Disclaimer: Percy and Oliver don't belong to me. I'm just borrowing them.
Warning: Slash. The themes are a bit more pronounced in this chapter. Percy has some issues with his sexuality.
Dedication: For Kitten, and those who reviewed this.
Author's Note: I used to hate Percy. Completely and absolutely. I'd drive my friends who like him nuts. Belittling him, insulting him, all manner of things. Then I ended up using him in a HP RPG. I let myself get into his head, and I was amazed at what I found there. We think quite a bit alike sometimes, Percy and I. And as for Percy and his little....habit, it *is* a psychological thing. It's the same as cutting oneself and bulimia. A lot of you may find it slightly disgusting, but I can't see Percy being bulimic or a cutter. And he *needs* that expulsion of emotion. He can't do it verbally or emotionally, so he needs to do it physically. Another short chapter. Shorter then the first. Sorry!
Same As It Ever Was
Chapter 2
Dear Percy,
Hi! I was really happy to hear from you. Thanks for the congratulations. We could have done a lot better, but I'm not complaining. We're training pretty close to you this season, actually. I don't know if you know that or not. Maybe we could get together sometime, catch up on old times? I hardly see anyone from school. I saw Harry and your brother at the Quidditch Cup last year, and I bumped into Kiara Silvertree a few months ago. (The Hufflepuff Beater from our year) How about you? Do you still see anyone? I hear you're working for the Ministry now. Must be pretty impressive, a job with them. Definitely more stable then what I do. One bad injury here, and you're out for good. Anyway, I passed my Apparation test, so whenever you want to get together let me know. I've got Sunday's off, and nights after five. I know a *great* restaurant in Diagon Alley. Let me know!
Oliver
I stare at the letter. He's written much more then I had. He was happy to hear from me? I'm amazed he even remembers who I am. And he wants to see me. I'm sitting at my table, what passes for a dinner laid out before me. A bowl of soup, a glass of water, and a packet of laxatives. I don't take them because I have to, but because I need to. In some strange way, it makes me feel better about everything. I feel far more relaxed, and calmer. There's most likely some psychological reason for it, I simply don't have the energy or time to investigate.
He wants to see me. Why? To catch up on old times. We, together, have no old times to catch up upon. Impressive? What I do? Has he gone mad? I think that must be the only explanation. I sip at my soup, rereading the letter. It has lifted my spirits some, I must admit. It was a hard day at work, and I am tired and frustrated. This letter certainly was an unexpected surprise. I truly hadn't expected Oliver to write back. Why should he? Who am I, to him? And old dorm mate, nothing more.
What should I write back? It would be nice to see him. And it would be a break from the general monotony of my life. A night out. I have enough for it, I've saved a little bit of money just in case something like this ever came up. And what would it hurt, truly? To take some time to myself. Even if it is with Oliver. There is far worse company I could keep.
I summon my quill and ink bottle with a word and a wave of my wand. I strain my mind, searching desperately for a topic that will cover more then one or two lines. I feel guilty, writing something small and insignificant when he has taken the time to write to me. I didn't deserve a reply like that, what with what I had written. I hardly said a word.
Dear Oliver,
I must admit I was surprised by your reply.
Well, that's a good enough beginning. But I must be careful, or I'll write more then I'd like. That's the main reason I don't keep a journal. I tried to, but I would go on and on at length. Pages and pages covered with my musings, rants and suppositions. And most of it highly depressing. I stopped, rather soon after I'd started. It wasn't too long after that I turned to the laxatives. I wonder if the two are related?
I wasn't expecting one of that magnitude.
I truly wasn't. It took me by surprise. I frown, sucking thoughtfully on my quill. I rarely do that. I used to, when I was much younger. But I haven't in a very long time. I wonder what is causing me to, now.
I was pleased, make no mistake about that.
Or does that sound too...well, familiar? I don't want it to sound like that. I bite my lower lip, but stop immediately when I catch myself. It doesn't do, to show such obvious signs of nervousness and indecision. I try and remember something, anything that passed intimately between us. That wasn't in my own mind, of course. I blush. I have forgotten how much I thought of him. I was never one for self gratification, not much. It's a messy, dirty, sinful little thing. But necessary, sometimes.
I never did it at school. Most did, and I could never fathom why. If it *must* be done, it should be done in private. Sometimes, at home. I would find myself thinking about Oliver. And I couldn't help myself. I regret it now. How would he feel, if he knew? Not that there is any way he would ever find out! I see absolutely no scenario's in which I would tell him. And no one else knows.
I, too, have seen few of our peers. My brothers of course, but none else. I fear my job keeps me quite busy. However, I would enjoy seeing you.
Now that, I fear, sounds far too personal. What if he suspects? I am tempted to scratch it out, but I restrain myself. I do want to let him know that I am looking forward to this. But not too much. It's Thursday. Will this Sunday be too soon? I shall ask.
I am available this Sunday, for lunch or dinner. If that is what you have in mind. Please let me know as soon as possible.
Percy
I scan the letter. There is nothing to give anything away. Is there? No. It is harmless. Perhaps a trifle too friendly, but in the wake of his letter...I frown. I am getting worked up. It has been a long day, and I m fretting too much about this stupid letter. It doesn't matter. It's nothing. A simple letter. There is no need for this. but I know it's too late. I will worry and fret until I hear back from Oliver. I seal the letter, hands shaking. I send it off with Hermes.
I shouldn't have done that. I realize it now, after I have sent it. Oliver will see what isn't written, and will be suspicious. He will see it's far too intimate for a letter between peers. He will decide he does not want to see me after all. I am an idiot. I need to think, before I do things. That is how I have made it where I have. I always question my actions. I didn't this time. I've set myself up to be hurt.
I don't think they realize it, but it does not take much to hurt me. I simply don't show what I feel. What's the point? Letting it show won't change anything. And it will only cause people to pity me. I abhor pity. Oliver will see the hidden meaning in my words, and he will reject me. Without any grounds for rejection! I would never dream of admitting to him anything, or approaching him. But he will fear that. he will dread that it may happen. He will hate me...
I am getting too worked up. It's time for my laxatives. That will calm me down. I fumble with the packet, hands shaking. I feel ill. I always feel ill, when I get like this. I force my throat to accept the small tabs, holding my nose to force myself to swallow, and to block out the taste. I hate the taste of these things. I sit down, waiting for the feeling to hit me. I'll feel better later. And perhaps Oliver's reply will not be what I fear...
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