Author's Note: Yet more revision avoidance! Just a quick piece really.
Going to go and revise King Alfred now. Yes, Really, I am.
Thanks to those people who have reviewed already – the first part has only been up a few hours!
Disclaimer : These characters don't belong to me.
Part Two:
Breakfast was a bloody disaster. They walked in together, Percy perfect in his immaculate robes, no outward sign of his troubled night. Oliver, however, had woken up late, too late for a shower, and so half his hair stuck up in tufts, the other side flattened by sleep. He couldn't even ignore the slight snigger that ran through the room on his arrival, the disgruntled looks of the rest of the Gryffindor team as he and Percy sank down onto the bench.
Percy elbowed him, "It was only a friendly match," he muttered, suddenly sympathetic of Oliver's plight. Percy was normally ignored, eyes passing him by with no flicker of interest. Oliver, however, was normally viewed as a bit of a hero, with legions of younger girls swooning as he wandered by. Younger boys, too, occasionally. It was amazing what a love of a good broomstick could do for your sex appeal. For a second, Percy considered attaching himself to a Nimbus 2000 and waiting for a result. That would get rid of Penny for him.
"I'm a bloody laughing stock" Oliver mumbled under his breath, leaning across Percy for the milk.
Percy shrugged, shooting him a sidelong grin, "So, nothing's changed then… How many weetabix are you eating?" Amazed, Percy did a quick count. "…six, seven?" His eyes widened, "Seven weetabix?"
"I'm a growing boy," Oliver attempted to justify himself, whilst pouring huge quantities of sugar across his overflowing bowl.
"Outwards, not upwards, judging by that…"
"Shut up, I don't see your breakfast festooned by ryvitas and slim-fast!" Oliver eyed Percy's breakfast of peeled plum tomatoes on toast with a hungry eye.
"I'll have you know, there are practically no calories in this meal," Percy made to look very busy with a knife and fork.
"How the hell do you know that?" Oliver raised an eyebrow, trying to stifle a laugh, "Have you been reading your Mum's 'Witch Weekly' again, Perce?" he elbowed the head boy under the table, grinning at Percy's discomfort.
"No…" Percy lied, "Oh… eat your breakfast, own-goal boy."
At the other end of the table, Hermione's spoon was hovering over her cornflakes, "What's up with Percy?" she asked Ron quietly, nudging him so he splashed milk down his robes. "He hasn't stopped messing around with Oliver since they arrived.
"Oi… God knows." Ron shot a glance across the room, "But I can guarantee that one person isn't going to be happy about it." He indicated Penelope, who was going slowly puce in the corner, her curls bouncing dangerously close to her steaming latte and croissant.
*
"Can I have a word please, Percy," Penelope was waiting for him outside the refectory.
"You may."
Oliver tried to hide a smirk as he watched Penelope colour over her grammatical slip. He was heading upstairs for a quick shower before hitting the books.
"Don't be facetious, Percy, it doesn't suit you." She muttered, her blush subsiding.
"I thought you appreciated a good grasp of the English language, Penny." Percy was gripped by a sudden urge to just leave her there, mouthing silently in the busy corridor. He didn't though, because Fred and George had just arrived, and were making kissing faces through the window. Percy stifled a grin as he watched Penny's colour deepen to practically purple.
"Those brothers of yours," she hissed, pushing her bag into his hands, "Someone needs to take control of them." Without a backward glance she stormed through the double doors, taking them both by surprise.
"Sorry Penny," they chorused, "We won't do it again."
They sidled past their older brother without a hint of recognition, and made a dash for the Gryffindor common room.
*
"Did the witch tell you off?" Oliver was sat by the fire, wrapped in a huge blue towel with a picture of a broomstick adorned across it, a huge grin on his face.
"Is there anything you own that doesn't have anything to do with Quidditch?" Shooting a glance at the towel, Percy sank down onto the sofa and lazily flicked through Oliver's well-read copy of 'Quidditch through the Ages'.
"Don't change the subject."
"Well, don't call my girlfriend a witch,"
Oliver couldn't help but smirk. "We're at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Perce. What else am I supposed to call her?"
Percy raised an eyebrow. "You wait until you get a girlfriend, Ol, and I start calling her a witch." He chucked Oliver's robe at him, "Then we'll see who's laughing. And for God's sake get dressed, boy."
"I'm not going to get a girlfriend," Oliver said airily, making a move towards his wardrobe.
"Not if you keep shooting own goals, anyway." Percy muttered under his breath, moving over to the desk.
"I heard that."
Oliver blinked hard, staring into his wardrobe without really seeing anything. Perhaps that was it. He was just destined to shoot own-goals forever.
Thanks to those people who have reviewed already – the first part has only been up a few hours!
Disclaimer : These characters don't belong to me.
Part Two:
Breakfast was a bloody disaster. They walked in together, Percy perfect in his immaculate robes, no outward sign of his troubled night. Oliver, however, had woken up late, too late for a shower, and so half his hair stuck up in tufts, the other side flattened by sleep. He couldn't even ignore the slight snigger that ran through the room on his arrival, the disgruntled looks of the rest of the Gryffindor team as he and Percy sank down onto the bench.
Percy elbowed him, "It was only a friendly match," he muttered, suddenly sympathetic of Oliver's plight. Percy was normally ignored, eyes passing him by with no flicker of interest. Oliver, however, was normally viewed as a bit of a hero, with legions of younger girls swooning as he wandered by. Younger boys, too, occasionally. It was amazing what a love of a good broomstick could do for your sex appeal. For a second, Percy considered attaching himself to a Nimbus 2000 and waiting for a result. That would get rid of Penny for him.
"I'm a bloody laughing stock" Oliver mumbled under his breath, leaning across Percy for the milk.
Percy shrugged, shooting him a sidelong grin, "So, nothing's changed then… How many weetabix are you eating?" Amazed, Percy did a quick count. "…six, seven?" His eyes widened, "Seven weetabix?"
"I'm a growing boy," Oliver attempted to justify himself, whilst pouring huge quantities of sugar across his overflowing bowl.
"Outwards, not upwards, judging by that…"
"Shut up, I don't see your breakfast festooned by ryvitas and slim-fast!" Oliver eyed Percy's breakfast of peeled plum tomatoes on toast with a hungry eye.
"I'll have you know, there are practically no calories in this meal," Percy made to look very busy with a knife and fork.
"How the hell do you know that?" Oliver raised an eyebrow, trying to stifle a laugh, "Have you been reading your Mum's 'Witch Weekly' again, Perce?" he elbowed the head boy under the table, grinning at Percy's discomfort.
"No…" Percy lied, "Oh… eat your breakfast, own-goal boy."
At the other end of the table, Hermione's spoon was hovering over her cornflakes, "What's up with Percy?" she asked Ron quietly, nudging him so he splashed milk down his robes. "He hasn't stopped messing around with Oliver since they arrived.
"Oi… God knows." Ron shot a glance across the room, "But I can guarantee that one person isn't going to be happy about it." He indicated Penelope, who was going slowly puce in the corner, her curls bouncing dangerously close to her steaming latte and croissant.
*
"Can I have a word please, Percy," Penelope was waiting for him outside the refectory.
"You may."
Oliver tried to hide a smirk as he watched Penelope colour over her grammatical slip. He was heading upstairs for a quick shower before hitting the books.
"Don't be facetious, Percy, it doesn't suit you." She muttered, her blush subsiding.
"I thought you appreciated a good grasp of the English language, Penny." Percy was gripped by a sudden urge to just leave her there, mouthing silently in the busy corridor. He didn't though, because Fred and George had just arrived, and were making kissing faces through the window. Percy stifled a grin as he watched Penny's colour deepen to practically purple.
"Those brothers of yours," she hissed, pushing her bag into his hands, "Someone needs to take control of them." Without a backward glance she stormed through the double doors, taking them both by surprise.
"Sorry Penny," they chorused, "We won't do it again."
They sidled past their older brother without a hint of recognition, and made a dash for the Gryffindor common room.
*
"Did the witch tell you off?" Oliver was sat by the fire, wrapped in a huge blue towel with a picture of a broomstick adorned across it, a huge grin on his face.
"Is there anything you own that doesn't have anything to do with Quidditch?" Shooting a glance at the towel, Percy sank down onto the sofa and lazily flicked through Oliver's well-read copy of 'Quidditch through the Ages'.
"Don't change the subject."
"Well, don't call my girlfriend a witch,"
Oliver couldn't help but smirk. "We're at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Perce. What else am I supposed to call her?"
Percy raised an eyebrow. "You wait until you get a girlfriend, Ol, and I start calling her a witch." He chucked Oliver's robe at him, "Then we'll see who's laughing. And for God's sake get dressed, boy."
"I'm not going to get a girlfriend," Oliver said airily, making a move towards his wardrobe.
"Not if you keep shooting own goals, anyway." Percy muttered under his breath, moving over to the desk.
"I heard that."
Oliver blinked hard, staring into his wardrobe without really seeing anything. Perhaps that was it. He was just destined to shoot own-goals forever.