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“Move in with me, Perce.”
Percy was shocked at George’s request. It hadn’t even been six months since Fred’s funeral. He had no clue how his family had forgiven him so readily. He hadn’t even begun to forgive himself.
“You’d be doing me a favour. With the joke stop still closed, I’ve been so lonely lately, and…” he trailed off.
“And?” Percy prompted.
“And I need to stop thinking of the empty room as Fred’s. Please, Percy?”
Percy sighed. How could he say no to that?
-----
After over a year of living with George, Percy had grown comfortable with their routine. Sundays were for family brunch at the Burrow, Tuesdays for dinner with Charlie and Bill, Thursdays for Floo calls with Ron and Ginny. Saturdays were for just the two of them. Movie nights, most weeks, although sometimes George could convince Percy to go out with him (not often).
But that routine was disrupted when George and Angelina had gotten together. He was happy for his brother, he really was. But with her in their flat so often and with their Saturday nights put on hiatus for date nights, he had to find a way to get his brother’s attention. Something he couldn’t refuse.
Quidditch!
Of course. Excluding Percy, no Weasley could resist the call of the dangerous sport. And lucky for Percy, working at the Ministry had some perks. He called in a favour with Marcus Flint in the magical sports department, who promised he could get him season tickets on the condition that Percy let him pick the team. He hoped for Harpies tickets so that he could support Ginny, but he stayed true to his word and let Marcus choose. In no time at all, Percy had found himself the proud owner of season tickets for Puddlemere United. He wasn’t very knowledgeable of different quidditch teams, but the name sounded vaguely familiar to him, though he couldn’t place why.
That was, until the first match.
Percy was going to kill Marcus. Their seats were right next to Puddlemere’s bench, where a very sweaty Oliver Wood was being examined by the team’s mediwizard after a fall. Percy couldn’t help but stare at the undeniably attractive man. He was jostled out of his thoughts by George, who had elected to elbow him in the side to get his attention. “What’re you looking at?”
“None of your business,” Percy said, turning his face resolutely back toward the pitch, ignoring the Scottish wizard off to his side and hoping his complexion wouldn’t betray him.
“Perce, you’re blushing! It’s a guy, isn’t it?”
“I have no clue what you’re talking about.” Damn fair skin.
George leaned around him to try to figure out who the mystery man could be. “Were you looking at the player bench?”
“Would you believe me if I said no?”
“‘Course not. You and Oliver roomed together at Hogwarts, right?”
“Yeah, he was in my year.”
“And you were friends at school?”
“I suppose so.”
George shoved him slightly. “So go talk to him, you oaf. It’s not like you're some random fan, he knows you! You’ve got an in!”
Percy furrowed his brow. “We haven’t spoken once since the war. I doubt he wants to speak to me, he would’ve reached out by now.”
“You know, you could’ve reached out to him, too,” George reminded him.
Percy shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “But I didn’t. No need to dwell on it.”
“Merlin, you’re overdramatic,” George said, before leaning over Percy again. “Hey, Wood!” He yelled.
“Weasley!” Oliver shouted back, a grin breaking out on his face. He popped up from the bench, to the dismay of the mediwizard. “How’s my favorite beater doing? ‘Cor, don’t tell either of my teammates I said that.”
“I’m doing much better now that you’re here! I’m sure you remember Percy?” George said, gesturing to his rather disgruntled brother.
“No, I somehow forgot my roommate of seven years,” Oliver said sarcastically, the sardonic tone undercut by his beaming smile.
“Good to see you, Oliver,” Percy responded dryly, forcing a smile on his lips despite his annoyance with George.
“You too, mate!” Oliver hopped the barrier, pulling him into a crushing hug before pulling away suddenly and scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. Percy could feel his face redden even more, if possible. “Sorry, I forget not everyone likes hugs.”
“Oliver, I’ve got a feeling Percy enjoyed that very much,” George said, smirking. Percy resisted the urge to whack him.
“What he meant was I don’t mind. You know, big household and all that. Us Weasley’s have got plenty of physical affection to go around,” Percy rambled.
“Sure, that’s what I meant,” George laughed, ruffling Percy’s hair. Percy glared at him. Godric, could he get any less mature?
“Well anyway, it was good to see you again. I’ve got to get back out there before Davies notices. We should get dinner sometime, though, I’ll owl you!” He jumped the barrier once more, running back onto the pitch and ignoring the calls of the mediwizard, opting just to shoot him a thumbs up as he greeted his coach.
“I didn’t realize Roger was coaching now! Good for him,” George said.
“Uh huh,” Percy agreed half-heartedly, since he was rather preoccupied watching Oliver and thinking about his impending letter.
-----
Unfortunately for Percy, Oliver sent his letter to the Burrow. This, of course, was the most exciting thing that had happened to Molly all week. She Flooed to Percy and George’s flat immediately, startling Percy, who dropped his teacup.
“Merlin, mum, you scared me!” He swore, using his wand to clean up the broken glass.
“Oh, sorry, honey. But how could you not tell me you’re going out with a famous quidditch player?” She took a seat in an armchair across from Percy, ignoring his glare at the intrusion.
“I’m not ‘going out’ with anyone, mum. I’m just reconnecting with an old friend. And how did you find out, anyway?”
She looked around guiltily, avoiding eye contact. “I may have opened his letter.”
He gasped. “That is a complete violation of my privacy!”
“I raised you, sweetie. It’s hard to have privacy from someone who’s seen your bare bum.”
“Mum!” Percy shouted.
“Anyway, darling, let me help you pick out your outfit! I’ve got plenty of expertise with first dates, just recently I helped Harry when he finally asked out Ginny,” she gushed.
“It’s not a date.”
“It most certainly is! Remember, dear, I’m the one who read the invitation,” she said, holding out the envelope.
“If you could refrain from doing so in the future, that would be much appreciated,” he reminded her as he took the letter from her outstretched hand.
Percy,
It was great to see you again at the match. Does dinner this Friday at 7 work for you? I’ll cook, you bring the wine. Feel free to use the Floo.
xx, Oliver
“Personally, I think this is quite ambiguous,” he stated plainly.
“Percival Ignatius Weasley, he’s cooking you dinner! That’s awfully romantic for just a friendly get-together. Not to mention that he signed the letter with kisses! Kisses, Percy! And besides, worst case scenario is you’re a little overdressed.”
“Mum, I’m in my twenties,” he sighed. “I can get ready for a date all on my own, thank you very much.”
She gasped. “So you admit it’s a date!”
He rolled his eyes. “Goodbye, mother,” he said, gesturing to the fireplace. She gave him one more self-satisfied look before standing from the armchair and using the Floo to exit.
No, Percy would not admit it was a date. He could only hope it was.
-----
Percy stood before his fireplace on Friday, hands shaking slightly and George by his side. Admittedly, he had dressed slightly nicer than usual (though Molly didn’t have to know that). He took a deep breath before grabbing a handful of Floo powder in his left hand, his right clasped around a bottle of red wine.
“Good luck, mate,” George said, clapping him on the shoulder.
“I’ll tell you all about it later tonight,” Percy promised.
“Or, if things go well, in the morning,” George joked.
Percy laughed quietly, but didn’t justify the comment with a response. Instead, he turned back to the fireplace and dropped the powder, stating “Wood residence” as he took a step forward into the green flames.
The flat he stepped into was nice, a step up from his and George’s. The floors were dark hardwood, the walls painted a deep blue. He could see Glasgow’s waterfront out the window, the sun dipping low behind the buildings. But no sign of Oliver.
“Percy?” Oliver’s voice called from across the flat. “I’m in the kitchen, just finishing up dinner. Feel free to head to the dining room, it should be on your right.”
Percy took another deep breath, dusting off his maroon sweater and his trousers and walking through the doorway off to his side. He almost dropped the bottle of wine when he noticed the candles covering nearly every surface in the room. Well. Definitely a date, then.
The creak of the floors alerted Percy to Oliver’s entrance behind him. He turned around slowly, taking in Oliver’s grin. “Surprise?”
“Oliver, this is too much,” Percy said softly.
Oliver’s face dropped slightly. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed, I just thought-”
“No, I mean, this is incredible.” He stepped up to the shorter man, standing slightly closer than necessary. “I just… I had never even entertained the idea that you were interested.”
“Perce, I’ve been interested in you since, like, fifth year. Do you seriously not remember the fights we used to get into about Penelope?”
Percy’s jaw dropped. “I just thought you hated her!”
Oliver chuckled. “She was actually very sweet. I just hated that she got to be with you.”
Percy laughed heartily, placing the wine on the table behind him. “She’s not even into guys.”
“You’re kidding!”
“Nope. That’s why she didn’t care that I was always staring at you during quidditch matches.”
“Merlin, you can’t just say something like that and not expect me to kiss you,” Oliver swore under his breath.
Percy shrugged. “So kiss me.”
Oliver smiled, bringing one calloused hand up to Percy’s face, placing it gently on his cheek. Percy leaned down, connecting their lips softly and planting one hand on the small of Oliver’s back, the other against the doorframe. After a moment they broke apart, Oliver smirking slightly. “Not that this isn’t excellent, but I actually did make us dinner.”
Percy kissed him again, gentle at first but then slightly more insistent. “So we’ll use a warming charm. Isn’t magic great?” He muttered against Oliver’s lips.
“The greatest,” Oliver reiterated, backing away only so that he could grab Percy’s hand and pull him into his bedroom.
George was right. He didn’t tell him about it until the morning.