The next morning found Madame Pomfrey sitting by the side of Percy's bed and flipping through the pages of the book she was looking at. Percy noted that her copy of "Magical Maladies and Ailments" was worn and creased, much like the copy that Mrs. Weasley kept at home. She glanced up at Percy and forced a smile for his sake before glancing at her watch. She wished that her other patient would return- he had left for a meeting with Dumbledore against her wishes, but he should be back by now. He was about the same age as Percy Weasley and she hoped that he could keep him company.
Percy watched as Madame Pomfrey got up and walked into her office, closing the door behind her. He closed his eyes and listened to the ringing silence of the room for what seemed like an eternity. He breathed in the medicinal smell of the hospital ward and wondered if muggle hospitals smelled the same way. He absolutely hated boredom and the erradic thoughts that came with it. He heard the hospital door knob turn and opened his eyes to see who was entering. First he noticed the brown shoes - large, probably size 10 or 11- and understood that it was a male. His eyes travelled up his black robes, settling on the Gryffindor badge for a moment before meeting his gaze. Oliver. The last person that he had wanted to come visit him and see him in his condition had.
Oliver looked back at Percy, directly into his eyes and Percy realized that Oliver must be seeing him for the monster that he was. His cheeks blushed a characteristicly Weasley red, and he mentally pleaded with Oliver, asking him to turn away. But Oliver didn't. He just kept looking into Percy's eyes until Percy felt that he could take no more. He wasn't sure whether to run or to bury himself in the musty blankets and hope that he'd suffocate. But Percy didn't need to do either. Oliver walked slowly to his bed and sat down on the edge of it before placing his small body next to Percy's. His warmth was comforting, although Percy hoped that Madame Pomfrey did not return to see them like this. What would she think? what did HE think? even he wasn't sure. He wasn't supposed to feel attracted to other men, but something about this small, warm body just felt right to him. Why did the curve of Oliver's back have to fit so perfectly against him? Oliver rolled over so that he was facing Percy and gingerly touched his face, tracing one of the lines down from his forehead to his chin.
"Does it hurt?" he asked quietly.
"Does what hurt?" Percy responded without thinking.
"This. Me touching your face." Percy shook his head no.
"Does it feel....gross?" Percy choked out, fearing the answer.
"No. It feels like...Percy." Oliver said, smiling childishly. His smile quickly faded. "I hurt sometimes." Percy was surprised by this new side of Oliver- childish and vulnerable- but decided to pursue the topic.
"How do you hurt, Ol?"
"All over. My legs, and my arms, and my chest. Sometimes it feels as if even my toenails and hair hurt." He grimaced, and Percy placed a hand on his arm. Oliver's thick Scottish accent sounded so manly, but the words were really that of a child. A hurt, scared child.
"Why do they hurt?" he prodded. Oliver took a deep breath before responding.
"Because I work hard at Quidditch. The pain is a good pain. It means that all of my fat is going away....someday I want to be as skinny as you are, Percy. I want to be just like you." The words resounded in Percy's brain. He knew that these were words that he would hear until the day he died.
Percy watched as Madame Pomfrey got up and walked into her office, closing the door behind her. He closed his eyes and listened to the ringing silence of the room for what seemed like an eternity. He breathed in the medicinal smell of the hospital ward and wondered if muggle hospitals smelled the same way. He absolutely hated boredom and the erradic thoughts that came with it. He heard the hospital door knob turn and opened his eyes to see who was entering. First he noticed the brown shoes - large, probably size 10 or 11- and understood that it was a male. His eyes travelled up his black robes, settling on the Gryffindor badge for a moment before meeting his gaze. Oliver. The last person that he had wanted to come visit him and see him in his condition had.
Oliver looked back at Percy, directly into his eyes and Percy realized that Oliver must be seeing him for the monster that he was. His cheeks blushed a characteristicly Weasley red, and he mentally pleaded with Oliver, asking him to turn away. But Oliver didn't. He just kept looking into Percy's eyes until Percy felt that he could take no more. He wasn't sure whether to run or to bury himself in the musty blankets and hope that he'd suffocate. But Percy didn't need to do either. Oliver walked slowly to his bed and sat down on the edge of it before placing his small body next to Percy's. His warmth was comforting, although Percy hoped that Madame Pomfrey did not return to see them like this. What would she think? what did HE think? even he wasn't sure. He wasn't supposed to feel attracted to other men, but something about this small, warm body just felt right to him. Why did the curve of Oliver's back have to fit so perfectly against him? Oliver rolled over so that he was facing Percy and gingerly touched his face, tracing one of the lines down from his forehead to his chin.
"Does it hurt?" he asked quietly.
"Does what hurt?" Percy responded without thinking.
"This. Me touching your face." Percy shook his head no.
"Does it feel....gross?" Percy choked out, fearing the answer.
"No. It feels like...Percy." Oliver said, smiling childishly. His smile quickly faded. "I hurt sometimes." Percy was surprised by this new side of Oliver- childish and vulnerable- but decided to pursue the topic.
"How do you hurt, Ol?"
"All over. My legs, and my arms, and my chest. Sometimes it feels as if even my toenails and hair hurt." He grimaced, and Percy placed a hand on his arm. Oliver's thick Scottish accent sounded so manly, but the words were really that of a child. A hurt, scared child.
"Why do they hurt?" he prodded. Oliver took a deep breath before responding.
"Because I work hard at Quidditch. The pain is a good pain. It means that all of my fat is going away....someday I want to be as skinny as you are, Percy. I want to be just like you." The words resounded in Percy's brain. He knew that these were words that he would hear until the day he died.