Oliver was big enough to admit he wasn't the most observant bloke out there. Few things grabbed ahold of his attention and kept it like quidditch could; combine that with the load of course work he was given and maintaining some semblance of a social life-things just flew right under his nose. He knew that. He was fairly sure all of Gryffindor knew that, the whole school even. It certainly wasn't a secret.

Back in his first year, when he first met Weasley, they'd just been sorted and were sitting at the Gryffindor table alongside the rest of the house. Oliver had been all but bouncing in his seat as he stared down a little ways at Charlie Weasley, Gryffindor's brilliant seeker. He'd heard some students talking on the train about Charlie. Apparently, he was really good and most were hopeful that they'd win the cup this year. To Oliver, it was like getting close to one of the legendary players that played in the professional leagues. Oh, if next year he managed to secure a spot on the same team as Charlie, it'd be a dream come true!

Sitting across from Oliver was Weasley. His uniform seemed a bit oversized, as did his glasses, he pushed them upside his nose repeatedly. He, unlike the other sorted first years, didn't make a ton of noise or chatter excitedly to the others around them. Oliver knew he and Charlie-and Bill too as he came to learn about the oldest one-were related simply by their hair. Much the outgoing person, a trait he inherited from his dad, he extended his hand to Weasley and introduced himself.

"I'm Oliver," he said. His smile faltered, a frown coming into place when Weasley took a second longer to shake his hand, more so out of politeness than genuine kindness. At least, that was how Oliver took it. "Oliver Wood."

"Percy," Weasley said in a sort of dull voice. "Percy Weasley."

"You're related to Charlie, aren't you?" Oliver couldn't help but ask. He was sure, yes, but he needed the confirmation.

Weasley's lips thinned at the question. He seemed displeased, which didn't make sense to Oliver. He only asked about his brother. What was his problem? "Yes," he eventually said. "He's my older brother."

"Wicked," Oliver breathed. "I'm an only child. You're so lucky. I hear he's a seeker."

Weasley was disgruntled by his gushing. "Yes, he is."

"I also heard-"

He was cut off by a glare, a look that reeked of disapproval reminiscent of when his mum would give Oliver when she would catch him trying to sneak outside to fly on his dad's broom. Technically an illegal stunt to pull considering they lived in a muggle neighborhood. But, eh, not like anyone had to know about that.

"Do you mind?" Weasley said rudely, keeping his voice at a hushed level. "Some of us are trying to listen. If you wish to talk, please do it with someone else. You really shouldn't be, though."

Oliver scowled. As childishly as it was, right then and there, he made up his mind that he didn't like Weasley all that much. None at all. It wasn't like he shouted and besides, Professor McGonagall was still sorting through the rest of their year so he wouldn't have missed anything important.

And he didn't have to be so rotten about it either.

Oliver wasn't happy to learn he and Weasley were going to be each other's only dorm mates. Their year didn't have as many students as the ones before them, even less Gryffindors so it ended up just being the two of them. That night, Weasley curtly suggested they split the room in half so as they had their own space and wouldn't risk intruding on the other. It was a decent compromise, but Oliver found himself irritated anyway.

Did Weasley think he was too good to share the same side as Oliver? He didn't speak after that, preferring to carefully lay out his uniform for the next day, ensuring his school bag was filled with everything he'd need and curled up on his bed with a thick book that Oliver couldn't imagine someone wanting to read voluntarily.

For the next few years, he and Weasley went their separate ways. By the end of their first year, definitely at the start of their second, Oliver wasn't upset anymore. He didn't hold grudges against people-okay, he might have against Flint but he hardly counted as a person. More than one occasion he heard the Flints had troll blood in them, which would make so much sense. That didn't mean he tried to go out of his way to associate with his dorm mate, though.

They weren't compatible by any means of the word. Weasley was too...too...too opposite for them to work together as friends. He was uptight, a stickler for the rules and always seemed in favor of doing mundane things like reading or studying. Not to mention his aversion to quidditch. Oliver was unable to fathom how such a thing was possible, especially in the kind of family Weasley was born into.

So, over the course of their school years, they essentially lived separate lives. Oliver had his heart dead set on scoring a position on Puddlemere United after graduation. It meant that every waking moment he'd need to prepare for those upcoming try-outs. He did just that, also making sure he was getting decent grades to please his parents and Professor McGonagall. When he was accepted onto the team by Charlie, she sat him down in her office and sternly told him should his grades fall, he was to be benched immediately until they improved. He didn't have a shred of doubt she was serious and he wasn't going to risk it. That, and his parents warned him numerous times prior to him leaving for the train during second year, they would tell McGonagall to take away his broom if it happened in addition to any punishment he would receive when he came back home.

Needless to say, Oliver understood the message loud and clear.

Weasley was doing his own thing, too. Studying constantly for the career he aspired to have. Whatever that may have been, Oliver wasn't sure. Probably striving to get into some high uppity job in the ministry. He could see his dorm mate doing that; wearing pristine robes, hair slicked back and having meetings with important people on a daily basis.

It didn't bother him that he didn't share some special bond with his dorm mate. Sure, he imagined things differently, where they get close and have majority or all of the same interests, but he wasn't going to cry because things didn't work out that way. Oliver made friends elsewhere, who did share his enthusiasm for things like quidditch. As for Percy, well, Oliver didn't pay too much attention to him. He just figured he must have found people to hang around as well. The Ravenclaws, perhaps. They were studious and serious. He couldn't have just been alone.

That was impossible. It was Hogwarts, for crying out loud. No one other than a Slytherin would do that.

Right?

The guilt was eating at him more than anything he felt before. The ache was worse than losing a match. It was the most terrible feeling he couldn't shake off or make it go away with a potion and sleep. This was raw. This was real. Merlin, how of all things did Oliver miss this? There must have been signs. A person doesn't just decide to do...that out of nowhere. No, people don't do things like that. They stew on it, they think about it for a long while and make plans about doing it and-

Oliver felt sick.

There were signs. There had to have been. Signs he didn't notice, signs he disregarded completely and brushed off as Weasley being himself. Who did that? Who pushed aside someone like that, a suicidal person nonetheless? He'd been so bloody close, ready to fall to his death so easily. It was so baffling as to what could have led Weasley to think that was the only way out.

Wood heard the creaking from the railing, promptly stiffening. Who was up there? Had they watched him fly and made note of the moves he was practicing on? There was going to be trouble if he found Flint or Davies up there. But when Oliver marched up to the top, intending on finding out who the supposed spy was, he found something much worse.

Weasley, the one person Oliver was sure of to be utmost confident, who seemed to have everything under control with no problems whatsoever, was about to jump over the railing. His heart sped up, stomach churned like a cinder block had dropped down on it and he did the only thing he knew how to do: stop him.

Oliver sprinted over to the other side, throwing his around Weasley and yanked him backwards with all of his might. He stumbled, but somehow managed to stay upright. Weasley let out a shriek that should've belonged to an animal. He fought against Oliver, desperate to get away and finish the deed. Since when did Weasley get so strong? He didn't seem the type to work out often and his arms were like limp noodles; but now, he was struggling, attempting to throw Oliver off.

Eventually, Oliver deemed him alright enough to let go. But he was cautious about it, ready to reach out again if he needed to. Weasley fell to the floor crying. Not just that, sobbing. He was getting choked on, eliciting a few wheezes here and there. Oliver never heard his dorm mate cry before, he didn't seem capable of showing that much emotion. It went against the solemn nature Oliver saw of him.

Why didn't you let me die? He'd cried out. Oliver's world stopped and he was sure the question would haunt him for the rest of his life. He didn't know how to answer, where to start. What was he supposed to say? Nothing seemed adequate. Nothing was right.

Watching Weasley rock back and forth, openly weeping was hard to watch. Oliver was never good at comforting, it was too awkward and he usually mucked things up further by being insensitive. Lucky, Weasley wasn't a girl. Oh, he got along with Angelina, Alicia and Katie alright, with Katie it was more. They'd become each other's confidants. She was one of his best friends, but sometimes got a little shirty when it was that time of the month...

But he digressed.

Weasley was clearly panicking at being caught and he'd start to hyperventilate soon if Oliver didn't do something. Course, he wasn't sure what that something should be. Gingerly, Oliver touched his shoulder and told him, in what he hoped wasn't a forceful way, to breathe.

Weasley obviously hadn't expected it to be him.

Then Oliver had to be stupid and ask if he was okay. Of course he wasn't, he scolded himself, mentally smacking his forehead. If he was okay, he wouldn't have-

He hoped Weasley wouldn't be further upset by his blunder, quickly trying to backtrack until his dorm mate told him-practically whispered-it was okay. Right, because he was the one who needed assurance, not him who could've just ended his own life.

They stayed up there for a while. Oliver didn't say a word, even as he felt he should. Anything to let Weasley know he did care. They might not have been friends and Oliver had definitely felt irritated by his dorm mate's presence on prior occasions, but this was one instance that he would stick for anyone in his position.

But one thing was certain.

Much as he didn't feel at all in his element and how he had virtually nothing constructive to say, Oliver wasn't going to leave him there all alone.

Later on, after quietly stalking through the sleepy castle and waking up the Fat Lady-who gave them an earful about having no consideration for others-they went up to their dorm. Oliver flicked his wand to light a candle, glancing out of the corner of his eye to see Weasley standing right in front of his bed, unmoving. He couldn't imagine what he must be thinking. How messed up he must be right...that.

Merlin, he had difficulty thinking about it.

It was surreal to know someone who wanted to do it. He knew it was a thing, it just wasn't supposed to happen to anyone he knew of. Let alone his bloody dorm mate. Was this similar to how other people felt, too? Did they never believe it would occur to their friend or loved one-acquaintance, he reminded himself- in a million years?

Oliver didn't go to sleep that night.

His mind wandered back to their first night at Hogwarts, at their sorting where they-more so Oliver-introduced themselves to one another. He thought about the past couple of years, realizing a few things.

For one, Weasley didn't have friends. He could recall seeing the red-head sitting at the Gryffindor table alone. Never paid much attention to it, never felt it was all that important. You never thought it was more important than quidditch, his subconscious pointed out. You felt a silly game was more important than your dorm mate's wellbeing.

There was also Weasley's family. Which kinda went along with him not having friends. Oliver didn't know much about Bill, as he had his eyes set on admiring Charlie. But he knew Weasley's second oldest brother would sometimes talk to him, give him those sharp punches to his shoulder. But that hadn't been all the time. And the twins; well, they were as opposite of Weasley as Oliver was. They regularly made remarks and a few times he'd overheard one of them telling Angelina and Alicia they were planning on testing a few of their so called products they'd come up with on Weasley. Oliver barely knew anything about the youngest Weasleys, but he knew they weren't fond of their older brother either. Their eye rolls and frowns were indicators.

Thirdly, it hadn't registered with him at first, but Oliver gradually saw Weasley become more and more recluse. It hadn't meant anything significant to him at the time. His dorm mate went from obnoxiously answering any and all questions in their classes, trying his best to wrangle his younger siblings and being an outspoken Prefect to...this. Prior to just mere hours ago, the past couple of weeks had been telling. Weasley just stopped answering questions altogether unless he was called on by a professor, to which he'd mumble a response. That was another thing, too. While Weasley definitely wasn't as loud and boisterous as his brothers and sister were, he wasn't so naturally this quiet. Practically whispering all the time. He'd look down to the floor, too, like some insecure firstie that was terrified to be near the older students.

Still, for the life of him, Oliver was stumped as to why his dorm mate had chosen to do that. Was it because of last night, when Fred and George basically humiliated him in front of everyone with their prank?

Oliver sighed heavily. He liked those two. They were fun to be around and they got along swell. Sometimes... They just went too far with joking around. That was one of those times. He had a bit of beef with McLaggen too but if they really had to mess with him, it could've been done in a more tame manner. Making it to where everyone saw him practically naked was just...wrong. And then Weasley got caught in the crossfire; people were still talking and snickering about it after dinner. And he didn't defend him. Oliver didn't laugh along with everyone else, but that also didn't mean he went out of his way to condemn the others.

It made him guilty by association.

What was worse was he'd done it loads of times before. No, he never joined in on the laughing and teasing, he just let it slide by without a care in the world. He had his friends, he had homework to do, he had quidditch. To what did any of what was going on in Weasley's life matter to him?

Until now. When his life had been on the line.

As Oliver laid on his bed, which now seemed lumpy and unappealing, he looked over at Weasley and his side of the room. Couldn't see his face, the curtains were drawn in, but he knew his dorm mate was in there. Possibly awake as well. Could one get a proper night's rest after attempting such a horrible thing? They'd have to be mad if they could.

Professor McGonagall had given them some words before their sorting. The words hadn't stayed with him. He'd all but forgotten what she said until it came back at him with full force at that very second. She'd said that their house was to be somethin akin to their family while at Hogwarts. But that wasn't the case at all. If it was, why hadn't Oliver seen the signs before Weasley did anything drastic, hmm? Why did he allow it to go on for so long until everything just spiraled? He could've stopped it. Could've tried to talk with him, make his dorm mate feel more welcomed. Told a professor, even. Weasley would've been angry, probably despising him for snitching. But at least he wouldn't be where he was now.

Oliver had to do something. Had to make up for the six years that were wasted when they could have gotten to know each other better, seeing past their differences in order to form a friendship. No, he let himself be petty and stubborn. He ignored the bloke he lived with for the majority of the year and over what? A poor first impression. Weasley wasn't the same eleven year old. He was hardly the same person who became Prefect and snogged Penelope Clearwater, according to Fred and George who spread that around.

Oliver paused. Speaking of Clearwater, she and Weasley hadn't been seen together. In an intimate way, anyway. Did Weasley stop talking to her so his attempt at that wouldn't be so painful to her? Or was it involving her and that was part of what drove him? Oliver couldn't see how a break up or a fight would lead somebody to hurt themselves but he apparently didn't know Weasley that well as he semi thought he did so it was a possibility.

It was then that Oliver made up his mind.

McGonagall's words came back to him yet again. Gryffindor should've been more of a second family for Weasley. It hadn't. Some of that blame rested on Oliver. But he intended to fix that. It wasn't going to be easy, not after six straight years of hardly conversing with his dorm mate. He would try, though. He'd try his hardest.

Somehow, some way, he was going to befriend Weasl-Percy and show him there was something worth living for.

One of you guys reviewed last week and said you hope I'm not sad while writing this. Don't worry, I'm not! The anxiety is real b/c I do have that IRL but not the depression part or anything.