Oliver was confused.

And more than slightly panicking.

It wasn't an everyday occurrence that a professor sought him out. It probably wasn't a good sign either. Especially with that professor being McGonagall. This was bad, right? It felt bad. He couldn't push aside the impending doom that he felt. He mulled over every kind of possibility that could have happened to tick her off but came up to no solid conclusion. He hadn't done anything to warrant a trip to her office. He hadn't even gotten into any altercation with Flint, although he was really pushing it some days and deserved a good ol' punch to the throat.

But he digressed.

Oliver followed her through the corridor, amid the curious stares of other students. He ignored them, though. His worst fear was the incoming repercussions for whatever it was that he'd done she deemed to be wrong. His mind immediately latched on to quidditch; what if she punished him by not allowing him to play at the next game? Or what if she forced him to step down as captain? The what ifs swirled around in his head, different scenarios with different outcomes. His team might not be able to survive the season! Not to mention, later on in the term, scouts would be coming to seek out potential players. He couldn't miss that! He'd been training for this ever since he stepped foot into Hogwarts.

He had a sudden thought.

What if McGonagall owled his parents ? He blanched. Oh, that wouldn't be good at all. His Dad had warned him about getting into any trouble and to not start any with Flint, knowing that they despised each other. His Mum wouldn't hesitate to grab him by his ear, no matter how embarrassing it was. It didn't even matter that he was of age now; they wouldn't care. He would be shrinking in his chair like a tiny six year old as they lectured him, his Mum wagging her finger at him like she was known for doing.

"Do come in, Mr. Wood," McGonagall closed the door behind him, gesturing to the chair that was across from her desk. "Have a seat."

"Err, okay," Oliver lowered himself in the chair, unsurely.

"Would you care for a biscuit or a cup of tea?" McGonagall asked.

Oliver found that he didn't know what to say for a second there. McGonagall, his second strictest teacher (behind Snape), who took no nonsense from anyone, was offering him biscuits and tea ? "No, thank you," He looked at her strangely. "I'm fine."

"If you wish," She set aside the kettle and settled into her chair, reminding him of her usual self. "I wished to discuss something important with you, Mr. Wood."

"Okay," Oliver's eyebrows furrowed. Where was this going?

"I first want to tell you that you needn't be embarrassed by any of this," McGonagall was being really weird. Her voice was gentle, devoid of how it typically was when she talked to students.

"Right," Oliver's voice was flat while he tried to figure out why in Godric's name she was acting like this. "Course."

McGonagall clasped her hand together. "I was approached by Professor Burbage this morning."

Oliver blinked and then it dawned on him.

Burbage.

Panic attack.

Percy .

But how? He'd been vague with Burbage and hadn't been stupid enough to say anything to lead the trail back to Percy. For crying out loud, he'd said it was his muggle friend. How did she figure it out? The only thing he could think of is that she'd brought it up to McGonagall, who had obviously noticed him and Percy getting closer or closer than what they had been back when Oliver didn't so much as acknowledge he existed. Maybe she made the connection herself.

Oliver didn't even pick up on and remember what she'd said about being embarrassed. He was inwardly freaking out, all while appearing completely calm, about how Percy was going to react to this once he found out. She was likely going to question him further about this, asking when it started, what happened.

Should he lie? Pretend that he had no idea what she was talking about? He couldn't just tell her. Percy would be so upset with him and any and all progress he'd made would fly out the window. He couldn't do that to him. On the other hand, she might punish him for not saying anything. Might even interfere with quidditch. But he couldn't let his mate down. He couldn't.

He wouldn't .

"You were?" Oliver attempted to sound nonchalant.

She nodded. "She felt it was necessary to inform me about a conversation the two of you had recently."

Oh great

Here it comes

"Mr. Wood," McGonagall said, with the most serious facial expression he'd seen from her thus far, "we want all our students at Hogwarts to know that you needn't keep secrets from the pressors. We're here to help you.

You can't help this

I don't know if I can

Let alone anyone else

"Err-"

"Professor Burbage told me about the panic attacks you have been having," McGonagall sai with a sympathetic mile

What?

Everything came to a screeching halt. Oliver struggled to say something for a minute or two, completely taken aback by what she'd said. Him? His panic attacks? She and Burbage thought it was Oliver who had them?

None of this made any bloody sense!

"Me?" Oliver's jaw had dropped. He hurriedly corrected her. "No, no. It's not me . I told Burbage-"

"Professor Burbage, Mr. Wood," McGonagall chided gently.

"Right. I told her it was my muggle friend. Not me ."

"You shouldn't feel ashamed, Mr. Wood," McGonagall told him. "No one is here to judge you."

But it's not me!

Why won't you listen?

"Really, Professor," Oliver insisted, "it's not me. I promise you it isn't."

But McGonagall wasn't listening to him. She bypassed what he said, as if he never said it. "Professor Burbage and myself have discussed this at length with Professor Dumbledore and your other professors."

This was just getting better and better.

"You have?" Oliver said weakly.

"Indeed," McGonagall said with a slight nod. "Professor Burbage did give us all some insight about what you're going through. I must admit, I'd never heard of these... attacks prior to this and neither has the majority of the staff so you will have to forgive us if our care isn't up to what you may have received at home."

Didn't receive anything because it isn't me!

Maybe it's not so bad though...?

At least she isn't interrogating me about Percy

Doesn't even suspect him

He reckoned that one positive outcome to come from this. If everyone thought it was him, then they would leave Percy alone. They couldn't suspect him if Oliver was the one getting treated like he had them. Course, this would still have to be skillfully kept from Percy. If he found out about this then he would definitely know that Oliver had said something to Burbage and not simply have run into her.

So, he supposed he'd go with it for now.

"Err, that's okay," He said.

"Would you be interested in speaking to someone?" McGonagall said carefully. "Professor Burbage said muggles often benefit from utilizing what they refer to as therapy. If you are interested, I or Professor Burbage can make a firecall to St. Mungos and see if they have something of that nature."

Just how he'd like to spend his day; talking to some stranger about his nonexistent problems. He doubted talking about quidditch would be enough to satisfy them. Oh, he could see it now; whoever he would be talking to would believe his trivial troubles with quidditch were linked to some deep past experience that still haunted him.

"Err, no thanks, Professor," Oliver was able to pull off a convincing facade of being made uncomfortable by her suggestion.

"As you wish," McGonagall peered at him over her spectacles. She shuffled some papers around. "I did owl your parents to come for a meeting so we may figure this out better."

Oliver's stomach dropped.

His throat went dry.

He froze .

"My parents?" His voice was faint. "You owled them?"

"I felt it was a necessary action."

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"And they're coming here?" Oliver dreaded to hear the answer.

"They should be here shortly," McGonagall was unaware of his inward distress. "Your mother told me they would be coming straight away so we may talk about this more in depth."

Oliver shrunk in his chair.

This..was bad.

/

The door to McGonagall's office creaked open. Oliver spared a glance in that direction, bracing himself. He first caught the sight of his mother's face; it was scrunched up, her hand covered her mouth as it usually did whenever she was upset and worst of all, she was crying . He cringed. Why do girls have to cry so much? His Dad was right behind her and to most, he probably looked indifferent but Oliver knew he was concerned. He just didn't show it to people.

"Err, hi," Oliver was sheepish.

His mother bent down, cupping his cheeks. "My poor baby," She sniffled, looking helpless. She glanced from him to McGonagall, mouth opening several times but the words wouldn't leave her tongue. "I...I had no idea . You never said anything."

Quick say something

"I-" Oliver looked away from her. Mostly because he didn't think he was all that good at lying-McGonagall was one thing, but his parents just seemed to know when he wasn't telling the truth, which wasn't often, by the way-but it also helped making him seem more believable. "I didn't know how- oof ! Mum !"

She'd wrapped him in some sort of death grip. Oliver tried to wiggle out of it, groaning and simultaneously thankful that no one else other than McGonagall was seeing this. Eventually he gave up, slumping in defeat.

"Don't strangle the boy," His Dad said lightly.

"I can't help it," His Mum said sadly. "I can't believe we didn't know about any of this. Our poor baby, suffering all alone ."

She could stop talking any time now...

McGonagall cleared her throat, summoning two extra chairs that came beside his own chair. His parents sat down in them, with his Mum looking terribly anxious. At this, Oliver felt somewhat guilty. This might be going too far; it was one thing to fool his professors but his parents ? It just didn't feel right. It felt wrong. "Thank you both for coming on such short notice." They nodded, with Mum griping Dad's hand like it was a lifeline. Not that this was one sided; his Dad's was holding hers just as tightly. Oliver knew if they found out none of this was real, he would be so dead . "I was approached by our muggle studies professor, Professor Burbage. She told me of a conversation that she and Mr. Wood had recently where he confided in her about this 'muggle' friend of his who had been having what Professor Burbage says are panic attacks."

His Dad spoke up. "You said it was Oliver having these things."

"Yes," McGonagall nodded. "We came to understand that this friend was merely a coverup."

"How can you be certain?" Dad wondered, his eyes flickering from McGonagall to Oliver.

"Mr. Wood-" She was looking at his Dad and not him. "In all my years as a teacher, I've come to realize when a student is not being entirely truthful, they are often too embarrassed that whom they are talking about is themselves."

His Dad nodded wordlessly.

"I have invited Professor Burbage to come speak with you, as I believe she has a better understanding than magic raised wizards do, I'm afraid."

Again they nodded.

"I hope I'm not late," Burbage knocked on the door as she opened it, looking apologetic. "I'm terribly sorry, Professor McGonagall. I was held up by a student."

"You're fine, Professor Burbage," McGonagall reassured her. "Mr. and Mrs. Wood just arrived a moment ago."

"It's lovely to meet you," Burbage smiled as she shook his Dad's hand and then his Mum's. "Charity Burbage, professor of Muggle Studies."

"Keith Wood," Dad told her. "That's my wife, Grace."

"It's lovely to meet you as well," Mum said and then sighed. "It's unfortunate it's under these circumstances."

Burbage was sympathetic. "I understand. I hope to do the best we can to ensure that Oliver is comfortable for the time he has left here."

Burbage sat in a chair that was to Olive's right, next to his Dad on the side of the desk. "I want to start off by asking if either of you have ever heard of a panic attack?"

His parents exchanged a look.

"Not specifically, no," Dad admitted.

"My family never talked about that sort of thing," Mum said. "We were very hush hush about any problems we were having."

Burbage nodded. "I sense that's an issue with a lot of families, actually. It's difficult and personal and easier to shove on the back and pretend it doesn't exist." She looked at Oliver with a soft smile. "Mr. Wood, could you describe what it is that these attacks do to you? I feel that your parents may benefit from hearing your experience rather than me simply telling them the facts."

Oliver's inner panic heightened .

His Mum, who was the closest to him, placed her hand on his knee comfortingly. "You can tell us, sweetheart," She assured him.

He feigned a smile.

"Err, well. I dunno...I-" he tried to remember the circumstances that brought on Percy's attack. The quidditch game. It was relatively normal and then he just spiraled. "Just got overwhelmed, you know? Was all sweaty and shaking...I felt bad all over.

He hoped to Merlin that he didn't butcher that up.

"Overwhelmed from what?" Mum frowned. "Is it quidditch? Is that it?" She turned to Dad. "We pushed him too hard, didn't we? Is that it, sweetheart? Did we push too hard with quidditch? We're so sorry ! We just wanted to encourage you."

"You can quit if you need to," Dad added.

Quit?

"It's not quidditch," Oliver said hurriedly then calmed himself down so no one got suspicious. "It's not that . It's-"

He suddenly remembered what Percy said.

"I..I just don't like crowds."

"I...I just don't like crowds," he lied.

McGonagall nodded with a thoughtful expression.

Burbage looked sad for him.

His parents...they were shocked.

"You don't?" Dad questioned, seemingly like he didn't fully understand it.

"No," Oliver let his voice sound more confident, "I don't."

"Since when?" His Mum was getting a bit distressed. "I...you never said anything to us before."

"I didn't want you to worry," Oliver 'admitted'.

"My baby ," She sniffled again. He winced on the inside. Did she really have to treat him like he was seven years old? He was about to graduate this year for Merlin's sake. "If only we knew."

"You should have said something," Dad added."

"I can't believe you went all this time feeling afraid," Mum grasped his hand. "You should know you can tell us anything. We'll listen."

"We're all listening, Mr. Wood," Burbage said. "We're not here to judge you."

Oliver tried to muster up a smile.

Great

/

They came up to a reasonable conclusion; Oliver would have a personalized plan to help get him through the rest of this term and next term. It wouldn't make up for the past six years but it would do for now. McGonagall and Burbage had a spot of difficulty trying to come up with something not too disruptive or anything that could be potentially used against Oliver for being different . This was something new for Hogwarts; never before had a student needed extra help like this.

Or rather, no student had come out and said they needed help.

It was something Oliver had mulled over whilst listening to the two professors and his parents discuss the situation. Percy most definitely needed help somehow. He couldn't be the only one could he? There had to be others like him walking the castle halls or those that had come before them; those that were struggling just like Percy was but were too ashamed to admit it. Maybe they didn't think anyone cared. Maybe they didn't want to risk being made fun of.

Maybe they didn't think anyone would understand.

Heck, Oliver didn't fully understand this any better than some other people, despite having stayed around Percy for nearly a couple of months now.

/

After promising to come to a professor if he needed to talk and giving his parents a hug goodbye, Oliver ventured out into the corridor where he had a sudden realization he didn't know where Percy had gone off to. He'd been so wrapped up in his own thoughts, worrying about quidditch, that he didn't tell his dormmate to wait around for him or meet him somewhere.

Where could he be by now?

He first went to Gryffindor Tower; Percy would never be sitting casually in the common room so he knew he needn't have to check there. If anything, he'd be up in their dorm. But to his surprise, Percy wasn't there. His school bag wasn't there or any indication that he'd been there. Oliver tried to suppress the worry that made his stomach feel woozy. There was no need to panic. Percy was probably elsewhere. He wouldn't just up and run away-

On second thought, hi dormmate wasn't exactly what people would call stable and predictable so he might...

Oliver set out, walking at an unusually fast pace with his head swiveling in both directions. He checked the Great Hall, Percy wasn't there. He took a peek out on the castle grounds, Percy wasn't there either. He even checked a few empty classrooms in case his dormmate was hiding out there. Nope. Nothing. Nada.

As Oliver shut the door to the most recent room he'd glanced into, it dawned on him.

He hadn't looked in the library. Maybe Percy was in there. It was-mostly-quiet. Just the kind of place his dormmate would like to be in, or the kind where he was able to tolerate it better. He set off towards there, hoping Percy would be in one piece when he got there.

/

Oliver's body sagged in relief when he saw Percy sitting in the back corner. "Percy!" He exclaimed. And alright, maybe that was a little too loud-some people shushed him, looking as though he were causing all of earth's problems-but he didn't really care. He was just so happy that Percy was fine and hadn't locked himself in a bathroom or ended up dead somewhere. He started talking fast, invading some of the red-head's personal space. "There you are! Wondered where you went off to. I should've asked you. Wasn't even thinking about it."

Like always, Percy didn't know how to react to someone actually caring about him. "I've been here the whole time."

Well, that was better than what he imagined Percy was doing. His Ma would probably say that was his imagination going wild again. Oliver nodded and just as he was doing so, he noticed someone else sitting there. Before he could be happy at the idea that Percy was talking to someone besides him, he caught sight of the green tie.

Slytherin.

"Pucey," he scowled.

"Wood," Pucey said in that way that all Slytherins did because they were egotistical jerks who thought they were better than anyone, especially Gryffindor.

Oliver narrowed his eyes, whirling back around to face Percy. "Was he bothering you?" He wouldn't put it past him. Sure, sure, Pucey put on that façade of being a 'team player' and one of the more tolerable Slytherins. But Oliver wasn't fooled. Oh, no. He knew Pucey was no better than all the rest of them.

Pucey gripped the edges of his book. Oh, struck a nerve, did he? "I didn't do anything to him."

Right

Oliver didn't even look at him. He fully concentrated on Percy's face, just waiting for confirmation. He had to have done something. Percy was all nervous.

"No, no. He didn't do anything."

Well, that wasn't what Oliver expected to hear.

"Nothing?" He didn't really believe it. "Nothing at all?"

Pucey looked like his glare could have melted ice.

"No," Percy mumbled. He kept looking from Oliver to Pucey. "Nothing. He's done nothing."

Oliver didn't want to accept it. Mainly because he was very, very sure that Pucey had done something. He refused to entertain the idea that the Slytherin was merely sitting there. Innocently. If it was one thing Slytherins weren't, it was innocent.

But Percy wasn't giving him any reason to defend him. He doubted McGonagall, sympathetic to his supposed plight, would be lenient on him should he fight Pucey without much of a reason.

"Fine," he sighed. He turned and started to walk away. He heard Percy grab his things, following him.

Honestly, that itself was a sign of progress. A month ago, Percy would have stayed there. Heck, he wouldn't have been in the library in the first place. He would have been up in the dorm on his bed.

The red-head cleared his throat. "So, erm, what did Professor McGonagall want to talk to you about?"

They were outside of the library now. Oliver didn't have a clue as to where they were going. Perhaps this was just an aimless walk.

He thought back to the meeting, thought about his parents coming, thought about how all this special treatment should be going to Percy instead.

And then he thought about how Percy would react if he knew Oliver had blabbed.

"Nothing," He said, trying to sound nonchalant. "Nothing you'd want to know."