Disclaimer: Characters are not mine. This story is not yours.
Reveiws are nice.

Percy Weasley wore his glasses everyday since he was nine years old, and no one noticed until he stopped.

Oliver was angry. He'd seen a black shape on Percy's lower arm, and Percy couldn't - or wouldn't - explain how it had gotten there. Percy was so calm, and unyielding, and the way those stupid glasses slid down his nose was just so aggravating. Oliver had yelled and thrown them at the wall, and the lenses had shattered around Percy in a gleaming shower of glass. Percy had stood, very still and quiet for a while, then calmly dropped the crumpled frames into the rubbish bin.

Everyday when Percy came home from work, Oliver sat at the kitchen table, not looking at him, and at his place was a new pair of glasses. Everyday he carefully smashed them beneath his left shoe, and swept up the remains. Everyday, he never rolled up his shirt sleeves.

After a while people stopped questioning Percy about his glasses, and began to wonder what had happened to "that nice young man" who had been his roommate.