Disclaimer: JK Rowling's, though I do so enjoy taking Oliver out to play.
Feedback: Please, but only if you can spell and have some sort of grasp of grammar.
Notes: For Jodi and Jenfr. For helping me release my inner Oliver. I've decided this will be one in a series that will deal heavily with Oliver and Percy during the three-year stretch from Sorcerer's Stone to Prisoner of Azkaban. I don't think I'll be posting them in any sort of chronological order, but I doubt that will detract from the stories.

Oliver sat quietly at his usual window seat and waited for the first signs of morning. While it was true that he had never needed the physical evidence of sunlight to tell him of dawn's arrival, he could hardly contain himself. Match days were always different. Different routines. Different superstitions. And while this year was unlike any other, Oliver had never found the warmth of his bed as pleasing as dawn's light over the Quidditch pitch. And yes, it was quite easy to be lulled by the steadiness of Percy's breathing in the bed next to his. So easy in fact, that Oliver found it distressing that something, someone could sate him as winning did. Or perhaps never had. It was a difficult comparison to make but one Oliver had come to a painful understanding with. His drive to win would not diminish, nor would his need for Percy.

As the familiar tingle in Oliver's belly rose, Gryffindor's Keeper jumped, fully clothed, from his perch towards Percy's bed.

"Wake up," he huffed, excitement rising to his cheeks in a warm flush. He swiped Percy's glasses from the nightstand and hopped onto the other boy's bed. "Come on. Open your eyes."

Percy grumbled his disapproval and made an attempt to pull the blankets over his head. "Oh, go away, Oliver! It's too early."

Oliver fought Percy's attempts to hide under the covers. "It's the perfect time. Come on, Weasley. I've got something to show you."

"It's bloody dark still," Percy mumbled, "and I've seen it before. It'll wait another hour. Honestly, Oliver, you're never satisfied."

Oliver's cheeks flushed even further. Percy was surely still half asleep to have allowed such a slip of the tongue. "Not that, you git. Now come on. Get dressed." Oliver caught Percy's eyes peering at him from under tired lids. "Please, Percy," his voice lowered in an almost quiet desperation.

The redhead sighed heavily before giving up his game of tug-o-war with the blankets. "Oh, all right," he huffed. "Can you hand-"

But Oliver was already on the move, shoving Percy's glasses at him. "Come on, we must hurry or we'll miss it."

"Miss what? Seriously, Oliver, what are you blithering on about?" No sooner did Percy's feet hit the floor before Oliver was tossing the other boy his clothes. "Hang on now. Hell, you're already dressed."

"Got a match today," he told him matter-of-factly. "Have far too much to do to dawdle about in bed."

"Right, right. I should have known."

While the redhead sounded quite flabbergasted, Oliver held close to his heart that these were the parts of him that Percy adored. "Let's get going then."

Percy was just tying his shoes when Oliver lifted their brooms into his hands and started out the door.

Oliver had learned the importance of quiet during his years at Hogwarts. The time before dawn could certainly be seen as after hours, thereby forbidding him from leaving the dormitories, but in all his five plus years at school, he had refused to accept that. He needed the mornings like this, especially before a match.

Oliver led the way through the quiet halls of the castle and to the outside. Light had begun its silent quest over the horizon and Oliver basked in the splendid contrast of darkness and color. Over the grounds and to the pitch, Oliver continued, until he finally stopped, and turned towards Percy. He allowed a smile to cross his lips as he met the bewildered gaze of his very best friend. "It's brilliant, eh?"

"What are we doing here? Match isn't for hours and it's right cold."

But Oliver kept smiling as he fell on his bottom into the grass. One by one he pulled off his shoes and socks and rolled up the cuffs of his trousers. "Don't be such a ninny, Percy. Take your shoes off and enjoy yourself for once." Oliver jumped back to his feet and wiggled his toes in the grass. He started off slow, his feet adjusting to the cool, wet, feel of the grass, before his pace quickened. He walked from one end of the pitch to the other, watching the sky and ground amend to the dawn. When he looked to Percy, he found his friend, still shoed, and standing right where he had left him. He jogged to him quickly and then pulled him to the ground with him. "Take off your shoes, Percy. You have to feel it to understand it."

"Oliver," Percy met his gaze, his voice riddled with uncertainty. "I don't think this is something I could understand. This is your love, not mine."

"But you love me." It came out as more of a question than a statement and Oliver found himself frowning at his lack of faith in others. And it seemed to take Percy far too long, in Oliver's mind, to answer him.

"Of course I do."

"Then you'll try."

From his knees, Oliver slipped Percy's shoes from his feet and pulled off the other boy's socks. He gave the redhead an encouraging smile before he rose to his own feet and held out a hand to Percy. "Come on. Just one try. I'll never ask it of you again."

Percy's hand was cold against his and for a fleeting moment, Oliver allowed a small tinge of guilt to distract him from the beauty of the morning. But the feel of the damp ground and the luminous sheen of the dew in the grass as the sun kissed it chased Oliver's worry far from his mind.

"It's the most peaceful time of my life," Oliver said, his fingers curling around Percy's rather than freeing them to let go. "Mornings, when the pitch is touched by nothing but me and dawn. I can see things now, so clearly. More clearly than any other time of day or night. It calms me. I don't know. It started when I was very young. I always woke with the sun and I suppose, I made it my job to wake the world with it." Oliver felt Percy's grip tighten and he smiled as he continued. "There's something oddly refreshing about the feel of the grass before it's been trodden upon. Something about being the first to flight in a morning sky. The air is crisp and clean and it clears my head and my heart of any of the doubts I might have."

"And you do this every morning before a match?"

"I'd do it every morning if I thought I could get away with it."

Percy chuckled. "You're right mad, you know that?"

Oliver shrugged. "It's been said a time or two."

Percy shook his head. "You know, we could be expelled for this. Or worse if they caught us holding hands."

"Let them come," Oliver muttered indignantly. "Let them see."

Percy's hand loosened at the words. "They'd certainly separate us. All that privacy in that room of ours wouldn't be fitting if they-"

"Do stop, Percy," Oliver interrupted him with a curt smile. "Your point is taken and filed away. Why don't you go on back? I'll just have a quick go about my broom before I finish."

Percy nodded slowly as he returned to their pile of shoes, with Oliver following closely behind. The redhead was quick about putting his shoes back on and he stuffed his socks into his pockets. He watched for a moment as Oliver mounted his broom, his feet still bare. "I'm glad you brought me out here this morning. I wouldn't have wanted to miss it."

His faith temporarily restored, Oliver smiled as he lifted just slightly off the ground. "Get on with you then. Maybe when I get back, you'll have something to show me." With a final glance, Oliver delighted in the pinkish tint the tips of Percy's ears took on. He then took off into the morning sky.

~End