Unintended

"Er, Oliver?" said Percy tentatively. They had finished eating, and were now sitting on the couch watching Quidditch.

"Hmm?" said Oliver, who was staring intently at the screen and probably wouldn't have noticed if Percy had stolen his socks right off his feet.

"Why--why did you want to stay over at my place?" said Percy, even though what he had really wanted to ask was, "Why did you kiss me?"

"C'mon, c'mon, knock him of his broom...YES!" he cheered, leaping up. He sat down and looked at Percy sheepishly. "What were you saying, Perce?"

"I...why are you here?" said Percy, who really didn't want to repeat himself.

"What do you mean?" said Oliver blankly. "I'm just here in between matches. I told you that." He frowned, leaning forward to scrutinize Percy with concern. "You're not losing your memory, are you?"

"No, I mean, why are you here, in my apartment," said Percy. "What's wrong with your hotel room?"

"Oh, there's nothing wrong with it, not technically anyway," said Oliver, shrugging. "It's got a private Jacuzzi, a full bar, and loads of things I don't really need. It's a luxury suite."

"I don't understand," said Percy. "Most people would love staying at a place like that."

"That's because most people spend time with their families at home and they go to big fancy hotels to get away from it all," said Oliver. "I don't have a family. Besides my team mates, I don't really even have friends."

"That's not true," said Percy softly. "You have me. And Alice."

"Alice," snorted Oliver. "Alice thinks I'm an arrogant, womanizing arse. And she's right about that. I never realized how despicable I am." He slumped forward, putting his head in his hands.

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Oliver," said Percy, patting him awkwardly on his broad shoulder.

"So you ask me why I'm here," said Oliver, lifting his head. "I'm here because I'm lonely as hell and I have nowhere else to go...and I think that I might be..."

"Might be what, Oliver?" said Percy, who was afraid to hear the end of the sentence, afraid that Oliver might tell him that he was dying of some horrible disease that couldn't be cured.

"In love," finished Oliver. "With you."

"You...what?" said Percy, who was just as shocked as Oliver was when he had said the words aloud.

"You drove me crazy all night," said Oliver. "I couldn't sleep. I thought it was because of Alice, but now I know that it isn't. I can't get you out of my head."

"I..." said Percy, his mouth dry. He cleared his throat. "I don't know what to say."

"It's okay if you hate me, Perce," said Oliver. "I wouldn't blame you. Here, I want you to have this."

He reached over and handed Percy a wrapped package. Percy stared at it.

"What is this?"

"Just open it."

He tore off the wrappings and discovered the books beneath. He looked up at Oliver, and not knowing what to say, for he was truly touched, put a hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you," he said, not having the heart to tell Oliver that he already had a copy of Alice's book.

"I'll just be going now," said Oliver, standing up and making for the door.

"No, wait!" exclaimed Percy, grabbing his arm. Oliver looked back at him, surprised. Embarrassed, Percy let go and spoke to the carpet: "Don't go. I...couldn't stop thinking about you either." He felt a whoosh of relief in his stomach after saying those words.

"What?" said Oliver slowly, the meaning of Percy's words dawning upon him slowly. "You mean you..."

Percy nodded. "Well, I don't really know what it is, if it can really be called love..." He blushed when he said the word "love," his face turning bright red. The rest of his words were lost in a hug: Oliver had thrown his arms around him and was now clutching him tightly. "Oliver...I can't...breathe..." he managed to choke out.

"Oh, sorry," said Oliver, quickly releasing him. "I just got, you know, enthusiastic." They grinned at each other.

"So where do we go from here?" asked Percy.

"I don't know," said Oliver. "It's up to you, I guess."

"Oliver?"

"Yeah, Perce?"

"Would you...could you...kiss me, again?" said Percy, blushing so red that Oliver thought he might burst into flames.

"Only if you want me to," he said, and he slowly leaned toward Percy, who stood stock still, both terrified and exhilarated at the same time. He let his lips graze against Percy's, and when he did not protest, kissed him tenderly. He felt Percy's arms slip around his neck, and pulled him closer, their torsos curving gracefully but not touching.

They fell onto the couch, the television still on. Oliver shifted his weight carefully so that he wouldn't crush Percy. He slipped his hand up the back of Percy's shirt, massaging the perfect skin of his back, tracing the bones in his spine that stuck out. They stopped kissing, and Percy looked into Oliver's eyes, bright blue meeting gold-flecked hazel. He reached a shaking hand up to Oliver's cheek and touched it, tracing his strong jaw.

At this point, Oliver grabbed his wrist to stop him, and Percy recoiled, afraid that he had gone too far. But Oliver only reached down to pull his shirt over his head, revealing a chest that was muscular from years of Quidditch practice. Percy's fingers wandered over to a scar on his chest.

"Fourth year," said Oliver, "accident in Potions class. My friend and I were having a sword fight and I fell forward just as he pointed his knife at me."

He let Percy's fingers linger for a moment, and then reached for the hem of his pajama shirt. Percy stiffened for a moment, then nodded, helping Oliver pull the shirt over his head. He shivered at the touch of Oliver's hands on his pale skin. It was actually surprising how gentle he could be.

"Do you want me to stop?" said Oliver, when Percy gave another shiver.

"It's okay," said Percy, and Oliver bent forward to kiss his forehead.

"I think we should stop," he said, leaning back again. "I don't want to scare you to death."

"With what?" asked Percy, bewildered.

"With my sexual prowess," answered Oliver, deadpan. Seeing the horrified look on Percy's face, he laughed and said, "I'm kidding, I'm kidding. I just want to take it slow."

Percy nodded. "Yes, slow."

They brushed their teeth and went into Percy's bedroom.

"I brought my own sleeping bag and everything," said Oliver proudly, already starting to unroll it on the floor.

"You don't have to sleep on the floor," said Percy.

"I don't want to bother you," insisted Oliver. "I thrash about in my sleep."

"It's okay," said Percy, and this went on for about five more minutes, until Oliver finally gave up. He changed into pajamas and climbed into bed beside Percy.

"Your bed is cozy," said Oliver, turning onto his side. Percy did not say anything, and after a few moments, Oliver spoke again. "Perce?"

"What is it, Oliver?"

"I'm sorry for being an arse."

"Already forgiven," said Percy, smiling to himself.

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

True to his word, Oliver did thrash about in his sleep, and Percy was smacked a few times when he flung an arm out to hit some imaginary assailant. He also mumbled quite frequently.

Perhaps the reason Oliver was thrashing and mumbling was because he was currently having a nightmare.

He was cowering behind a battered wooden chair, wanting to run but not being able to move his feet. Bits of smashed plates and glassware littered the scuffed floor, and most of the furniture was overturned. His parents stood in front of him, arguing, as they often did. This particular argument had been going on for over half an hour, in which his father had taken out his anger on the objects in the kitchen.

"We needed that money!" shouted his father, his eyes bulging with rage. "And you, what do you do? You spend it on frivolous things."

"I bought a broomstick for Oliver," said his mother calmly.

"We're short on rent and you buy a broomstick for Oliver? What the devil does he need a broomstick for? Is he going to sweep the floor with it?"

"It's his birthday today," she answered, still calm. "I think he ought to have something nice for once."

"If everyone were allowed to have whatever they wanted on their birthday, I'd like a new house, a car, and a television," said his father mockingly before he stalked out of the room.

His mother turned and saw him standing there, then came towards him. He thought that she was coming to hug him, as she often did, but instead, she slapped his face and commanded him to go upstairs to his room. Stunned and terrified, Oliver ran up the steps, threw himself onto the bed and cried himself to sleep. After that day, it seemed that all of his mother's love for him had vanished, and with it, the little joy he had in his life.

The only comfort he had was the broomstick, and he did not yet know its purpose. At six years old, Oliver did not have the words "Quidditch" or "muggle" in his vocabulary, and he would not attain them for another five years. The last thing he remembered before waking was gingerly stroking the smooth handle of the broomstick.

He sat upright in the bed, his cheeks wet with tears. It had been years since he had dreamt of his childhood, and he had done his best to put it behind him.

At that moment, Percy's alarm birds began to sing, startling him. Percy sat up and silenced them with his wand, and began to get out of bed. As he got up to brush his teeth, he noticed Oliver sitting up.

"Oliver?" he said, alarmed. "Are you alright?"

Oliver nodded mutely, and Percy came over to his side of the bed.

"What's the matter?" asked Percy, crouching down beside him. Oliver raised his head, and Percy was shocked to see the fresh tears glistening on his cheeks. "Oliver...you're-you're crying."

"It was just a dream," said Oliver, wiping his eyes with his shirtsleeve.

"Go back to sleep," said Percy gently.

"No, it's okay," said Oliver, getting out of bed. "I'm already awake, so I might as well just get up."

They sat down at the small table, and Percy plunked a mug of hot cider in front of Oliver.

"Drink this," said Percy. "My mum used to give us hot cider when we woke up with a bad dream."

At the mention of the word "mother," Oliver put his head down on the table.

"Oliver?" said Percy, tapping his shoulder. "What's the matter? Are you ill?"

"I miss her," he said, lifting his head. "I miss her so much."

"Who are you talking about?"

"My mother," he said.

"Why don't you send her an owl? Go visit her," suggested Percy.

"She's dead," said Oliver flatly. "She died just before my first year of Hogwarts."

"Oh," said Percy, not knowing what to say to comfort him. How could he?

"I had a dream about her buying me my first broomstick," continued Oliver. "It was for my sixth birthday. I didn't know I was a wizard then, just that I could do things that normal people couldn't. It scared me and fascinated me at the same time. I never told anyone, but my mother seemed to know anyway. She was a witch herself, and I kept hoping that one day I would be able to do magic too."

"Oliver..." said Percy. "You don't have to tell me this."

"I want to," said Oliver. "I need to. "

"Don't force yourself."

"She bought me a broomstick and taught me about Quidditch herself while my dad was at work," he continued. "I wasn't very good at it...I'd been weak and sickly and I didn't fly very well. A few weeks after I turned eleven and got my letter to Hogwarts, she died. She'd been sick for a long time, and I knew she wasn't going to live much longer, but I didn't want to believe it. And then when she was gone, I had to.

"I guess I had a lot of pent up anger because when I got to Hogwarts, I wouldn't talk to anyone. The Gryffindor Quidditch captain found me hitting apples into the lake with my cricket bat, and he recruited me as a Beater. I started playing Quidditch, and I found that I could take out all my anger on the Bludgers, and I got pretty good at it. I switched to Keeper position in my fourth year and I've been playing Keeper since then."

"I'm sorry, Oliver," said Percy, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"I am too," he said, "but there's nothing I can do about it now."

He looked up at the clock.

"You'd better get to work, Perce."

They hugged, and Percy went on his way. He was twenty minutes late for work, but for once, being on time didn't matter to him. It couldn't matter, not when the ache in his heart was pulling him down.