Cowboys and Angels

moment twenty-three: original sin (September 1990.)

"Honestly, Oliver, the kind of complete and utter disregard for any form of school policy, rule or procedure is totally and completely abhorrent. I understand that you did indeed have reason to be exuberant - and I do congratulate you on your appointment as Quidditch Captain for Gryffindor this year, but you did not have to celebrate in such a manner."

Oliver sat on his bed, sighed, stared straight ahead and took it. Percy Weasley might have only been in fourth year, like him, but he was sounding just like a prefect. But then, Percy had always sounded like a prefect, almost from the beginning of first year. Oliver tolerated it better than most but even he had his limits, and they were being tested to the utmost as the lecture washed over him.

"Playing Quidditch in the corridors is not allowed by any stretch of the imagination precisely because it is an unsafe environment for such activities to occur! Some passing student could have had their heads knocked off by that Bludger - and involving two second year students to help you who are not even in the team-"

"They will be next year, Perce" Oliver assured him. "They think like one, those two. Make great Beaters."

"Please do not refer to me by that nickname," Percy told him, his face flushing. "It is not my name, and you know it. How would you like it if people called you 'Oli'?"

"They don't," Oliver pointed out, rather infuriatingly. "But if they did I wouldn't mind."

"That is not the point!" Percy could have screamed. If there was one person who knew how to ruffle him it was Oliver Wood. He could infuriate Percy in a way those Slytherins would have been paying to watch. "The point is that you, someone in a position of no small authority and respect flagrantly broke school rules and in doing so you involved students who had no right to be sullied by your egregiousness. Not to mention the fact I now have to speak to them - an act which I may add is never pleasant - as both Fred and George seem to delight more in their delinquency than you. Do you have any idea what might have happened if McGonagall had found you?"

Yes, thought Oliver. She would have given me detention, and got to the point ten minutes ago. Enough was enough. He looked at Percy full on, his expression deceptively calm, and changed the subject entirely. "Looking at your family, Perce, it makes me wonder how all the Quidditch talent skipped you."

Percy almost recoiled, his lips pulling back into a thin grimace, and he pushed his glasses back up his nose. "Just because I do not indulge in a pasttime which largely seems to involve the competitively brain dead-"

Quidditch. Percy had just insulted Quidditch. Oliver was having none of that. "Really? Because I wondered if you weren't involved because it actually involves other people and Merlin forbid you sully yourself with something that goes beyond parchment and ink."

Percy drew himself up, imperious, taut, and ever so full of himself. "Are you suggesting I have difficulty with human contact?" he asked loftily, and Oliver wanted to thwack him.

"I'm not suggesting, Perce, I'm stating a fact." As Percy spluttered incoherently and attempted to regroup, Oliver lowered his bed-curtains, and started taking off his shoes. "I'm going to bed now, Perce. 'Night."

He could have almost swore he heard a muffled curse, except that Percy Weasley would never taint his lips with such foul language, and then someone very obviously stomped away to another bed in the Gryffindor dorms.

The following morning, Oliver felt rather guilty. After all, Percy didn't have many - read: any - friends, and it was hardly fair of Oliver to throw that in his face. With all the pressure he'd probably gotten after Bill and Charlie - still fondly remembered amongst the staff, and some of the older students in Oliver's first few years - it wasn't surprising Percy had made an about-turn and attempted to be everything his brothers were not, in the desperate hope he therefore wouldn't be compared to them

Percy hurried out of breakfast, and a few minutes later after finishing his own, Oliver made his way along the corridors, trying to find him so he could apologise. It wasn't as if he liked Percy; he felt kind of sorry for him in the main, and well, that was about it. After a brief while, Oliver was certain he must have lost track of Percy, and although he'd see him again when first lesson came around, he'd prefer to make the apology in private, without half the year looking on. He kept walking though, because if nothing else, Oliver Wood was persistent, and discovered to his surprise what distinctly sounded like a fight in the distance.

Now sprinting down the passageways, he made a couple of turns and almost ran straight into Adrian Pucey, who was holding Percy up by the back of his robes as his fist thudded dully into Percy's gut. A few other students gathered round in a semi-circle, Percy unable to do little more than moan and take it.

Pucey dropped Percy at first sight of Oliver, and the others turned their backs to see what had distracted him. Oliver was by no means surprised that Marcus Flint was amongst them, and adrenaline surged through his blood at the sight.

Flint. It would have to be Flint, wouldn't it, the pathetic little bully, playing the tyrant cause it was the only way he could get any attention. Percy was now completely forgotten in and of himself, except that he was a victim of Flint's. All Oliver cared about was Flint, and as usual, he did not disappoint.

"Well, well, well. If it ain't the new captain, come to rescue his boyfriend." An ugly laugh went up amongst the Slytherins, but everyone but Flint looked nervous. Except for Bole, but he was a psychopath anyway. Oliver could see Derrick backing away without the others noticing, and hightailed it down the corridor when he was sure they weren't looking.

"Don't know what you're talking about Flint, but this ends now."

"Yeah?" Flint moved up to him, his face set like a bulldog. "How're you gonna stop me?"

"Tell Snape. He'll remove you from the team. Such a pity."

"You little shit. Do that and I'll-"

"Doesn't matter what you do to me. You'll be on permanent bench duty from now on." Oliver grinned, no emotion in his large brown eyes. "So what do you say we stop this now, and you never bully anyone else again."

"Fine!" Flint threw his arm up in the air, and moved back to the bundle of robes and flesh on the ground that was Percy, prodding him with his foot. Percy sobbed. "The cocksucker was getting boring anyway."

Each of them glared at Oliver, stepping over Percy, and still glaring they walked away down the corridor until they were shadows in the distance. Oliver released the breath he'd been holding and moved over to Percy, one hand gently reaching out to grasp Percy's shoulder, and turn him over.

He looked a mess. His eyes were puffy from crying, and there were cuts and abrasions all over his face. Oliver didn't like to think of the bruises that lay under his robes, or the possibility of broken ribs. He looked up at Oliver, eyes wide, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"You saved me." His voice had a wondrous quality, still disbelieving, and the effort of talking sent him off into a coughing fit. Oliver helped him sit, and worried as Percy spat out blood.

"Couldn't let them do that," Oliver explained. "I couldn't let them get away with it."

"I see." Percy looked at him, and that wonder was in his face, although Oliver couldn't see it. He slung Percy's arm around his shoulder, and on the count of three helped him stagger upright, supporting him. Percy's body leant against his, and Oliver was struck by how light he was, how frail.

"I guess this was all those stairs you fell down," he said non-committally, eyes fixed ahead.

Percy's voice was barely a whisper. "Yes." He sounded ashamed. Oliver didn't know what to do with this kind of emotion. Sure, if it was team dynamics or if Percy had been having problems with Quidditch, Oliver would have been ready with a quip and the right words, but he lacked the context, and couldn't fit his experience with what was happening now. So he did the only thing he could.

"I'll help you get to Madam Pomfrey's, yeah? And we'll think of a decent excuse on the way. No more stairs for you, Perce."

It wasn't much, but it managed to raise a weak laugh from his fellow Gryffindor, and they staggered back up the corridor together.