A/N: As a random thought- I always listen to Queen when I'm typing, so some of these chapters (most of them) are inspired by Queen songs!! Check these guys out! They rock(ed)! Enjoy! (Heheh, the end of 'Body Language' is playing, and the absurd noises that Freddie makes always makes me giggle.)

This chapter is dedicated to those of you in my theatre class who were brave enough to sing the Donny Osmond ending!!

Otherwise Known as Fate

Chapter Four- The Porridge Flew

"Percy?" Oliver stepped out of the shadows, voice soft and expression softer.

Percy's head whipped up, impulsively clutching the parchment closer to his chest. His eyes widened in shock, and Oliver realized that his glasses were sitting on the seat next to him, tears flowing freely down his cheek. His eyes were slightly bloodshot. "Wh-who's there?" Percy managed, his voice slightly strained. He squinted at Oliver while scrabbling around with his right hand, finding his glasses and hastily putting them on the bridge of his nose. Oliver walked forward and saw Percy's eyebrows shoot up.

"Percy, are you al-" He tried coming closer, but Percy jumped up suddenly.

"You saw nothing!" He said, sounding fearful and angry and bossy all at once. He started retreating, tripping over his feet. His body still slightly turned to Oliver, eyes narrowed and angry, he stumbled slightly then turned entirely away and practically ran down the corridor, away from the direction Oliver had come without a backward glance.

Oliver stood where he was, confused and sort of angry. What the hell was that all about? Oliver thought, completely bewildered. How come he didn't even tell me what was going on? The silver moonlight glinted on the windows, casting light on the spot where Percy had sat. The questions flooded Oliver's mind in an enormous figurative wave. Why had Percy been crying? What was the parchment that he was holding? The only time he had ever seen Percy cry was during second year when some Slytherins had been teasing him about his glasses. Oliver frowned at the memory, not so angry anymore. He wanted to make Percy feel better, to comfort him like a friend would. He looked in the direction that Percy had gone, which was the quickest route to Gryffindor Tower from there. He sighed, and reluctantly left the windows, walking off in the direction he came from, not wanting to meet Percy any more that night, though he knew he would have to as they did share a dormitory.

Sunday, August the first, 1994

10:00 PM

Entry One

Percy Weasley

I couldn't beleive it. First, the train, then the Great Hall, and now, now he has to find me at the most inoppourtune time possible. Is he trying to do this, just to poke fun at me, or is this some sick little game that the gods are playing with me? I don't understand it. For once, there is something that I don't fully understand. This... Quidditch player, he who has so many great friends, sitting with my brothers on the train, being unusually quiet and more calm than I could have been in the situation. The fools were bothering him enough to send anyone into a tizzy, but he didn't do anything. He looked bored... no, sad. He looked hopeless. That was sort of strange to begin with, as Oliver isn't one to show much emotion other than anger at the loss of a match. Not to mention the fact that we both somehow wound up tangled together on the seat. I mean, the way he was looking at me... I don't know what it is about that look he gave me... it was unusual. It was... soft, expectant, fearful? I'm not certain. The memory makes me cringe in absolute embarrassment. But it had to be the dementors. There is no other explanation. I hardly think that Oliver would look at me with any sort of emotion other than annoyance, perhaps, and I certainly didn't do anything to cause him to, I didn't do anything on purpose, but there must have been some sort of accusation toward me in his mind...

But what would he accuse me of? I don't know why I think he would be angry at me, because I really didn't do anything on purpose, he should understand that. But if he doesn't, I just don't know... I don't even know why this matters so much. And then there was the Hall. I don't even know why I was looking at him, really, but when he turned, even more odd things happened. It was as if I was suddenly calm, not feeling the guilt or the self loathing that had been building up for the night. It was... wonderful. Wonderful, but it could have been another ploy to make fun of me, somehow, by exposing my weaknesses to him. But how can I be so sure that it was he who was trying to expose my mind, trying to make me weak, or show the world that I, Percy Weasley, Head Boy and 'the biggest prat of the century' in the words of my brothers, am indeed, a weak, frightened person? I'm not sure that he was (wait, how do I even know that he could tell how I felt?), but at this point, I've no one else to accuse.

Oh, gods, look at this... I'm arguing with myself! I am slowly but surely losing my mind...

It is rather suspicious, of course, that he would find me sobbing (sobbing, yes, crying like a little girl. I am now, in fact, no longer a male creature, I'm sure) over my latest worst nightmare that had to come true, as well. A break-up letter from Penelope. Why, why did she have to give that to me on the train, of all places? If she had sent it over the summer, perhaps I would have had time to absorb the news, to adjust, and eventually just pretend like I never knew Penny, that she was just another face in the crowd, another name to check off on my list of people to be horrificly polite to, if she ever spoke to me again. I'll probably go down to breakfast tomorrow, expecting her to greet me with a kiss on the cheek like always... Things will never, ever be the same. All it took was neat cursive and over-polite, carefully chosen words to cause so much pain... That was obviously why I got so upset at the twins for the remark that they made about her, but I really shouldn't have, they didn't know, though they probably wouldn't have acted any different if they did. Well, perhaps they would have. Fred and George can get grave, even compassionate at times, but you never can tell wether they're sincere or just pulling your chain. It's hard to tell.

I was so worried about them, though, I had to find them on the train. With the dementors about, I didn't want anything bad to happen to my siblings. What would I have done if something bad had happened? What would Mother say? Truthfully, Mother's reaction aside, I don't know what I, personally, would have done if they got hurt. Or any of my siblings, for that matter. After the embarrassing incident with Oliver Wood (something that is far too clear in my mind, I'm trying hard to forget it), I went to find Ginny and Ron, but I was stopped halfway by the new professor, Lupin his name, who, though I had never met him, seemed to know that I was looking for my youngest brother and sister and assured me that they were fine. I was tempted to go find them anyway, but, if the professor said so... I didn't know what to do. So much confusion in one evening. I just went back to the Prefect's compartment to relax and try and forget (unsuccessfully) what went on in Fred and George's compartment. I knew perfectly well that Penelope wouldn't be there. After giving me the letter, sitting with other friends was probably the best thing for her to do, as both of us detest awkward situations.

Then, of course, the feast. It was going all right, I suppose, especially after Oliver made eye contact, but I soon had to be alone. I wanted to think, and possibly even brood a bit, so I left the table, readying the excuse that I was tired and wanted to turn in early. Luckily, I didn't have to use that alibi, for no one questioned my absence. Does that show that I have authority already, or is it just another sign that I'm hated by more people than I give them credit for? I didn't know, and I didn't want to think on that. So I walked up to a corridor that I had always particularly liked, one with monstrous windows that always caught the late sun perfectly, and would now be filled with the gorgeous brilliance of the moon. Yes, even I appreciate natural beauties, though I often neglect to see the beauty in anything at all when I get so caught up with school and Prefect duties and the like. I often feel like there is two of me, the Percy who makes school his life and neglects all those who care for him, and the Percy who will sit a while and think on the more subtle messages that life has been sending me. I like that Percy best. He is patient, not a forced patience that every Prefect has to master, but a real one, a genuine patience that waits until the time is right to do something. He rarely shows himself to others, though he has blown his cover a few times. He is quiet, contemplative, and kind, viewing the world from a different level. I don't mean that I am 'above the world' in any way, I just mean that sometimes I can find the flaws in people and love them anyway, I can pick out the imperfections in the world and still call it perfect (I really don't know where I get these silly ideas, it must be the lack of sleep getting to me).

By the time I reached the benches by the window, it was as if the calm that Oliver had 'given' me (I'm still not exactly sure what he did. Natural magic, or simply empathy?) withered, replaced by a bitter anger and terrible feelings. Why did she do it? I thought that she loved me. Perhaps she did love me, but not the love that I wanted. She loved me in her own way, she loved to talk to me, to play with my hair, to kiss me... but I wanted more than just Penelope's witty banter and her soft lips. I wanted to really talk to her, to know her mind, and have her know mine. I wanted to pick up on every emotion that she felt, I wanted to know when something was wrong, I wanted to comfort her and lift her up on a pedestal of love and pride, protect her from the world's cruelty, sheild her from any potentially dangerous situation. And I think I still do. It was when she gave me that rotten, badly timed letter that I realized: that kind of love is not possible.

There is no way that anyone would love me in that way, or that I was capable of loving anyone else in that way. I was broken. I am broken. So hopeful before, and now, so downtrodden and weak. I felt sick, emotionally ill, if you will. I cried, I sobbed at the inhumanity of it all, of making a person feel loved and then telling him that he was stifling, overprotective and repressing... some of the same words that I just used to describe my father. Oh, gods, is that what I'm doing? Turning into my father? Maybe I am, but how can I stop the process? So, that was how Wood found me, sobbing like a fool over a stupid peice of parchment. Now that I think on it, if anyone had to find me, the best person to do so was him, because I knew that he wouldn't tell a soul. Or at least I had the hope that he wouldn't. Though Oliver has earned my trust a few times before, this was a time that I had a right to be cautious, and not fully trust him. I hope that he doesn't think any worse of me, or even worse: take pity. Now I know that things will be more awkward between us than ever... oh, Gods, just take my life now, so I don't have to endure this torture any longer, be merciful... Goodnight.

Sitting crosslegged on his bed with a lone candle burning, Percy quickly capped his ink and wiped his quill, placing them carefully on his bedside table, wiping the bitter tears from his eyes that threatened to smudge his ink. He looked down at the newly broken in blank book cradled in his lap, biting his lip in worry. What if the ink wasn't dry? He heard Oliver's footsteps on the stairs to their dormitory, and, deciding to play it safe, flipped on his side and shoved the still open book far underneath his four poster, Penelope's letter concealed in it's pages. Straightening up, cheeks red, he blew out his candle and climbed under the sheets in a rush. He turned on his side so his back faced the door, trying to look as if he was comatose, making his chest expand and contract with deep, even breaths that contradicted his quickly beating heart. The door slowly creaked open, Oliver sliding into the room, which was completely dark except for a bit of moonlight coming in the lone window.

"Percy?" He heard Oliver whisper gently. He didn't answer, thinking about throwing in a few lusty snores for effect, then decided against it. He heard Oliver close the door behind him, but never felt his gaze leave the back of his neck. What was it with those two and sensing each other's stares? He finally felt the gaze break as Oliver undressed and put his pajamas on.

After putting his pajamas on, Oliver looked suspiciously at the smoking candle on Percy's bedside table. Odd... That looked like it had just been blown out. And there was melted wax still running down the side, too. Oliver had the nagging suspiscion that Percy was still awake, but decided that he wouldn't take a chance. Well, maybe a small chance. "If you're still awake, Percy... good night." He muttered before climbing into his own bed. He was ready to fall asleep, knowing that he would wake up tomorrow like every other morning, but there would be one major difference the next: he finally knew who he was. And with this thought, and a smile playing on his lips, Oliver fell into a nice slumber, not waking until he heard his alarm go off the next morning at seven.

The sun was bright that morning, beating in through the window and worming its way into Oliver's closed eyes. His wizarding radio alarm started playing the Wyrd Sisters' newest song, one with a bagpipes solo that he rather liked. Reaching out a hand, eyes still shut tight, Oliver groggily fumbled with the clock until he found the switch to turn the alarm off. That done, he gave a sigh and turned over on his back, stretching his arms over his head, then lengthening his legs until his feet nearly hung off the bed. His eyes flickered open, taking a look around the room. Percy was gone, not a surprise, and his bed was neatly made, everything in perfect order. Even less of a surprise. Oliver swung his legs out of bed, sitting up, reluctant to leave his warm pile of blankets and sheets. He stood, absently humming the Wyrd Sisters song as he walked to his trunk and nudged it open with his foot. He hadn't bothered to unpack yet, even though there was a whole empty wardrobe awaiting his stuff. Percy, he noticed, had.

Oliver pulled out a pair of pants and a navy blue polo shirt to go under his school robes (the teachers were all lenient with dress code for the first few weeks, particularly Flitwick, who probably wouldn't have noticed if Oliver came to class in nothing but his skivvies). He also grabbed a towel and his toothbrush and made his way down the hall to the seventh year boys shared bathroom for a shower, which he was pleased to note he would have all to himself, as Percy usually took his showers at night, or much earlier in the morning. He had never seen the bathroom, and was rather excited about it. A slight way down the stairs, he heard lots of bumps and groggy voices, indicating that Fred, George and Lee were awake.

He opened the door and was startled to see Percy flossing his teeth in front of the long, slightly fogged mirror above the sinks. He reflexively twitched at the sight of Oliver, almost as if trying to shrink. His hair was wet, hanging in ringlets, adorable ringlets, Oliver was embarrassed to hear himself add, just wearing dress code standard khaki pants, his feet and chest bare. Oliver was upset to notice that he was wearing those rotten glasses, too. He had no idea why he liked Percy's eyes so much, other than the fact that they were gorgeous and pale blue-grey, with an air of mystery and sadness about them that drew you in, made you want to hear what he had to say and unearth the true feelings of this person... well, that about summed it up, actually. Oliver smirked at himself in the mirror. Yeah, he was getting pretty poetic nowadays.

As Oliver looked over with a "G'morning," Percy's expression became unreadable, though his cheeks remained flushed. He turned back to the mirror without a word and continued meticulously flossing. Oliver frowned a bit, then walked in and closed the door.

"Sorry." Oliver muttered, though he wasn't sure why. He set his clothes and towel down on the far end of the counter, placing his toothbrush at the sink farthest away from the one Percy was using. The bathroom was large, all done in white tile and marble. Four spacious shower stalls were located around a small corner for privacy, a large, sunk in marble tub was also in that general area. It reminded him of the Prefect's bathroom, though it shouldn't have, because he technically wasn't allowed to see the Prefect's bathroom, but had anyway on a few occasions (that map of Fred and George's was brilliantly useful). The tile floor was cold on his bare feet, sending pleasant chills up his spine. Even during the hot summer months, the castle always had a colder temperature, which could be very useful when it was hot out, particularly after sticky Quidditch practices. He began brushing his teeth, trying really hard not to shoot glances at Percy, but eventually giving up on that and doing so any way. He noted the differences between them, standing as far away from each other as possible in front of the mirror. Percy had thick, curly red hair, which (as noted earlier) was currently wet and hanging in ringlets over his forehead. Oliver's hair was mussed from sleeping, and it was mostly straight, a dusty brown color inherited from his mother. His father, unusually, had blonde hair, though no one would have guessed looking at Oliver.

Oliver reached down to turn on the sink, but the handle wouldn't budge. He took his eyes off Percy's reflection for a moment (he was still busily flossing) and looked at the tap. He tried again, turning it the other way. No water came out. He would have cursed, but seeing as his mouth was full of foamy toothpaste, he couldn't. Percy stopped flossing, turning his head to look at Oliver, who was still trying to force the tap to move. His expression was still unreadable as he tonelessly said, "That one doesn't work. I was going to see the house elf maintenence crew about it, but I have no idea where they are, so I suppose I'll just have to talk to Filch," and turned back to his flossing. Oliver's lips quirked as he noticed that Percy gave a small, ill-concealed grimace at the mention of Filch's name. Well, at least he's normal in that respect, in hating Filch, Oliver thought. He gave up on the broken tap and wordlessly moved over to another sink, only one away from Percy's, glad to see that this one worked.

After spitting and rinsing his toothbrush once, he went back to brushing and staring at Percy's refelction. He wouldn't be so unabashed with his observations, but it was clear that Percy was very involved in his morning rituals. He had gone from carefully flossing to painstakingly putting everything away in it's proper place. Oliver compared himself to Percy once again. Percy was tall, about two inches taller than Oliver, very thin and once considered gangly, though Oliver, again embarrassed to note, thought Percy was rather attractive, in a unique way. His body had almost no fat and little muscle (as Oliver could now clearly see), while Oliver was more muscular, though also quite lean. Percy looked like he could be a great swimmer, Oliver thought, while Oliver himself had the perfect body type and training of a Keeper or Chaser. Their appearances weren't the only different things, though. Oliver watched, amused, as Percy put everything in it's proper place, toothbrush in holder, perfectly straight, floss and toothpaste neatly tucked beside it. He wiped water off of the counter with a small white towel nearby. Oliver supressed a laugh, remembering how many times he had come in to the dormitory in the afternoon to see his bed made, his desk tidied, or something along those lines.

Oliver was really very fond of Percy and his habits, he realized, wishing that he had been a better friend to him before. He wasn't too Percy, he was just... Percy, Oliver thought, his own statement confusing him a bit. A pang of regret hit him as he realized that he never made the effort to actually be a friend to Percy. He was appalled that it took him six years to realize it, but better now than never. Percy, once satisfied that evrything was where it should be, turned toward the door, slinging a towel over his shoulder. Hastily rinsing his toothbrush and sloppily flinging it onto the counter, Oliver turned to say something to Percy, to apologize for not being a friend that Percy deserved, but the door shut with a snap and Oliver was alone in the spotless bathroom. Oliver frowned, but thought that he would have the chance to talk to Percy later. Not only did he want to apologize for being such a crappy room mate, Oliver wanted to find out why Percy was acting so strange, though he knew it had something to do with that peice of parchment in the corridor after the feast, and the train, too, of course. Oliver, mood ruined, frowned at the bathroom in his frustration. It seemed harsh now with it's whiteness, too clinical and sterile looking.

After taking his shower and getting dressed, Oliver headed down to breakfast. Just as he was entering the common room, though, he was pounced upon by two identical red heads, with identical maniacal grins and identical capacities for evil. "There you are, Oliver!" Fred exclaimed happily.

"We've been waiting all morning for you!" They chorused, each grabbing one of Oliver's arms and marching him toward the portrait hole. Oliver groaned.

"Please, Fred, George, I'm not in the mood for pranking this morning."

The twins pouted for a moment, then, that comment not stopping them, brightened up again as they marched Oliver out to the corridor. Students were milling about to go to breakfast, chatting with friends as they all walked in the general direction of the Hall. Oliver shook himself free of the twins. "Come on, Ol, you'll love this one!" George prompted, pulling the prank notebook out of his bag, opening it to a certain page and wagging it under Oliver's nose. Oliver saw what looked like a moving diagram of Percy (with large, exaggerated glasses; this made Oliver a little mad for some reason) sitting at a desk. Whenever he reached for his quill, the quill would move a few inches away, as if it was negatively charged to Percy's hand. The twins burst out laughing and Oliver furrowed his brow.

"Isn't it great?" Fred exclaimed. "All we'll need you to do is replace his quill with the charmed one that we-"

"You two are possibly the most insufferable nitwits out there!" Oliver snarled, surprised with himself. The twins stopped, eyebrows raised. Oliver went on. "You just go on and on about how terrible Percy is, but have you even talked to the boy? Why do you have to go playing pranks on him? What did he ever do to you? He's your brother, and-" Oliver stopped. He was feeling very uncomfortable all of a sudden. The twins were giving him scrutinizing looks. "And I probably like him better than you do." Oliver continued, quieter, really very surprised at himself. He gave a small cough. The twins still looked at Oliver very curiously, giving him matching 'detective stares.' He awkwardly shifted his weight and crossed his arms. Then they both grinned.

"Oliver, Oliver, Oliver... so it's true, then?" George asked, shaking his head, sounding thoroughly pleased with himself.

"What? What's true?" Oliver asked.

"Oh, don't play dumb, Oliver." Fred looked equally pleased. "We suspected it on the train, then again at the feast, and now you're sticking up for a person that you've hardly spoken to in years." He shook his head at Oliver's stupidity.

Oliver felt guilty again. "I really should have been a better friend to Percy." He admitted. The twins pouted.

"Friend? That's it?"

"Are you sure that you don't want... more?"

Oliver nodded absently.

"Absolutely sure?"

Oliver shrugged. He was hardly listening. Perhaps he would talk to Percy later in the day... He started the trek down to breakfast, still thinking hard, the twins bothering him every step of the way with a new vigor brought on by that shrug of either indifference or indescision.

"That was a shrug! Not a definite answer! Come on, Ol, tell us!"

"Well, we don't exactly know if he flies for that team, if you catch my drift, Fred."

Oliver was now listening to the twins, growing more and more amused as the more serious thoughts left him. The twins energy and playfullness never failed to rub off on him... it often got him in trouble in the process, too. "I do." He stated simply, wondering how the twins would react once they knew that he was serious. Would they still be joking about Percy if they knew that there was actually a possibility of Oliver liking him? Oliver thought of this, but didn't have to wait for a response from the twins.

"Good! Step one: get Oliver to come out of the closet to us, check!"

"What's step two?" Oliver questioned lightly as the entered the Hall, feeling unusually playful and comfortable with the world, his serious thoughts now pretty much gone. (A/N: Can wizards have ADD? I think Oliver might...)

"Step two... erm... step two... George, tell him what step two is!"

"Well, we don't exactly have one, but trust me, we will soon!"

"Good to know." Said Oliver as he took his seat at the Gryffindor table, next to Hermione, who didn't look up, very involved in her Arithmancy book. Fred sat on his other side with George next to him. Katie, Alicia and Angelina were sitting across from Oliver and the twins. Alicia grinned at Oliver, who still felt oddly happy.

"You sure are looking cheery, Cap'n." She noted. Oliver just shrugged, smiling to himself as he poured a glass of milk from the pitcher between him and Alicia. It was certainly starting out strange, this day, Oliver mused. Strange, but pleasant enough. He took a swig of milk, listening to all the chatter around him contentedly. A burst of unintelligent yet highly amused laughter from the other side of the Hall caught his attention. He turned towards the Slytherin table to see many hated faces all gathered around the blonde brat Malfoy. He saw Bole, Crabbe, Goyle, and Flint, to his disgust, all chuckling annoyingly. That much filth in one area, he mused, I wonder why the whole Hall doesn't reek. His good mood was a bit weighted down now (A/N: Again... ADD and mood swings...). Fred and George were all glaring similarly.

"Wonder what they're laughing about." George muttered. Angelina, Alicia and Katie shared a glance. Oliver noticed.

"Do you know something that we don't?" He asked accusingly, turning his back on the Slytherins and staring the girls down with his famous 'Captain glare.'

"Well..." said Angelina.

"Oh, come on, out with it! No use beating around the bush if we're going to find out anyway."

"Um..." Began Alicia. "Probably just about Harry's fainting attack, you know, they just won't drop it." She gave a weak laugh.

"Probably?" Oliver intoned.

"You're holding out on us!" Fred accused.

"Come on, tell the truth!"

Katie, who was quite the gossip, launched into the story without further ado. "Draco Malfoy is spreading rumors about you and Percy Weasley."

"What kind of rumors?" Oliver cautiously asked, serving himself some eggs.

Angelina, who was usually frank, casually jumped in as she reached for another slice of bacon. "The kind that involve you and Percy snogging on the train."

"What?!!" Oliver, Fred and George yelled at once. Oliver's fork hit the ground.

It was silence for a few shocked moments, before the twins launched into their tirade.

"Preposterous! We were there, in the compartment, weren't we?"

"Yeah! Nothing happened, except for that stupid git Malfoy nearly wetting himself. Bet he neglected to mention that little detail."

"Well, you're not alone with the rumor spreading, Ol," Alicia consoled. "Poor Harry's getting bothered by Malfoy, too. I didn't exactly lie when I said that Malfoy was spreading rumors about him, too."

"Yeah, well, his rumors don't involve kissing men," Oliver muttered sullenly, but no one heard. They were all now talking to Harry, Hermione and Ron about Harry's fainting attack. Oliver sighed, turning now to his still empty plate, not feeling very hungry at the moment, until he remembered that he had hardly eaten the previous night. He served himself some scrambled eggs, and bacon (dipped in syrup, it was his favorite). He ate in silence, listening to the chatter and gossip (and indignant outraged shouts at Malfoy's gossiping) around him, hardly paying attention to the morning swoop of owls and the gasps of first years at this everyday spectacle. He didn't get any mail. He only looked up later when he saw timetables being passed down the table. He took his, glancing down at the familiar rows of classes with the addition of one not so familiar one. Well, this wasn't going to be too different, really, just Muggle Studies where a 'study hour' (also known as 'Quidditch practice' to Oliver) should have been.

Nine o'clock, Charms, ten fifteen, Defense Against the Dark Arts, a double with Slytherin, eleven thirty, Muggle Studies (which had so few students that all the houses were together in the same class) then lunch at twelve thirty. Oliver was pleased to see that his afternoon was mostly free, the only class after lunch being Care of Magical Creatures. Good. The harder academics, like Potions and Transfiguration, would wait until tomorrow.

He heard another burst of laughter from the Slytherin table, louder this time. He turned slowly, just daring that brat to say anything more. Luckily, he was only doing a ridiculous impression of Harry fainting. George turned to Fred.

"Whaddaya think, should we do our impression of Malfoy bolting into our compartment and crying in a corner?" He made light of it, but his voice dripped venom.

Fred just glared on, looking as if he was attempting to burn holes in Flint's head with his eyes alone. "Don't look now, but Head Boy's getting himself into some trouble." He muttered. Oliver looked anyway. Percy had walked over to the guffawing Slytherins, indeed looking as Head Boy-ish as he possibly could. Oliver saw the terse, dissaproving line of his mouth move stiffly, obviously telling them to quiet down. The Slytherins just laughed harder, and Oliver could faintly hear Malfoy's next comment from where he sat. "Oh, look, it's one of the queers himself! Your boyfriend too tired to come stick up for you?" The guffawing was now particularly violent. Percy's face got very red. He said one last thing, though the Slytherins paid no mind, and haughtily walked back to the Prefect's table, looking as stiff and dignified as ever. Right then and there, Oliver knew that there would be hell to pay for those bastards.

He could feel his face getting red, and it never did that, his brow furrowing and his teeth clenching. He could feel the violent pumping of his heart push hot blood through his veins. He didn't care if they knocked him, if they called him names and poked fun, but the one thing he could do was protect Percy from the torment. Before Oliver knew what happened, everything seemed to stop. The whole Hall was dim and faded, like the background of an old cartoon, all the sounds melting away. All Oliver could hear was his beating heart, all he could see was that arrogant little ponce's smug face. His thoughts were hardly there, replaced with raw emotion unlike any he had ever felt, just hate, hate hate hate dully throbbing somewhere. And coming out of nowhere was the rush of energy, of anger and bitterness to all who were cruel, the color and sound to the hall came back in a large crescendo, and Malfoy's porridge bowl was overturned on his head, the smug look giving way to momentary shock. Rage spread across his pointed face as he spluttered in outrage. Nearly everyone at the Gryffindor table erupted in laughter, and only then did Oliver fully shake himself out of the daze he was in. He had never done magic that strong, even with a wand.

Malfoy was cursing like a sailor, a rather aristocratic sounding sailor, removing the bowl from his slicked back head and furiously trying to wipe the porridge off. There seemed to be an issue with the combination of porridge and expensive hair gel. His two main cronies were silent and nervous, getting up to follow him when he got up and dashed out of the Hall, careful not to enrage him any further. The twins were in fits, laughing so hard. "The look on his face! I swear, I will kiss whoever did that!" Fred yelled, pounding his fist on the table in mirth. Oliver laughed with them, more at this statement (as he didn't fancy being kissed by a Weasley twin) than the actual occurence. For a moment, he wondered if he had really done anything at all, if it wasn't just Peeves, or someone else. He took an instinctive glance at the staff table, wondering if any (rather, how many, as it was hard to miss) teachers saw. To his horror, Professor McGonagall was staring straight at him with what could only be described as mild interest. I'm a deadman... Oliver inwardly groaned. McGonagall leaned over to Dumbledore, muttering something to him but never taking her eyes off Oliver. Dumbledore listened, eyes moving from where Malfoy had been to the laughing Gryffindor table, to straight at Oliver. His mysterious, mischevious looking blue eyes searched Oliver's, and finally his gaze left, and he went back to talking with Professor Sinistra. Oliver's jaw went slack. Just like that? He couldn't beleive it! The man had just witnessed a mysterious happening that had personally humiliated one of his students, stared right at the culprit, then went on with his conversation, as if nothing happened! Oliver was totally bewildered. Thankful, but bewildered. Perhaps this meant that he wouldn't get into any trouble... then again, perhaps not.

There it was, right on cue, the tingling on the back of his neck. Percy again. Oliver slowly turned around, meeting the familiar stare of a redfaced Percy Weasley. Blue eyes looking more sorrowful than ever, behind those glasses, those glasses that had become the bane of Oliver's existence, he communicated wordlessly to Oliver. Neither of them looked away. It was a mutual sort of thing, these long stares, a silent agreement of understanding. Oliver knew just how Percy felt, embarrassed and downtrodden, yet he just couldn't bear to show anyone, couldn't bear to be weak. And Oliver knew that it wasn't just to save face with his peers, more so to prove to himself that he wasn't weak. Oliver didn't know how he did, but he knew. There was also something else in Percy's eyes, something that Oliver wouldn't have expected, but recognized clearly. Gratitude. Was it gratitude toward Oliver? And what for? Did he somehow know that it was Oliver that overturned the porridge bowl, if he did at all? Already, this day had brought on more questions than Oliver would have liked.