Huge thank-you's and cupcakes to Nichol for the beta (she's a very lovely person who writes here under GeorgeandFredWeasley, so please check her stuff out). Wow – look at those reviews! Thank you very much, they are always surprising to receive and so much fun to read, I truly appreciate every single one of them :)

Disclaimer: JK Rowling and Warner Bros. own Harry Potter. No copyright infringement is intended. (Oh, but I own Dave and Karen)

Note: With credit/apology to Joss Whedon's "Angel" and the episode "Epiphany" (which inspired the end of this chapter).

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Chapter 4: Quidditch Practice (1)

In the stand nearest the goalpost, Percy sat amongst his books and papers, his wand fastened behind his head boy badge and charmed to cast a faint glow at its tip. Occasionally, a swift wind would pass by and he would look onto the field, trying to deduce which player had flown by. But his eyes were accustomed to his own light and the work he brought, and all he saw on the pitch were dark shadows against dim moonlight.

The sound of basic instructions bellowed in a heavier than normal Scottish accent provided the only clues to Oliver's nearby presence. Muttered grunts and excessive profanity would drift his way, only to be interrupted by another "Fly Higher!" or "Defense!" or "I said, FIND THE SNITCH! Not DITCH!" order. After nearly three hours of practice, Percy was more than content with his athletically-challenged, book-driven existence (which was subsequently confirmed when Percy heard Oliver yell, "Rogue Snitch! Duck, Perce! ").

He'd almost snapped his wand after that one.

Percy rubbed his cold hands together and tried hard to concentrate, staring at the blurred words of his textbook. But he had long since finished his work and now his thoughts had turned to his duties. Normally, he'd be finishing his head boy chores around this time, having already completed the Monday night tutorials in the library earlier. As there were no other prefects for Gryffindor this year, he'd head back to his house and attend to the prefect's duties, usually finding time to write his daily report once everyone was sound asleep. And if the headmaster believed that the halls required further surveillance, he would have to patrol until the early-morning hours.

Bending his head back, Percy yawned deeply, waving a lazy hand in front of his mouth. He was never lacking for responsibilities, especially in a school the size of Hogwarts, and often just thinking about his duties sent a wave of fatigue through him. And yet, similar to Oliver's passion for Quidditch, there was no other way he'd rather spend his school years.

His thoughts drifted back to earlier that evening when he was speaking with Oliver, who hovered so close and stared hard into his eyes. A shudder of embarrassment ran through him at the memory of realizing he was staring back, and Percy hoped his roommate hadn't detected anything different. Thankfully, the others arrived before- Before what, Percy wondered before he shook his head at his foolish thoughts. Whatever had he been thinking earlier?

His reflections on the dormitory suddenly reminded him of Hermione and Ron and, consulting his watch once more (small hand pointed to Head Boy Duties), he reasoned that they should be finishing their shift about now. I hope they didn't have too many problems, he thought, laying his head against the edge of the seat behind him and resting his eyes.

If there was a problem, Dave was there, he reassured himself. And Penelope. And Adam, too. He'd be with her… There, tonight…

Taking a sigh, Percy felt himself drift into sleep. He felt so very tired.

A muscle spasm jerked his leg, driving his eyes open once more, and he glanced down at his watch. The small hand hadn't moved. Well, when did it, he thought amusedly, closing his eyes once more. I can do this, he reassured himself, trying to allow the tension to leave his body. I'm not the first one that's had to give up some authority. The other prefects will watch over Hermione. And Ron. Adam will watch Penelope. With those brown eyes of his. Like Oliver's. No, not as nice as Oliver's…

Percy yawned again, drifting back into a deep sleep.

THUD!

"WESLEYS! WHAT THAT HELL ARE YOU DOING TO ANGELINA? DOES SHE LOOK LIKE A BLUNGER TO YOU?"

Jumping from his seat, Percy's textbooks scattered around him. His wand flung off his badge and landed in his lap where (thankfully) he tossed it aside and narrowly avoided an embarrassing incident. Ignoring the mess around him, he squinted his eyes as he leaned over the railing and stared down onto the pitch. After a few tense seconds, his hair blew as the wind shifted upwards, and he wasn't surprised when he heard a Scottish accent yell from right above him, "SHE'S ALRIGHT. EVERYONE HIT THE SHOWERS."

"About time," Percy muttered, staring at the burn in his robe and wondering how long it would take him to repair.

--

Carrying the Quidditch supplies he found laying around the field, Oliver nodded at his teammates as they passed out of the Gryffindor locker room. After a grueling practice, he often found himself tidying the field alone, waiting until his weary (and usually upset) players finished showering. Judging by the few nods returned, tonight's practice would leave them bitter for days. Well, at least till Gryffindor won their next game, he reminded himself. Then he'd get the smiles.

After all his teammates left the room, Oliver undressed slowly, careful to avoid the newly scarred areas. The practice had been particularly hard on his body, his left shoulder already starting to bruise from when he raced down to catch Angelina's fall. He knew he'd have a purple mark on his hip, where the rogue snitch caught him instead of Percy. And the back of his legs… He shuddered at the thought. He didn't want to know what it looked like back there.

Stripped to his underwear, Oliver sat on a bench and closed his eyes. He could make out the vague sound of voices coming from just outside the locker room door.

"How'd it look, Percy?" Must be Harry. Only he would still be personable after tonight.

"It looked great. Though it was a bit difficult to see in the dark. I'm sure that would help your intuition, though. Right?"

Oliver smiled, his eyes still closed, and for a brief moment, he could see Dave sitting around him, talking about Quidditch as they often did, and Percy sitting silently as he concentrated on his books. And then, just when they believed to have reasoned out every possible strategy, Percy would look up and announce everything that was wrong about their plans, going so far as to prove his point using an empty classroom and ten pieces of chalk.

As the school year raced by, he had come to realize how much he cherished times such as those. There wasn't a day that went by when he wondered how he got so lucky, or how he was going to manage without them come June.

Running his fingers absentmindedly through his hair, Oliver's thoughts turned to the day's events. He was well aware of just how lucky he and Percy had been. If the Slytherins hadn't gotten detention, or if Plum's class had been earlier that day, or if they weren't already close friends- Oliver shuddered at the thought. It all seemed surreal, like a movie or some comical plot of an 80's sitcom.

Walking to the showers, he glanced at himself in the mirror, his eyes focusing on an older scar, one that was unrelated to Quidditch, which ran down his abdomen and past the black elastic band of his underwear. Yet another reminder of my popularity, he thought wryly, tossing the clothing aside and hurrying into a steamy shower. And yet another reason he wouldn't leave his roommate alone this week. Under the water, his fingers traced the mark, and he wondered if Percy's position as head boy, if his relationship with Penelope, would be enough to keep something like this from happening to him.

Turning off the water and briefly resting his head on the cold tiled wall, Oliver muttered, "It will just have to be." Images of being pushed against these same tiles, as the Slytherin team came in upset from a game loss and taking their frustrations out on Oliver, came flooding back to him. The thought of this - something – anything – happening to Percy was too much to take and, grabbing a towel with his hand, he rapidly tied it around his waist, and walked back towards the locker area.

Trying to empty his mind of the day, he whistled absentmindedly. He ran his hands through dripping hair, only vaguely aware of the trail of water left behind him. His eyes skimmed the corner of the room, searching out the underwear he tossed aside, when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck brush up. He surveyed the room, his eyes eventually adjusting under the florescent lighting to notice Percy huddled on a bench in the corner.

The redhead was watching him through half-lidded eyes, his hands neatly folded on his hap. When Oliver had spotted him, he smiled. "Ol? Why is a Scottish lad such as yourself singing 'When Irish Eyes are Smiling?'"

Taken off guard, Oliver laughed heartily, pushing his earlier worries aside, and started towards Percy's bench. "Didn't even realize. My mum would sing it all the time. It was catchy, you know?"

Percy nodded. "Like 'Achy Breaky Heart.' I just couldn't seem to get it out of my head when I was younger."

Any restraint Oliver might have shown was destroyed in the late night hour, and he couldn't stop the laughter that spilled forth. He tightened his hand on the towel knot and leaned against a locker opposite his roommate. "You're a mystery, Perce. You really are. But we should best keep that to ourselves, I think. If the twins ever-"

As he spoke, Oliver's eyes had been searching the room, trying to spot the area he dropped his clothing. But there was no sign of any clothing anywhere – not his practice clothing, his robe or even his underwear. All of his clothing was missing save for the sneakers that sat on Percy's bench. Shoelaces tied.

"What is it, Ol?" Percy's voice was quiet, similar to the tone he used whenever Gryffindor lost a game.

"Your brothers," he said slowly, trying to quell his temper. "Your brothers. They. Stole. My. Clothes."

"Come again?" Percy asked, an eyebrow cocked, and Oliver could see the corners of his lips twitch.

"Oh, Perce."

He sat on the bench, bent over, his elbows resting on his knees and his head resting on fists. He felt Percy place a warm hand on his bare shoulder, and winced. The gesture was common amongst them, especially when accompanied by a hot cup of something and the revelation of a hidden stash of chocolate. But to feel those long fingers on his bare shoulder surprised Oliver, the memories of earlier that evening coming back to him. Percy and bright blue eyes, breath of … God, how Percy must hate him. Oliver forced himself to look up.

"Er- thanks, Perce. It's all right. They do that sometimes. Usually after a long practice," he managed a tight smile. Lately, even with his love of Quidditch, the pressures of the game and his lack of time outside of the pitch seemed to make everything that went wrong feel more serious than (he knew) it actually was.

"I did see them duck back in here while Harry and I were chatting. Here," Percy stood, removing his cloak, and handed it to Oliver. "I'm wearing a heavy sweater underneath, anyways."

With a grateful smile, Oliver took the robe and, dropping his towel, wrapped it around him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Percy stiffen and turn to face the other wall. He was about to make a snide remark when:

"Ol, what's that scar from?"

"You mean, which game is it from? Honestly Perce, there are other ways to injure oneself other than muscle strains from lifting textbooks."

"Not true. I've a bruise on my foot when I knocked some off the library table yesterday," his roommate teased, finally turning back around to face him. His tone grew serious as he added, "And you know what scar I mean. That's not from any game, Ol."

His heart pounding, Oliver concentrated on buttoning his robe, watching his fingers with interest, and pretended to only half hear his roommate. Feeling Percy's unwavering stare, he bent down to lace his shoes and tried to change the subject.

"You laced my sneakers?"

Percy sighed. As though realizing he wouldn't get a clear answer out of Oliver, he said, "It's a compulsion."

"That 'P' on your sweater for 'prefect,' 'perfect' or 'Percy?'"

"Sometimes it stands for 'Piss Off,' actually."

"I didn't know 'khaki' was a Hogwarts-approved color for pants."

"Your point?"

Finishing with the laces, Oliver stood. "No point. Wouldn't want to upset you, Tough Guy."

The redhead hit him gently, smiling, and then picked up a knapsack. "That's Head Boy Tough Guy to you. Hey Ol, you know that anytime you need-"

"Yeah. I know. We'd better beat it, Perce. Any longer and-"

"I'd have to fine myself. I know, I know. Really, it's time for a new one, Ol."

Chuckling behind him, Oliver picked up his supplies and followed Percy towards the castle. Overtired from the day's events (and weary from the late practice), both boys walked swiftly through Hogwarts, not minding their eerie surroundings or the comfortable silence between them.

Percy muttered the password to enter the Gryffindor dormitories, and they ducked inside only to hear:

"Damn. I told you Percy would lend him his robe."

"Had to see it to believe it."

"A little drafty under there, Wood?"

Oliver followed Percy's quick walk up the stairs, not looking at the twins. He muttered in passing, "Honestly, fellows. Let's see a little originality next time. Or at least, this effort put into something worthwhile like Quidditch."

"You're not training them hard enough, Wood," Percy mumbled, and Oliver could tell he was trying not to smile with him. In a much louder voice, he continued to call behind him, "Fred, George. It's late. Go to bed."

"And is that where you two are going?" George yelled up the stairs.

"Yes. Just as you two are, I'm sure."

Oliver laughed softly, hearing the twins set up the stairs after them, complaining and (it seemed) trying to assure each other that tomorrow would bring more opportunities. How are we going to make it through six more days of twin antics, he thought, hearing the twins enter the fifth-year room.

A strong wave of fatigue settled over Oliver as he entered the room and dumped the Quidditch supplies onto the couch. After a swish of his wand that turned on the kettle beside his bed, he grabbed his clothes and changed quickly in the bathroom down the hall. He heard a whistle as he walked back, barefoot, and entered the room to see Percy carefully spooning cocoa into one mug. Beside it, a teabag string hung out of chipped teacup.

"One more scoop, Perce. I need it."

Already in his tatty pinstriped pajamas, Percy silently dumped another spoonful of cocoa before stirring both cups with his wand and handing the mug to Oliver.

"Thanks."

Percy nodded, heading towards his bed with his teacup and a book under his arm. Papers were sticking out of the cover of the book and, noticing Oliver staring at them with a curious look to his face, he explained, "Hermione left a letter. I'm just about to read it."

"Oh?" Oliver said, his voice pitching up as though he were trying to encourage Percy to continue. Which, of course, he was.

Percy sat on his bed, the cover already pulled back, and skimmed the letter. His eyes not leaving the page, he took a short sip of his tea before placing it on the nightstand, and then drew his legs under the sheets with the cover pulled tightly under his chin. For a brief moment, Oliver thought he wasn't going share what he was reading until he heard him say thoughtfully, "She did well. Looks like Dave kept making sure she was all right. There was a brief altercation with the fourth years-"

"Figures," Oliver muttered, sipping his too-hot hot chocolate.

"But he smoothed things over."

Oliver looked over his mug. "Doesn't sound like Dave."

"Fourth-year girls."

Oliver nodded, turning his attention back to his drink. "Sounds like Dave."

Percy placed the letter on his nightstand and picked up his teacup, holding it thoughtfully in both hands. "I know Hermione won't mind helping again tomorrow, but-"

"You want to keep on top of things, I know," Oliver said, smiling as he met Percy's gaze. "We'll figure out something tomorrow. Did she really finish all of that list you had?"

"Quite a bit of it. More than I thought she would," the redhead admitted, running a finger absentmindedly over the chipped rim.

After a silent moment, Oliver said quietly, "I appreciate what you did tonight. I didn't think we could have missed that practice. You know, sometimes it seems…" He trailed off.

Percy gave him a small smile. "I'm not sure you'll feel as good about the practice tomorrow. That was pretty tough out there. From what I could hear, that is."

"Yeah, it was," Oliver said quietly, draining the last of his cocoa. "You know, Perce… Sometimes, I-…" He trailed off, unsure of how to vocalize how he was feeling.

"I know, Ol."

"It's just – hard, you know?"

"Yes. That it is."

Oliver looked up to see Percy nodding slowly, staring at the pattern on his teacup. In a heavy tone that he had meant to sound light and carefree, he said hurriedly, "Kinda funny, isn't it? How it's only you and me here, together in Gryffindor, with nobody else for this year. Do you ever wonder who would have been prefect if there were no Gryffindors seven years ago? Who would be head boy? Or Keeper, even?"

A sigh came from across the room that sounded sad and weighted with fatigue. "I do, yes."

Silence.

Oliver yawned. He knew he should be climbing under the covers and turning out the light, but his silent fears, brought on with the late hour, were too pressing to stop him from quietly muttering, "Sometimes, I wonder if it's all worth it."

"The load does feel heavy at times," Percy paused. "A lot of times."

"Aye."

"But," his roommate continued, as though he hadn't been interrupted, "I never question whether or not it's worth it."

"Well, of course. With your future plans for-"

Percy jerked his head up, his eyes suddenly aware. "No," he said quickly, then lowered his gaze back to his teacup. "That's not all of it. Not all of it at all." He took another gulp before placing it on the nightstand, picking up his wand to mutter a quick charm before the room dissolved into darkness.

As Oliver turned to tuck himself under his blankets, he was surprised to hear Percy speak again, his voice heavy and his words measured. "We do good work, Ol, and perhaps I'm being sentimental, I don't know. But I think the extra hours in the library or the Quidditch pitch are worth every single minute that we put in. And more."

"I know that. But even you have to admit, there are times it seems-"

"Hard. Damn hard," his roommate interrupted. Oliver jumped a bit, startled at the strong voice that now came at him in the dark. "But I wouldn't stop doing what I do if I began to fail my classes or the ministry collapsed, or even if I was relegated to janitorial duty in Myrtle's toilet!"

Oliver took a deep breathing, pausing for thought. His roommates' words were unexpected and they hung in the air for an awkward moment, until a much softer voice said:

"Does it really matter that you're the Quidditch captain and I'm the head boy? The titles that describe what roles our hard work, our qualities, earned. But you can take away this badge and I'd still watch out for the younger years and keep the older students in line. Give up my free time to tutor others. And that's a far greater reason to keep going, more important than my parents' and Dumbledore's approval, or even the admiration of the entire study body at Hogwarts. Even more than a line on a resume."

He continued, pausing only briefly for a quick breath. "And I know you'd still be out there everyday, even if you weren't the captain – hell! Even if you weren't on the team, you'd be at the pitch, pushing the players to do better, to think faster on their brooms." Percy's voice trailed off, and Oliver could hear the emotion in it as he said, even more gently, "I just want to make a difference. Because… If I don't make it through Hogwarts or to the ministry or become minister, then…" his voice kept trailing, as though he thought he words sounded meek.

After a moment, Oliver chanced saying, "Then what, Perce?"

He heard his roommate take a deep breath. "Then the only good change I would have made is in my time here. And what I do here, what I make of myself and especially, what I can give to others, is all that matters in the end."

Oliver sunk back into his pillows, the meaning of Percy's words hitting him hard and, though his words felt true, he had never been able to vocalize precisely why he continued on when life seemed dim. When there were no more games to be won, or he was recovering from yet another assault (physical or verbal, they seemed all the same sometimes), or even when he wondered why he had gone to a place as academically prestigious as Hogwarts rather than a more sports-involved school.

And Percy was right. Right. For all the times he wondered why, there were dozens (seemingly hundreds) of memories when he found a new promising Quidditch player, or participated in a new teammate's first game win, or experienced that rush of excitement as he realized the extra practice paid off.

His hands shaking, Oliver slid his legs under the sheets and lifted a heavy quilt up his chest. His roommate knew him well, and though Oliver believed he knew his roommate as much, the intense feeling of pride and accomplishment that surged inside surprised him. For all the times he had known Percy and seen all his good as well as his not-so-good traits, he never thought he could take such kind and gentle words and use them in a way that touched him so deeply. And then, perhaps, Oliver mused, Percy needed to hear himself say those words just as much as he did.

"Perce?"

"Yeah?"

Oliver smiled, and he hoped Percy could sense his expression as he sunk further into his pillows and said contently, "Thanks."

And as he closed his eyes and tried to quiet his mind, it occurred to Oliver that he was finding there was quite a bit more to his friend than he had known this morning.

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Next Time: The happy couple enters the second day of their assignment. They're inspired, a little confused, and determined to find out what's going on.