Woot! Two pages! Go me! (dances 'I'm-on-a-roll' dance, jinxes it and collapses in a heap of depression and writer's block) I give the much awaited chapter two, centred on our darling Oliver and opening with a lovely fresh-out-of-the-shower scene. I spoil you guys, don't I? (amuses herself with candle wax, curses as it stains the carpet, then not-so-subtly hides stain underneath bin.) Yeah, when playing with wax, concentrate on where you're dripping it, folks. Don't want to risk a grounding like me (hides from mum).

Um, so yeah. Chapter two.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Belongs to J.K.Rowling (cries at injustice). I just borrowed the characters, and the school, and played. A lot. But I ain't making money out of it, so there. Can't sue. (pokes out tongue)

Summary: Its April fool's day and Fred and George are on the warpath. And who should the poor defenceless targets be, other than our darlings Percy and Oliver? What follows is utter carnage, and some wonderful Fred and George moments, even if I do say so myself. Read and enjoy.

Warning: Though there is no actual 'getting together' (no matter how much fun that would be), all throughout there is the suggestion that there might be. So if even the thought of a guy loving another guy makes you want to puke, you should not read this. So don't. Or else. (A/N – my MSN screen name is 'Sam says Homophobia is gay!', so don't go all homophobic on me coz I'll get really pissed off and nasty). Oh! And I used a bad word!

Dedication: For Mel (aka – Veritas Indolentia Adamo), my partner in all things slashy!

Notes: This is Oliver's turn to get a letter, but he reacts a little differently than Percy did. I have a feeling Harry's slightly out of canon in this, but if it is so painfully so then I will give an explanation for his out-of-character-ness. The explanation is this: he has a crush on Oliver. There. Be happy.

When Oliver came out of his shower he found that Percy was gone. He assumed that his swot-of-a-roommate had just gone down to the library for some Saturday morning studying or something equally exciting, and thought nothing strange of the fact that Percy had foregone his usual morning routine of making Oliver's bed for him, while simultaneously lecturing him on the importance of clearing up after one's self. After all, despite the absence of Percy's lecture knocking Oliver's day out of synch, he was just too drugged up on early morning lethargy to give it too much thought. And so he went about getting dressed for breakfast, oblivious to the possibility that anything might be wrong.

It was at breakfast, during a 'heated discussion' with Angelina and Alicia over suggested Chaser tactics, when Oliver first noticed something odd about Percy's behaviour. He spied him sitting quite on his own on the far opposite end of the table, staring morosely at his porridge as though it knew the answer to all the world's problems and simply wouldn't tell him. Deciding that the boy obviously needed a healthy debate to distract him from whatever woes had betided themselves upon him; Oliver flagged him over to join him and the girls in their conversation. However, upon looking up and recognising Oliver, Percy's eyes widened in terror and he jumped up from the table and fled.

"What in the name of Merlin was that all about?" asked Angelina, staring after the departed Weasley in pure and utter confusion.

Oliver shook his head. "Don't ask me. He was fine this morning."

"Well, what have you done to him since then? He looked at you as if you were about to hex him!"

"Well, it is April Fool's day." He sighed. "Maybe his paranoia has spread from the twins to me."

Alicia smiled. "Well, when you're Head Boy and older brother to the Weasley twins, you're bound to be a little paranoid on April Fool's day. The boy's a prank magnet!" Both girls laughed at the thought of Percy's misery, but Oliver merely frowned at the door. Alicia was right: Percy was a prank magnet. He was also helplessly gullible and susceptible to even the mildest of deception. It was worrying just how vulnerable Percy was, and Oliver decided that he would take it upon himself to protect his roommate for the period of that day (aw!). So he excused himself from the girls' company and power-walked out of the hall in pursuit of Percy.

"Percy?" Oliver poked his head through the door to his and Percy's dormitory and surveyed the room. No one was there to answer him.

That's strange, he thought. He wasn't in the library either. Maybe I should go and check the Astronomy Tower… Oliver turned to scurry off and search for Percy further when he spied something alien sitting neatly upon the pillow of his freshly made bed. Curiosity got the better of him and he swooped down upon this foreign object, finding it to be a letter of sorts. It had to be from Percy, as only Percy would be so formal as to leave a letter on someone's pillow, or so Oliver's rapidly thinking brain told him. So he wrenched the parchment from its previously neat envelope and read it, though he ignored little nagging signals such as 'Percy doesn't use such girly flourishes' and 'He never calls me Ollie'. Although later he wished that he hadn't…

(A/N – imagine the girlyflourishes, people)

Dearest Oliver,

I dread to write this letter as I fear the consequences it might bring about, but I'm afraid I can no longer go on living a lie. Although we have shared years of wonderful friendship, I regret to say I have always wanted more from you. I know we always joked about girls, and at low points we used to say we would be better off without them, but I never really cared about girls, Ollie. I only ever cared about you.

I know it's just so unoriginal to fall in love with the most popular boy at school, especially when he's a Quidditch Captain, but I really couldn't help it. I am hopelessly in love with you. And now I have to go to bed every night knowing you're just a few feet away. It's torture, because I know that you could never feel the same way about me. I'm just Percy. Boring old Percy. And you're you. Fantastic, wonderful you.

It started out as just a crush. I used to get butterflies in my stomach when you were around. Then as we grew older, that crush turned to lust, and the butterflies moved somewhere else entirely. (A/N – smirks) I am so sorry if this makes you uncomfortable, but I couldn't hide it any longer. I can only hope you'll still want anything to do with me after this. I couldn't bear you hating me, but I accept there is a large risk of that happening, and I understand. I'm not too crazy about myself right now, either.

Please Oliver, I know this will be a huge shock, but at least think things through before you completely discard me. If you can stand the sight of me, meet me at the lake after lunch so that things can be said face to face that can't be done justice through a letter.

Yours eternally,

Love from,

Percy

xxx

Oliver read the letter through a total of three and a half times before it actually sunk in. When it did, he gave a cry of, "Great beards of Merlin!" before proceeding to tear out a small chunk of his hair in desperation. What was he going to do? What did this mean for him and Percy? Was Percy giving him an ultimatum: Be my boyfriend or nothing else? And if he wasn't, could Oliver go on being friends with Percy knowing that the guy was mentally undressing him all the time? How did he go from seeking to protect Percy to thinking about never talking to him again? Oliver flopped down onto his bed and thought. Hard. At least he knew why Percy was acting so weird at breakfast, although that didn't help him with what to do about it. What was there to do?

"Hello? Oliver?" Harry Potter's voice snapped Oliver out of his deep thoughts as the boy appeared at the doorway.

"Oh, hiya Harry! What's up?"

"Just wondering what time Quidditch practice was tomorrow. You never actually said."

Oliver grinned the evil grin that only a Quidditch Captain can grin at his unsuspecting team-mates, "Um…how about the crack of dawn? Nothing like an inhumanely early start, don't you think?"

Harry gaped helplessly. "That's unfair because you're serious." He watched his captain beam with a completely uncaring expression and sighed. "How on earth do you get up so early?"

"I have Percy as my own personal alarm clock." Oliver replied without thinking. Then his face fell and he retreated into the silence Harry had found him in. He was instantly concerned. Oliver and Percy had obviously had a falling out, judging from Oliver's face.

"Is everything alright? I mean, with you and Percy?"

It was Oliver's turn to sigh. "Something sort of happened." He saw Harry's expectant expression and wearily held out the letter. Harry took it and skimmed through. As he reached the end he looked like he was about to burst.

"Did you get this today?" he asked. Oliver nodded, causing Harry to explode with laughter, clutching at his sides and doubling over to the point of his glasses slipping off of his nose. Oliver was, understandably, confused, and maybe even a little offended, but patiently waited until Harry was done before demanding to know why he was laughing.

"Oh, Oliver!" Harry wheezed. "I can't believe you fell for it!"

"Fell for what?" Oliver asked, but as soon as the words left his mouth he knew what Harry meant; it was April Fool's Day, and he was the biggest fool ever! He had been duped by Percy, of all people!

"I'm going to kill that Weasley!" he growled, which only set Harry off again. "What is it now?" he demanded, placing his hands on his hips in a scarily Percy-like manner. This didn't help to cease Harry's hysterics, though he eventually managed to achieve some sense of self control and calmed himself down enough to set Oliver straight,

"Percy didn't write that letter. In fact, he's got a matching one from you. He was a right mess this morning when he was telling Ron about it. He was daft enough to believe his too!"

"You mean Percy's got a letter like this one…from me?"

"Yes."

"So he thinks…"

"Yes."

"Shit! I've got to talk to him before lunch!" Oliver sprang to his feet and tore out of the dormitory like a speeding bludger, calling out a hurried 'Thanks!' to Harry before leaping over an armchair or three, misjudging it and falling flat on his face in a tangled mass of limbs and furniture. He's only smooth on the Quidditch pitch, you see.

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