It was the Quidditch field she took him to. The Quidditch field where he stood there and watched her laugh and fiddle with the flying brooms, not knowing quite what to say.

            “Let’s have a little race.” She smiled at him conspiratorily.

            “Let’s not,” He replied, feeling stupid and out of place in her current world of sunshine, “We’re prefects, we shouldn’t.” He could feel the rainclouds gather overhead.

            Her face fell somewhat.

            “Yes. You wouldn’t, would you?”

            He didn’t answer that. She already knew.

            He stood there, feeling more stupid and awkward than ever as she walked away from him, staring up at the sky, her expression reflecting the dark clouds up there.

            “You never want to do anything. Don’t you ever want to have any fun?”

            He said nothing. She didn’t wait for an answer.

            “The problem is, I want to have fun.”

            “Penelope.” It was a statement.

            “Sometimes I look at us, and I don’t know where we are. There’re so many things I want to do, but you never want to do anything. Do you know what I’m trying to say?”

            He did. But he didn’t have to answer that either. It started to rain

            “Tell me what I should do, Percy, tell me.”

            “There’s nothing left for me to say, is there?” It was bitter. He felt bitter.

            She nodded. Once. It was all understood.

            “Goodbye, Percy.”

            And it was over. Just like that. She never looked back as she walked away, and he never moved to look at her.

            Only when she was truly gone from the field did his hands go to his face, pushing his glasses up and off onto the grass, and the tears start to flow.

            Oliver hurried out to the field, trying to ignore the rain stinging against his face. It was a regular storm, and he had to get the brooms in before the damp set in. He really should have done it before, he knew, but what with Professor McGonagall and Transfiguration and all, he had really been quite caught up.

            The rain was so falling so thickly, It was only when he was almost half-way to the center of the field that he noticed the lone figure in the middle of the Quidditch grounds.

            The startling red hair leapt out at him first, distinct above the Hogwarts black robes. One of the Weasley brothers then. He would have thought that only Fred or George would be crazy enough stay out in a downpour like this, but even slicked down by water, the twins would never have hair that neat. That left Percy Weasley.

            Oliver slowed down his steps. They might have been in the same grade, but Percy Weasley had never been particularly close to anyone, nor had anyone ever had the inclination to be particularly close to Percy. Too perfect for his own good, he was. And he made no bones about it either. Oliver had never really minded him, but as long as the prim and proper boy didn’t take any pains to make friends, neither would he.

            He would have said a cursory greeting, packed up the brooms and left, but as he got closer, he realised with some shock that the other boy was crying, face in his hands and shaking with silent sobs. The customary wire-rimmed glasses were abandoned on the muddy ground, miraculously unstained. Uneasily, Oliver considered leaving before the prefect realised that he was there, but there was something so lonely about the slim, shuddering form, he couldn’t bring himself to turn back.

            Instead, he hesitantly went closer, picked up the glasses and offered them to the smaller boy, nudging him silently.

            Instantly, the prefect’s hands flew away from his face, eyes wide above tear-streaked cheeks. They stared at each other for a while, Oliver reading the hurt in the other boy’s eyes with growing compassion. Wordlessly, he spread his arms, a silent gesture. Percy hesitated, but then his face crumbled, and he fell crying into the waiting embrace.

            “It’s not so much Penelope, when you come straight down to it. She’s a wonderful girl…but I could barely think of her as anything more…even with all those letters…”

            He gazed dully at the falling rain, whispering words he’d never have admitted to even himself less than an hour ago.

            “It’s just that – oh I don’t know…that feeling…it’s so lonely…nobody ever wants me…”

            The last four words were barely audible, but Oliver heard them all the same, making him feel somewhat uncomfortable about the way they had all treated the prefect before. Especially as he was now, gently running his fingers through the fine red hair – the boy’s head was in his lap – a comforting hand on the slender frame. They stayed that way for a while more, watching the rain together from under the eaves of the Quidditch storehouse, where they had been for the past hour or so.

            Then Percy stirred, extricated himself from that position, smiling awkardly at Oliver.

            “Sorry. I know I’m awful silly, telling you all those stupid things.”

            Oliver was silent for a while, when he spoke again, his voice was quiet.

            “They’re not stupid…they’re not stupid – I – I don’t know what to say, I…W – I mean…”

            He looked up at the other boy beseechingly, the name upon his tongue. The prefect’s smile grew genuine.

            “You can call me Percy.”

            “Percy.” They smiled at each other, savouring this special moment.

            “They’re not stupid.” Oliver repeated, gentler this time, “And I want to listen to you, really. Every time you need someone to talk to, well, I want that someone to be me.”

            Percy stared at him, an unreadable emotion in his liquid eyes. Finally, he spoke.

            “Can I call you Oliver?”

            “You can call me anything you want.”

            Percy smiled. He got to his feet unsteadily, waved.

            “…Thank you. I’d better be going now, we still have homework to do. See you later…Oliver.”

            “Bye.”

            The prefect took two steps into the light rain – and promptly collapsed.

            Wood sprang up and dashed to the falling figure, throwing his arms around him just before he hit ground. As he turned the boy’s face towards him, he realised that Percy was out cold – and burning up with fever. He swore.

            “Must have been in the rain for longer than I thought.”

            Trying to quell his rising anxiety, he gathered the boy into his arms and started out towards the Hogswatch infirmary.

* * * * * * *

            Oliver stared distractedly at the empty seat as Professor Binns droned on about Magic and the History of at the front of the class.

            “The boy’s gone and caught himself a cold,” Madam Pomfrey had pronounced, “Standing in the rain will do that to a person, that silly lad. And the one thing magic can’t cure is the common cold.”

            And so Percy was absent from class for the first time in all his years there. Of course, no one had even noticed that the prefect was gone – save for Clearwater, who had glanced at the unoccupied desk as she entered the class, puzzled. Oliver couldn’t help but feel it wasn’t right.

            He looked out of the window miserably, watching the rain - which had made a reappearance early in the morning – and contemplated the question that had been plaguing him all day. Should he, or should he not visit?

            He wanted to, very much so. But what if he wasn’t welcome. He knew that they had been more than friendly yesterday, but that had been under special circumstances. For all he knew, Percy now regretted the exchange they had.

            It was very possible. After all, he had been crying in front of a near-stranger.

            But, he so wanted to go…He wanted to see if the prim and proper boy was okay, whether he was still languishing with the fever, or if he was getting better. He wanted to laugh with him, to listen to his words…to hold him…

            And he wanted to know why in the world he was thinking like that.

            The bell rang, signalling the end of the school day. He looked up at the clock in surprise as students stood up all around him to pack up and leave. Had the day gone by so fast? Then there was not much time left for him to decide.

            He rose from his seat, packed his notes…and eventually decided to head for the infirmary.

            “Madam Pomfrey?” He asked cautiously as he peered into the sickbay, “Is –“

            “If you’re looking for the Weasley boy, he’s in his dormitory. He insisted that he didn’t want to take up space in the sickbay.”

            “Oh. Thank you.” He retreated, then reappeared a while later. “Er, Madam Pomfrey?”

            “And if you wondering whether its contagious, I put a temporary immunity orb in that room. And his roommates are all part of Professor Flitwick’s excursion group this week. Poor man.”

            “Er. Thank you.”

            As Oliver left the infirmary for the Grffyndor dorms, he was vaguely disturbed to find that the only piece of information he had really taken note of in his little conversation with Madam Pomfrey was that the others wouldn’t be around.

            There was no response when he’d knocked on the door, so, hesitantly, he had entered the room. Relief flooded his senses when he realised that the reason for his unacknowledged presence was that Percy was asleep.

            Quietly, he crossed over to the bed, kneeling beside it, looking down at the sleeping figure.

            The prefect was tucked in under the covers, one hand gripping the edge of the quilt. His hair was silky upon the sheets, dimly red like glowing embers. In sleep as he were, his lips were parted slightly, and his lashes dark and lush against his fair countenance, a slight fever flush in his pale cheeks.

            In short, he was beautiful.

            As Oliver watched, Percy stirred, wincing slightly as his lashes fluttered open to look at him. As soon as he caught sight of his classmate, his eyes flew fully open, and after a moment’s surprise, he smiled.

            Oliver smiled too. “Hello.”

            “I’m glad you came.”

            “How are you feeling?”

            Percy moaned lightly.

            “Terrible.”

            Oliver laughed, reaching down to clasp a delicate hand within his own.

            “I heard. Only thing magic can’t cure.”

            Percy suddenly started, as if he’d suddenly remembered something. He withdrew his hand from Oliver’s and sat up slowly, sliding out of bed. He stood unsteadily, reached out towards a small humming globe and tapped it twice. It started to glow a bright blue.

            “The immunity orb?”

            “I see you’ve been to the sickbay,” Percy grimaced wryly, “the glow gives me a headache.”

            He turned back towards the bed, and stumbled. Oliver was up in an instant, catching him before he fell.

            What he hadn’t counted on was the way his hand had slipped under the shirt of the boy’s loose pajamas…and the way the feel of the smooth, soft skin beneath his touch was driving him insane.

            He set the prefect, who was blushing a deep red, down on the bed.

            “Percy…”

            The boy looked up hesitantly. Oliver felt his heart catch in his throat.

With his blood pounding in his ears, he leaned down – and kissed him.

He could feel the other boy tense beneath his touch, felt rather than saw his eyes widen. At first he was afraid that he had gone too far, but bit by bit, the prefect melted into the kiss, responding timidly. His lips parted in a soft moan, and Oliver slipped his tongue into the sweet recess, deepening the kiss.

It was a while before they finally parted for air, staring at each other. Percy was dark-eyed with desire, fever-flushed, rumpled, and utterly beautiful. Before he could help himself, Oliver was on the boy again, their lips meeting hungrily, his seeking hands finding their way into the prefect’s shirt. Impatiently, he nudged the boy down onto the bed, pulling the pajama top up to expose a perfect, pale-pink nipple. Percy broke the kiss off with a soft cry, arching up towards the manipulative fingers as Oliver fondled the sensitive nub.

Oliver tongued the slender throat, watching the boy gasp and quiver under his touch with a certain satisfaction. His free hand roamed about the smooth planes of the prefect’s body, reaching down towards the pants, when Percy suddenly sat up, twisted sharply to the side, and started hacking painfully.

Oliver stopped his play, patting the boy on the back helplessly. When the coughing finally slowed and stopped, he asked sympathetically, “Are you okay?”

Percy looked more than a little bedraggled, an unhealthly pallor in his cheeks. He nodded half-heartedly, looking utterly miserable.

“Sorry.” He muttered, shamefaced.

“I’m the one who should be sorry, “ Oliver felt awfully inconsiderate. “I should have remembered that you were sick. I should have waited.”

Percy sighed, laying his head against Oliver’s chest tiredly.

“’S not your fault.”

Oliver gently lowered Percy onto the bed once more, tucked him in under the quilt as he withdrew from the bed.

“You should get some sleep. You’re exhausted. I’ll be back to see you when I can, okay?”

He leaned down and kissed the pale forehead. Percy half-nodded sleepily. His hand caught Oliver’s just before the Quidditch captain turned to leave, gave it a heart-felt squeeze.

“Love you.” It was just a whisper, but it stopped Oliver’s heart all the same. He bit his lip, squeezed back.

“I love you too, Percy, I love you too.”

The prefect smiled, released his hand. With a farewell pat, Oliver left the room, looking back over his shoulder for one last glance at his sleeping angel.

The whole of the next day passed without Oliver noticing. By the time he was done with his duties, it was almost lights-out, and there was no time to abscond to Percy’s dormitory, no matter how much he wished.

As a matter of consequence, the early morning after found Oliver entering the almost empty classroom to be met by a pair of hesitant dark eyes.

“Percy! You’re okay now?”

The bespectacled boy nodded shyly, a small smile on his face.

“I’ve almost fully recovered…I didn’t want to miss too many lessons.” He looked down and mumbled the next few words, “…I didn’t want to miss too much of you.”

Oliver laughed softly, leaning down to cup the prefect’s face loosely in both hands, ignoring the few others in the classroom.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come yesterday.”

A slight fear crept into the eyes he was gazing into.

“I was afraid…you didn’t want me anymore…”

Oliver mentally kicked himself.

“Of course not. I told you.” His next words were a raw, heart-felt whisper. “I love you.”

A beatific smile like the dawn slowly broke open on the prefect’s face.

“I’m glad.” Percy said simply.

Oliver leaned forward, the distance between them vanishing as he caught the prefect’s lips in a soft, tender kiss, just for a little while before the rest came in.

Just enough to last them through the school day.