Unintended

Oliver was sleeping soundly, dreaming of himself as a little boy. He was walking down the road beside his mother, watching the rich gentlemen in their expensive suits pass by. I'd like to look like that someday, he thought to himself. They passed an ice cream parlour, and a little girl about his age bounced down the steps. She was wearing a frock of knitted lace and dainty white shoes, her golden curls tied neatly with a matching satin ribbon. However, Oliver had his gaze locked on the ice cream cone she was holding in her hand. He quickly darted a glance at his mother, who was talking to another woman, then looked back at the tantalizing treat.

The girl noticed him staring and stepped forward, holding out the cone to him. "Want a bite?" she asked, looking up at him with her large, grey eyes. Oliver looked around, wondering who she was talking to.

"I'm talking to you, silly," she said, laughing. She stepped closer. "Don't be afraid."

Cautiously, he took the ice cream and licked it once, letting the smooth vanilla caress his tongue. He closed his eyes, savouring it.

"Oliver!" He whirled around and found his mother staring down at him angrily. "What are you doing? Where did you get that ice cream?"

"She-she gave...me..." he stammered. His mother slapped his face, and he dropped the ice cream in pain.

"What did I tell you about taking things from strangers? What did I tell you?" She grabbed his arm and dragged him away from the scene. He turned his head and looked back, the girl watching him with pity, the fallen ice cream at her feet on the dirty pavement. He felt anger and humiliation welling up inside him. Pitied by a girl. How pathetic.

Then something strange began to happen: a flock of twittering birds swooped down, their noise filling the streets. He tried to bat them away with his small hands, but there were too many.

"Oliver! Oliver!"

Someone was calling his name, and then felt the birds surround him, smothering him with the flapping of their wings.

"Oliver, stop flailing around!"

His eyes flew open, and he saw Percy, holding a pillow, ready to strike again.

"What...what happened?" he said, sitting up slowly. His head throbbed, and his throat felt like a desert wasteland in the baking midday sun.

"I don't know, you tell me," said Percy, putting down the pillow.

"What were all those birds?" he asked, clutching his head. "And why do I feel like my head's been used for Bludger target practice?"

"First of all, those birds you heard were my alarm clock birds." He pointed to three small, green birds perched in the corner of his bedroom. "And secondly, you had about five beers last night."

"Oh God," said Oliver. "What did I do this time? I always do embarrassing things when I'm drunk. Although last time it was at a karaoke bar, so I'm sure it wasn't as bad this time. Did I say weird things?"

"You...talked about billy goats," said Percy. Oliver gave him a searching look, as if he knew that Percy was hiding something. Or was he merely imagining it? Looking away, he stood up and left the room. He didn't want to mention what had really occurred last night. After all, Oliver clearly didn't remember, and why should he have to? It would only embarrass him more. Not to mention that Percy himself didn't want to revisit the incident.

He showered, washed and dried Oliver's clothes by magic, and went into the kitchen to brew coffee and cook breakfast. Minutes later, Oliver lumbered in, cringing at the light coming in from the window. He collapsed into a chair and put his head down on the table.

"Breakfast," said Percy, putting a plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of Oliver. "Coffee is almost ready."

Oliver lifted his head, sniffed the food, and pulled the plate towards him. Once he finished eating, he leaned back in his chair.

"Nice apartment," he said, looking around at the orderly kitchen. "Very clean. Very Percy Weasley."

"Thanks," said Percy. "You couldn't tell me what hotel you were staying at, so I had to bring you here."

"God, I'm so sorry about all this," he apologized. "You must think badly of me."

"Things happen," shrugged Percy. "Oh, and your clothes are dry now. They're in the bathroom."

Nodding gratefully, Oliver padded into the bathroom and changed out of the borrowed pyjamas. He looked at his reflection in the mirror and realized that he needed a shave. He didn't have anything with him, so he picked up the razor on the edge of Percy's sink. He looked at it, wondering if it was weird to use another man's razor, then shrugged and lathered shaving cream on his face.

Halfway finished, the door opened suddenly and Percy poked his head in.

"Oh!" he said, quickly backing out and shutting the door again.

Startled, Oliver's hand jerked, and he nicked a spot above his lip. Cursing, he pressed a finger to the cut.

"Sorry," said Percy from behind the door. "I just came to check on you because you hadn't come out...and I thought..."

"It's okay," said Oliver, quickly finishing up and rinsing his face. "I'm just shaving."

He came out with a facecloth pressed to his lip.

"What happened?" asked Percy, looking concerned.

"Cut myself," said Oliver, holding up the bloody towel. "But it's okay. It'll stop bleeding in a minute. Sorry about your towel."

"Here, let me fix it," said Percy. He traced over the cut with his wand and it healed instantly, without a trace of a blemish. With another flick, he cleaned the towel and placed it back on the rack. "Good as new," he said.

"Thanks a million, Perce," said Oliver. "Listen, I want to make it up to you. Last night was a disaster."

"No, no, it's alright," said Percy.

"Seriously, I'll feel terrible if I don't," insisted Oliver. "I'm supposed to be at this charity event tonight. It's in the ballroom of the hotel I'm staying at. You should come. There'll be plenty of lovely ladies." He winked at Percy.

"I don't know, Oliver," said Percy uncertainly. He had to accompany the Minster to many charity events and had never felt quite comfortable being there.

"Oh, come on, Perce. It'll be loads of fun," cajoled Oliver. "Just throw on one of your suits and show up."

Finally, Percy agreed. Beaming, Oliver scribbled down the address of the hotel, his room and phone number, and a list of instructions to follow. Then he thanked Percy profusely and left. Percy sank into the couch and stared at Oliver's untidy scrawl, and wondered just what he was getting himself into.

------------------------

At six o'clock, Percy dressed himself in a suit and tie, and stuffed the scrap of parchment into the pocket of his slacks. He had already memorized everything on the paper, but he wanted to bring it in case. He Apparated and landed in a sketchy looking neighbourhood. Oliver's instructions told him to walk to the end of the street, where a lonely, dilapidated house stood. Weeds dominated what was once a neatly mown lawn and almost covered a sign that read: "For Rent." Stepping carefully onto the rotting porch, Percy took out his wand and tapped on the door three times and a peephole appeared.

A gruff voice demanded, "Name and purpose?"

"Percy Weasley here upon the request of Oliver Wood," he said in a trembling voice. There was a brief silence, and the voice spoke again.

"Please wait while we verify your identity."

A few seconds later, the door swung open, and Oliver stood hunched in the small frame.

"Perce, you came!" he said, ushering him inside.

Once past the doorway, the richly decorated interior of the hotel was revealed. Plush, red carpets were laid out on the gleaming marble floors, and two gilded staircases curved gracefully, like the necks of proud swans. Intricate works of art adorned the walls, and vases filled with fresh flowers stood atop antique tables. The hotel staff bowed as they passed.

"This way, Perce," said Oliver, leading him past the stairs and down a corridor, where they entered the ballroom. The room was cavernous, filled with long dining tables which were mostly occupied by well-dressed witches and wizards. The buzz of voices elevated when they noticed Oliver, handsome in his fitted Quidditch robes. They began to clap, and Oliver nodded appreciatively, gesturing for them to stop. "Thank you, thank you," he said, grinning boyishly. "But you can save the applause for after our next match against Cairo." Oliver's teammates, spread out across the room, hollered appreciatively. Oliver smiled and signalled for them to quiet down. "I'd like to introduce to you all my old classmate, Percy Weasley. I've invited him here as both friend and guest, and I expect everyone to treat him as such. Thank you."

Percy blushed as the guests clapped again. Oliver showed him his seat and then became engaged in conversation with some of his fans.

"Excuse me," a female voice from Percy's left side, "but did he say Percy Weasley? As in assistant to the Minister of Magic?"

"Yes, that would be me," said Percy, turning to look at who had spoken.

"I'm his niece, Alice Newbury," said the young woman, shaking his hand. "It's such an honour to meet you."

"It is?" said Percy, completely baffled. Very few people recognized more than his name, and out of those few, none had ever said that it was an honour to meet him. "I mean, it's a pleasure to meet you too, Miss Newbury."

"Oh, do call me Alice," she said, smiling widely. "It makes me feel so old to be called 'Miss,' don't you think?"

"I suppose so, Miss--I mean, Alice," he said, though he had never thought of the matter.

"Anyway, my uncle is always saying how much of a blessing you are to him," continued Alice, tucking a loose curl behind her ear, revealing her diamond earrings. "He told me that he wouldn't get anything done if it weren't for you."

"Well, erm, thank you," said Percy, but his words were lost in the noise of clapping, as Oliver stood at the podium.

"Thank you, thank you," said Oliver. "I'm really glad that all of you could make it here tonight. As you already know, all the money raised from this dinner will go to an orphanage here in London. I'm sure the children will be eternally grateful for your kind-heartedness, and I thank you for your invaluable contribution. With that said, I'm sure you are all as hungry as I am, so let dinner be served!"

He raised a silver bell in the air and rang it, signalling the start of the event. Immediately, house elves appeared, toting giant platters of steaming food. Just as quickly as they had appeared, they left the room. Oliver took his seat at the head of Percy's table, and once he lifted his fork to his lips, everyone else began eating. After dinner, the tables were cleared away, and musicians began to play. People began to dance.

"Enjoying yourself?" said Oliver, coming over to where Percy was sitting.

"Oh, yes," he replied, eyeing the glass of wine in Oliver's hand.

"Don't worry about me," said Oliver, as if reading his mind. "I'm don't really like wine anyway. I'm just holding it to, you know, fit in with the crowd."

"Excuse me, Mr. Wood." They both turned and saw Alice coming toward them, dazzling in her rose-pink gown. Percy thought he saw Oliver's eyes widen. "Do you mind if I borrow Percy for a while?"

"No, not at all," said Oliver, shaking his head. "You look familiar."

"Ah, perhaps you've heard of me then?" she said. "I'm a novelist. I wrote Vanilla Girl and The World in Your Eyes." Oliver showed no signs of recognizing either title. "But of course, men don't usually read romance novels, do they? Anyway, you should stop by sometime and I'll give you signed copies of both. You too, Percy. Now, come dance with me."

Without another word, she took Percy by the arm and led him to the dance floor. Oliver stared after her, mesmerized by her golden curls and the swaying of her lithe body.

---------------------

At around eleven o'clock, Percy decided that it was time to go home. The dancing had tired him, and he had to double check the Minister's busy agenda for the following week. He looked around for Oliver and Alice, but not seeing them anywhere, decided to leave. He exited the ballroom and then tried to remember the way back to the front door. There were many corridors with confusing twists and turns, and he soon became lost. Meandering through the halls, he thought he heard voices.

"Mister Wood..." said a female voice.

"Why the formal tone?" came Oliver's voice. He heard giggling. Peering around the corner, he could see two figures in the dim lighting.

"Don't, Oliver," said the woman, although anyone could tell that she wasn't really protesting as he kissed her neck. The couple moved a little to the left, and the woman's diamond earrings caught the light. Percy inhaled sharply and stepped backwards, bumping into the wall.

The couple turned at the sudden noise. "Who's there?" called Oliver, stepping into the middle of the hall and squinting in Percy's general direction. The second before he began running, he glimpsed Alice Newbury's distinctive gray eyes, focused upon his startled expression.

He ran, trying desperately to remember which turns he had taken. Rapidly turning the corner, he slammed into one of Oliver's teammates.

"Whoa there," said the man, helping Percy up. "What's the hurry?"

"How do I get out?" said Percy frantically. "To the front door?"

"You alright, mate?" said the man, looking worried.

"Please, the front door."

"Two lefts, a right, and then another left," said the man.

"Thank you," said Percy. "And tell Oliver that I'm sorry I had to leave."

He dashed through the building and out onto the street, where he Apparated back home.

Meanwhile, Oliver was still in the hallway with Alice.

"Who was that bloke?" said Oliver, nuzzling her.

"Probably some drunk," she said, though she knew perfectly well who it had been.

"Come upstairs with me," he murmured, trying to kiss her again.

"No, Oliver," she said, turning her head away. "I'm sorry, but I can't."

"Can't, or won't?"

"Both," she answered, and he looked taken aback. No girl had refused him before. "I'm sorry, Oliver, but I don't just sleep with any man who thinks me pretty."

"I don't want to sleep with you just because you're pretty," he said. "It's because I like you."

"I like you too, Oliver, but as a friend," she said.

"As a friend," he repeated. "I see."

"I didn't mean to hurt you..."

"Oh, I'm sure you didn't mean to," he said in a mocking voice. "And you also didn't mean any of the other things you said to me tonight, did you? Pretty girls like you never do mean anything you say or do."

"That was over the line, Oliver," she said, her voice low and furious. He grabbed her shoulders and slammed her into the wall, kissing her forcefully. She kneed him in the groin, and he doubled over in pain, cursing her as she took off her high heels and ran away.