Perfection Is Possible
By, Tigerlily
Disclaimer: I unfortunately do not own the characters. I only own the plot.
Summary: Perhaps perfection is merely a frame of mind. Percy and Oliver slash fic (note, you have been warned)
Timeline: After Order of the Phoenix.
Spoilers: OotP and prior books.
Status: one-shot!
When I was eleven years old I met a girl who said that learning she was a witch was like finding a part of her she never even knew she was missing. I didn't understand what she meant at the time, but now I do.
There was a time in my life when I tried to fill that void. I didn't realize that was what I was doing, but the fact remains. I strove for my ideal, my vision of perfection. Then one day I found what I was looking for. I found Oliver.
Two days ago Oliver Wood came back into my life. Two years of pushing files around in the Ministry and I thought I was going to pull my hair out. I had joined the Ministry to help what I thought was the right side. It turns out I was gravely mistaken.
So that's how Oliver found me. I was buried under paperwork, called "Weatherby" by my colleagues, and hadn't been outside in more than a month.
It turns out that he had been at the Ministry in order to register his new broom. Apparently, for some unknown reason, he decided to look me up while he was in the neighborhood.
I remember I was sitting at my desk hunched over in what Oliver now refers to as "the hermit pose". I was writing furiously in order to keep up with the inflow of new papers. It was three in the afternoon and I had yet to take a break for food. My stomach growled. I scowled and Oliver laughed.
My head flew up. Perhaps my expression showed anger, or resentment, or fear. Either way the laughter soon died, but Oliver remained steadfastly in my doorway.
Deciding that I obviously had to take the situation into my own hands I challenged him about his presence. He took the accusation calmly and proceeded to invite me out to a late lunch. Maybe I initially protested. I don't remember. Oliver has the ability to make me loose track of myself.
We ate lunch together, but there was more than food on the table. I realize that now. We were circling one another in the artful mating dance. 'Are you interested in me? I'm interested in you...'
I was scared though. I had let people into my life before. I had been hurt before.
So when Oliver invited me to his flat that night I refused.
I refused, walked calmly back to my own flat, and proceeded to berate myself for the next half hour about what I had done.
How could I have let Oliver out of my life again? I should be delighted that anyone took interest in my dry dreary self!
The telephone rang and I froze. No one calls me at my flat. Truthfully the only reason I have a telephone is because convention demands it.
I attempted to calm myself. It could be a salesman, a wrong number, or it could be Oliver...
I first met Oliver at Kings Cross Station. I remember being surrounded by the melee that is my family. My Father was helping Bill and Charlie get their things on the train. My Mother was stuck dealing with the twins running in circles around her. Ron and Ginny were busy screaming in her arms as she attempted to round up the twins.
And through this chaos I saw Oliver. He stood between his Father and Mother in his cleanly pressed slacks and his slicked down hair. Both of his parents sported fashionable clothing and flattering haircuts.
I looked back at my own family. The commotion was only gaining in decibels as I stood there.
Oliver's Father carefully placed his trunk on the train and his Mother placed a tender kiss on his forehead. Oliver waved for a moment and then climbed aboard the train and passed out of sight.
I sighed. This was what I had always wanted in a family. Oliver's family seemed normal. They exemplified everything I held dear. They were perfection. I vowed that one day I would have that perfection myself.
I stared at the phone a good ten seconds before I finally decided to pick up.
It was Oliver.
He was asking me questions. Was I answering them? I didn't know I was so delighted that he had called me.
Through the confusion I realized I had agreed to meet him the next week.
Our first date was a flurry of awkwardness and misinterpreted actions. I was positive I had blown my chance. My chance for happiness, my chance with Oliver was gone.
I went home and I felt my world had ended. I had come so close to perfection. I had come so close to my ideal, but it was not to be. Perhaps I was not meant to touch the Gryffindor golden boy.
But at the end of that date we made another and another. Until my life was so intertwined with his I no longer knew where I ended or he began.
The other day I told Oliver about when I first saw him at King's cross. He gave me a funny look and then laughed. I was confused but he explained. His family was unexciting and boring. He felt lonely as a child and had secretly wished the whole time we'd roomed together that it had been him with the 6 siblings.
I assured him it was nothing to envy but he merely laughed at me. "Perhaps", he said with a smile, "our paradise is what we make of it". I nodded though I didn't understand.
I asked Oliver one day why he had asked me out that first time. He smiled sheepishly and admitted that he'd wanted to ask me out back when we were at Hogwarts. I was flabbergasted. What could Oliver have ever seen in skinny, pale, bookish me? I didn't need to voice this question though because Oliver explained.
"People aren't perfect Percy". I was struck by the irony of the phrase "Perfect Percy", my childhood nickname, hidden in the statement. I merely shrugged. Oliver sighed. "You really think you should be perfect don't you." It wasn't a question so I chose not to reply. "Like I said" Oliver continued "no one is perfect. Not even you Percy."
"Of course not me." I spat back with more anguish than I'd intended.
"You think everyone else is perfect..." Oliver said with growing realization. "Percy," Oliver began. I didn't want to hear this though. "Percy I'm not perfect either." Oliver stated this with ease. I stared at him. How could he say that? He was perfect I'd seen him all those years at Hogwarts.
"I loose things." Oliver said and I looked up in confusion. "I break things a lot too. I once broke my mother's music box. It was a family heirloom." I didn't say anything. "I make mistakes too Percy. Accidents happen."
"No" I whispered back. It wasn't possible. I was crying. "I want perfection." I whispered through trembling lips.
"It's possible." Oliver whispered back.
"What is?" I asked
"Perfection."
"but you said..." I trailed off once again thrown into confusion by this man I loved more than myself.
"I once heard Dumbledore give advice to a lovestruck teenager. He said that no person is perfect. You have to find the person that is perfect for you."
Oliver walked over to me and wrapped an arm around my shoulder in a gesture both protective and possessive. "I want that Percy." He said to me. "I want that with you."
"Perfection." I whispered with reverence.
"Is possible." Oliver answered as he drew his face to mine for a single perfect kiss.
By, Tigerlily
Disclaimer: I unfortunately do not own the characters. I only own the plot.
Summary: Perhaps perfection is merely a frame of mind. Percy and Oliver slash fic (note, you have been warned)
Timeline: After Order of the Phoenix.
Spoilers: OotP and prior books.
Status: one-shot!
When I was eleven years old I met a girl who said that learning she was a witch was like finding a part of her she never even knew she was missing. I didn't understand what she meant at the time, but now I do.
There was a time in my life when I tried to fill that void. I didn't realize that was what I was doing, but the fact remains. I strove for my ideal, my vision of perfection. Then one day I found what I was looking for. I found Oliver.
Two days ago Oliver Wood came back into my life. Two years of pushing files around in the Ministry and I thought I was going to pull my hair out. I had joined the Ministry to help what I thought was the right side. It turns out I was gravely mistaken.
So that's how Oliver found me. I was buried under paperwork, called "Weatherby" by my colleagues, and hadn't been outside in more than a month.
It turns out that he had been at the Ministry in order to register his new broom. Apparently, for some unknown reason, he decided to look me up while he was in the neighborhood.
I remember I was sitting at my desk hunched over in what Oliver now refers to as "the hermit pose". I was writing furiously in order to keep up with the inflow of new papers. It was three in the afternoon and I had yet to take a break for food. My stomach growled. I scowled and Oliver laughed.
My head flew up. Perhaps my expression showed anger, or resentment, or fear. Either way the laughter soon died, but Oliver remained steadfastly in my doorway.
Deciding that I obviously had to take the situation into my own hands I challenged him about his presence. He took the accusation calmly and proceeded to invite me out to a late lunch. Maybe I initially protested. I don't remember. Oliver has the ability to make me loose track of myself.
We ate lunch together, but there was more than food on the table. I realize that now. We were circling one another in the artful mating dance. 'Are you interested in me? I'm interested in you...'
I was scared though. I had let people into my life before. I had been hurt before.
So when Oliver invited me to his flat that night I refused.
I refused, walked calmly back to my own flat, and proceeded to berate myself for the next half hour about what I had done.
How could I have let Oliver out of my life again? I should be delighted that anyone took interest in my dry dreary self!
The telephone rang and I froze. No one calls me at my flat. Truthfully the only reason I have a telephone is because convention demands it.
I attempted to calm myself. It could be a salesman, a wrong number, or it could be Oliver...
I first met Oliver at Kings Cross Station. I remember being surrounded by the melee that is my family. My Father was helping Bill and Charlie get their things on the train. My Mother was stuck dealing with the twins running in circles around her. Ron and Ginny were busy screaming in her arms as she attempted to round up the twins.
And through this chaos I saw Oliver. He stood between his Father and Mother in his cleanly pressed slacks and his slicked down hair. Both of his parents sported fashionable clothing and flattering haircuts.
I looked back at my own family. The commotion was only gaining in decibels as I stood there.
Oliver's Father carefully placed his trunk on the train and his Mother placed a tender kiss on his forehead. Oliver waved for a moment and then climbed aboard the train and passed out of sight.
I sighed. This was what I had always wanted in a family. Oliver's family seemed normal. They exemplified everything I held dear. They were perfection. I vowed that one day I would have that perfection myself.
I stared at the phone a good ten seconds before I finally decided to pick up.
It was Oliver.
He was asking me questions. Was I answering them? I didn't know I was so delighted that he had called me.
Through the confusion I realized I had agreed to meet him the next week.
Our first date was a flurry of awkwardness and misinterpreted actions. I was positive I had blown my chance. My chance for happiness, my chance with Oliver was gone.
I went home and I felt my world had ended. I had come so close to perfection. I had come so close to my ideal, but it was not to be. Perhaps I was not meant to touch the Gryffindor golden boy.
But at the end of that date we made another and another. Until my life was so intertwined with his I no longer knew where I ended or he began.
The other day I told Oliver about when I first saw him at King's cross. He gave me a funny look and then laughed. I was confused but he explained. His family was unexciting and boring. He felt lonely as a child and had secretly wished the whole time we'd roomed together that it had been him with the 6 siblings.
I assured him it was nothing to envy but he merely laughed at me. "Perhaps", he said with a smile, "our paradise is what we make of it". I nodded though I didn't understand.
I asked Oliver one day why he had asked me out that first time. He smiled sheepishly and admitted that he'd wanted to ask me out back when we were at Hogwarts. I was flabbergasted. What could Oliver have ever seen in skinny, pale, bookish me? I didn't need to voice this question though because Oliver explained.
"People aren't perfect Percy". I was struck by the irony of the phrase "Perfect Percy", my childhood nickname, hidden in the statement. I merely shrugged. Oliver sighed. "You really think you should be perfect don't you." It wasn't a question so I chose not to reply. "Like I said" Oliver continued "no one is perfect. Not even you Percy."
"Of course not me." I spat back with more anguish than I'd intended.
"You think everyone else is perfect..." Oliver said with growing realization. "Percy," Oliver began. I didn't want to hear this though. "Percy I'm not perfect either." Oliver stated this with ease. I stared at him. How could he say that? He was perfect I'd seen him all those years at Hogwarts.
"I loose things." Oliver said and I looked up in confusion. "I break things a lot too. I once broke my mother's music box. It was a family heirloom." I didn't say anything. "I make mistakes too Percy. Accidents happen."
"No" I whispered back. It wasn't possible. I was crying. "I want perfection." I whispered through trembling lips.
"It's possible." Oliver whispered back.
"What is?" I asked
"Perfection."
"but you said..." I trailed off once again thrown into confusion by this man I loved more than myself.
"I once heard Dumbledore give advice to a lovestruck teenager. He said that no person is perfect. You have to find the person that is perfect for you."
Oliver walked over to me and wrapped an arm around my shoulder in a gesture both protective and possessive. "I want that Percy." He said to me. "I want that with you."
"Perfection." I whispered with reverence.
"Is possible." Oliver answered as he drew his face to mine for a single perfect kiss.