking dark wizards—and everyone knew it was a lie, of course, but there was just that one spark of what if? that remained.

Oliver had been able to steer clear of such warnings, but his parents had been no more helpful than the family members of his village chums.

They wanted him to be in Gryffindor but promised not to be angry if he wasn't. But how could he guarantee the sorting? All they said was that there was nothing to be scared of except a little stage fright—and even then, most people didn't experience that. Stage fright? Oliver was a terrible signer. And no better a musician. The signs pointed to the sorting ceremony being a talent show, and he doubted that he would be able to show off his broom skills.

They told him that the first glance at the castle was marvelous and breathtaking—so Oliver knew that Hogwarts was a castle, but who didn't? It was majestic and intimidating, but his father guaranteed that it was only because he was still a little bit of a runt. Which really wasn't that reassuring. What if there were beasts he had to fight?

Both of his parents were still friends with their old dormmates. Oliver hoped that would be the case for him down the line as well, but he wasn't blind. No one in the village was exactly his age. All of the old school friends that visited his parents reminisced about people his parents didn't mention. He was young, not stupid. The war that no one talked enough about for him to truly understand had guaranteed that Oliver's generation was too small. That his parents' generation had been almost halved.

Would Hogwarts be the same as Oliver's village? What if he was the only one in his house? Or the only one in his whole year? His parents spoke of friends and shenanigans, alluding to the war only to say that they survived because they had a community, and Oliver knew that he wouldn't have to live through anything like that, but what was he going to do? Even the other boys teased him for being interested in Quidditch, for being a late bloomer, for being too curious and too determined when there was something new to explore in the surrounding woods.

Oliver voiced none of these worries to his parents as they saw him off to school. They were already nervous, feigning composure—Oliver heard his mum ask, "Maybe we should have taken cousin Gill's offer to send him overseas to get to know some of the other kids?"—and whatever their regrets, it was too late. They had done a fine job raising him. Oliver would miss them so much.

He mumbled as much into his dad's chest before rushing onto the train, and waved at them until his wrist ached and they sunk into the shadows of King's Cross.

Now, Oliver had to find a compartment. His trunk and owl were safely secured and his wand was in his back pocket—he had nothing to worry about. Except not finding anywhere to sit, not making any friends, and spending the next seven years in solitude. Merlin, Oliver hoped that didn't happen.

Which was why he started walking down the corridor. All the compartments were full and loud. People were having fun, but Oliver didn't hear any nervous introductions—where were all the first years? Oliver didn't allow himself to stop and contemplate the question and simply moved on to the next car when this one proved useless. And the next one. And the next one. And the next one, until he was quite literally stopped in his tracks by a tall boy tripping out of a compartment and bumping him onto the floor.

"Watch it!"

"Sorry." The boy clambered off him awkwardly. "My brothers kicked me out, I didn't see where I was going."

"That's alright, then."

They got to their feet. The boy brushed off his too-short, old-looking robe, and stuck his hand forward as if that would retract from a clearly poor background. "Percy Weasley."

"Oliver Wood." He returned the handshake.

They stood there for a second.

The compartment door behind Percy shook as someone knocked on it, and a voice yelled out, "Ask him what year he's in!"

Another voice shushed the first, but didn't follow its owner's instructions. "And where he's from!"

"Don't shush me!" the first voice yelped. There was a thump. "And don't hit me, I give good advice!"

"That's so awkward!" Another thump. "This isn't an interview, this could be Percy's first friend!"

Oliver glanced from the door to Percy, whose ears were bright red and who looked ready to jump out of the window.

"The brothers?" Oliver asked when it seemed that Percy would rather let the awkwardness grow. That, or he didn't know how to proceed.

Percy nodded, still not meeting his eyes.

"I'm a first year, I'm from Scotland, and... my parents found out I was a wizard when I made a house broom fly because I wanted to play Quidditch but they said I was too young." He shrugged at Percy's confused face. "It's a conversation, isn't it? What about you?"

"I'm a first year, I'm from Devon, and I don't know how my parents found out I had magic."

"You levitated a book down from one of the top shelves!" a helpful voice said through the door.

Percy didn't answer it. Instead, he finally met Oliver's eyes, took a deep breath and said, "Please excuse my idiot brothers. They kicked me out of the compartment so I could find a friend. If they haven't spooked you, I think there's an empty compartment at the end of the car?"

.oOo.

Time passed much quicker with Percy. Their conversation flowed and then stopped, then started again, then stopped as they, unused to finally talking to someone their own age, awkwardly tried to think of what to say next.

"What do you think it's like?" Oliver asked as the sky outside started to darken.

Percy shrugged. "Bill won't say. He didn't tell Charlie either, so Charlie wants it to be fair. Mum and Dad said to let them have their fun, so I don't know. I tried reading Hogwarts, a History, but it was so boring! But... big, castle-y... probably filled with sets of armor and old tapestries. The Great Hall's supposed to be beautiful."

Oliver nodded. "Yeah, I tried reading it, too. Only got as far as the explanation for the table layout in the Hall before I fell asleep."

He didn't now if it had been on purpose, but the decision to write a book about Hogwarts and make it unbearably boring went a long way in preserving the school's mystery. Even people like Percy—he had been warned that Percy liked to read, and warned him in return that he liked to play Quidditch—could barely get through it.

The conductor walked in, warning them that they would arrive soon, and so they spent the rest of the ride speculating about what exactly was inside the castle. Percy didn't think that there would be any creatures there, but he sounded unsure as he said it. Oliver didn't feel reassured.

But Percy stuck close to him when they exited the train, so Oliver knew he wasn't alone. He hoped Percy would be in his house, but they hadn't discussed it, not wanting to tempt fate, only talking about the classes they wanted to take.

Now, they followed the large, hairy groundskeeper—"Hagrid," Percy reminded him when Oliver asked—over to a small fleet.

"Two to a boat," Hagrid announced as if that would make their year look larger.

They sat, Percy's legs taking up too much space and Oliver's not enough, and off they went. The lake was dark and the sky was cloudless; the stars sparkled down at them, distant and cold; in the distance, a large shape loomed.

Hogwarts.

Oliver wasn't the only one that gasped, forgetting about the dark and the cold, seeing the castle for the first time and feeling like he was coming home. Or not home—he didn't want to think of his parents, now, it would be his first time being truly away from them—but something so close it was almost indistinguishable.

He was more jittery, anxious, and yet...

Oliver exchanged a smile with Percy and saw excitement reflecting back at him. Percy had relaxed, too, his shoulders no longer up at his ears, his legs freer in the cramped space of the boat. Oliver allowed himself to look around, to see trees reflecting in the lake and the lights from the castle windows giving its shape a greater definition. He got comfortable on the boat's wooden bench, but just as quickly as he did so, the boats docked and Hagrid lined them up.

Oliver's knees started to shake. The stars felt judgmental and the open windows seemed to taunt him, the castle giving him just a small look inside before it rejected him. Which was ridiculous, and yet.

They were led into the castle itself, and at this point, Oliver was too nervous to note the architecture or decorations. He didn't look around at his fellow first years, either, so he didn't know if he was the only one. Percy, at least, felt rigid at his side. Hagrid handed them off to Minerva McGonagall, and this time Oliver knew he wasn't the only one that gasped.

Minerva McGonagall!

Percy whispered something about her penning numerous ground-breaking treatises on Transfiguration, and sure, that was cool. But she had almost played for the Magpies! As a sixth-year!

She didn't look like a star quidditch player, however, and as much as Oliver was calmed by her presence, he was almost intimidating. She was the Head of Gryffindor—he wanted to be in Gryffindor so badly—and looked so strict that Oliver stopped shaking in fear just in case she noticed and berated him for it.

He took a deep breath when she turned around. This was it.

"Good luck," Percy whispered.

"Good luck."

Oliver hoped that his voice hadn't squeaked or broken too much. No one laughed, but even if no one was voicing it, they were a bundle of nerves—no one was paying attention.

And then the doors opened. And Oliver's feet carried him forward even though his body wanted to remain behind. And his eyes looked around even though he didn't want to seem too eager, and they caught on the house banners adorning the walls, on the tall windows, on the ceiling which wasn't a ceiling at all.

"Percy, look!"

The stars twinkled at them in the Great Hall, now, and they looked warm. Warm and welcoming, far away beyond the levitating candles that lit the Hall in dancing oranges and yellows. The outside chill was gone, kept at bay by the fire and the castle's magic, and there didn't even seem to be a stage for the talent show Oliver had been imagining.

He could… he could do this. No one was jeering or laughing. McGonagall hadn't called him out for being nervous, causing him to drop dead from embarrassment. He had made a friend.

All that was left was the Sorting. And now it didn't even seem that daunting.

For the QLFC Procrastination Thread Boot Camp.
Prompt: Candle
Level: Hard
Character: Oliver Wood
Words: 1955

Thanks for reading! :D