In a World of Their Own

IN A WORLD OF THEIR OWN

Amid the racket in the Gryffindor common room, Oliver Wood set his Butterbeer down. Almost instantly, another mug was thrust into his hand by an enthusiastic Weasley twin. Oliver automatically grinned, clipped the twin around the back of the head and took a swig of the warm drink.

They had won. They had finally won the Quidditch Cup.

This was Oliver's last year at Hogwarts and he had wanted more than anything to win the Quidditch competition. More than anything at all. He doubted anybody - not even his teammates - knew just how much he had longed to see his name on that cup. Now he would. They had done it.

The celebrations in the Gryffindor common room had started as soon as Fred and George had rustled up enough food - which had been a good three hours ago. The time since had positively flown, and Oliver had long lost count of the number of Butterbeers he had downed.

This was a feeling unlike any other. They had triumphed. His team, his team that he'd dragged out into the cold dawn so often. His team that he'd put so much of his life into. They had won.

George or Fred's voice rang out across the common room. "Oi, you lot, listen up for a moment."

Oliver looked. The twins were standing on a small table in the centre of the room, commanding attention. The one on the left (after four years as their Quidditch captain, Wood still couldn't tell them apart) spoke first. "As you all know, we had a ruddy brilliant game today--"

He was cut off by loud cheering, and his twin took up the story. "But!" He held up a hand, mock sadness covering his face. "It was... ah, could you say tinged with sadness, Fred?"

"I believe you could," Fred replied, face breaking into a grin. "I think most of you realise that today was the last match for our captain."

"Oh," Oliver murmured, reddening and staring into his drink. He didn't want this night, this perfect night, to be turned sour by misery. He didn't want to be reminded that it had quite possibly been his last game ever. After all, if he didn't get into the League this summer, that was it. Quidditch and Oliver Wood would no longer be synonymous.

"Our esteemed captain--"

"--Lover of dawn--"

"--A cracking keeper--"

"-- _Whip_ cracking captain..."

In the laughter that followed that particular comment, a twin's voice rang out, "So, Oliver, we just want you to know that yeah, we might actually miss you." He looked up to see that it was George talking, and smiled his thanks.

Fred snickered. "Yeah, we'll miss the crack of dawn practices..."

"...In the rain..."

"... the snow..."

"... even when we had no game for months ..."

"... probably even if the sport had been outlawed!"

The common room laughed as a whole. Oliver had to laugh as well. They'd had some pretty uncomfortable episodes. But they had been the best times of his life.

And then the twins were upon him, in what felt like some sort of tackle. He supposed it was a Weasley twin imitation of an affectionate hug. The left-hand twin planted a kiss on his cheek, loud and wet. Oliver laughed and wiped it away.

"So let's drink," whichever twin was on his right, called out. "To Oliver Wood, the best bloody Quidditch captain Hogwarts has ever seen."

Feeling his spirits lift immeasurably as the room drank as one, Wood laughed. "Thanks, you two." The room returned to the raucous state it had been in before the speech and he looked seriously at them both. "I'm going to miss you, you know that?"

"Well you know you'll never find beaters as good as us," one of them quipped.

Wood laughed, and sipped the Butterbeer. "That's for sure." He could feel himself getting a little emotional, as a lump in his throat threatened to break. He covered it with another laugh. "Take care, eh?"

"Aw, you're getting all serious on us!" Two hands slipped around his waist and the twins pulled him into the middle of the common room.

"You're not leaving us yet, anyway. You're stuck with us until the end of the term, you know."

With that comment the two wandered off.

Oliver looked around the room. Everyone appeared to be having a wicked time. Everyone, that is, except Harry Potter's friend Hermione Granger, who was in the corner, poring over her books. He grinned. This celebration... it was all for his team. All this happiness, because of them. He loved the thought.

Looking down, Oliver found that his Butterbeer was finished. He wandered inattentively over to get another, greeting people cheerfully and reaching over to ruffle Harry's hair on the way.

Just as he was raising the new glass to his lips, a quiet, clipped, voice came from his right. "Oliver. I just wanted to--"

He turned around, and frowned, cutting the speaker off. "Percy?"

Percy Weasley was the only other male Gryffindor in Wood's year, but they literally hadn't spoken in years. In their third year, Oliver was pretty sure it was, they had just stopped speaking to each other. For no reason other than that they had utterly nothing in common. Back then, Oliver had been focussed on constantly practicing Quidditch and dreaming of making the house team. Percy, meanwhile, had sat in their dorm and studied, poring for hours over books. Oliver had never understood that, never understood Percy; not one bit.

"I just wanted to say well done," Percy finished, as if Wood hadn't spoken a word. "On the game today." He didn't meet Wood's eyes, but offered a slight smile and turned away, walking up the stairs to the dormitory.

Oliver watched him go, puzzled. That had been absolutely baffling.

Someone came up behind Oliver and clapped him on the back, shouting something in his ear. He allowed himself to be led back to the party, quite dazed.

By the time - much later - that the party wound down, Oliver still hadn't decided what he was going to say to Percy when he went upstairs. He hadn't even decided whether or not he was going to say anything.

The seventh year dorm was dead silent. It was also dark except for Percy's wand light, which illuminated his face and the book he was reading. Oliver paused in the doorway, just staring.

Without him noticing, Percy had grown up. Instead of the goofy, lanky third year he had been, he was a tall, elegant man. Good looking, for sure. His flaming hair had darkened into something that was far softer than that of his brothers, and his glasses finally fit his face just right. Oliver really hadn't looked at Percy in four years. He had only looked through him.

As he was undressing for bed, another thought occurred to Oliver: he was leaving Hogwarts soon, he had spent seven years sharing a bedroom with this man, and he knew nothing about Percy Weasley. Nothing. Oh sure, he knew the story as far as it applied to any of the Weasleys - poor, truckloads of children, second hand everythings. He knew Percy as far as he was Head Boy, got top marks in most of his subjects, was teased constantly by Fred and George, and dated that Penelope from Ravenclaw.

But what was he like?

Oliver had absolutely no idea who Percy Weasley really was. And suddenly he realised how much he truly regretted that.

Without saying anything, as Oliver got into bed Percy muttered, "Nox," and the light went out. Oliver listened to Percy rustling around and putting his book away, before silence settled over the room.

Mind racing, Oliver lay still and silent for about ten minutes, before he suddenly blurted, "Percy?"

Silence followed the comment, before Percy replied, sounding very surprised, "Yes, Oliver?"

Percy wasn't the only one surprised. Oliver had surprised himself by speaking aloud. He found himself at a loss for words. "Uh, um," he stammered, "Well..."

He hated the way speaking got him into such trouble sometimes. Occasionally, his mouth just shot off without any sort of permission from the rest of his body. What was he meant to say now? He couldn't very well just ask, 'Well, who are you, Percy?' could he?

"I was just wondering, uh... how are you?"

Lame, Wood, he congratulated himself. Very lame.

"I really don't think this sort of time is appropriate for idle chit-chat," Percy said quietly.

There were more words in that sentence than he'd spoken to him in four years, Oliver thought to himself a little sadly. Suddenly, he wanted to break through to Percy. He wanted to talk to him and learn, learn what made Percy Weasley who he was.

Something to talk about. Oliver's mind grasped for a topic, reaching. What did he know for certain that Percy was interested in? Being Head Boy? The upcoming examinations? That could be a start.

"So... all ready for the exams?" asked Oliver, before realising how accusatory that sounded. "I mean, not that I think you mightn't be, I'm just..." his voice faded off into awkward silence.

"What is this all about, Wood?" Oliver looked over to see Percy leaning on one elbow, peering over at him. "Is this just because I talked to you downstairs?"

Oliver shifted uncomfortably in his bed. He hadn't realised it was that transparent. "Er... yeah, basically."

"I'm terribly sorry to make you break four years of silence then," Percy said icily.

The comment fell heavily, and Wood gathered his wits before starting to reply. "No, Percy, I'm sorry - I just, I don't know." He sighed, fingering the edge of his duvet. "I'd like to get to know you."

Then Percy laughed; but it was mirthless. "That's ridiculous. After seven years, you'd like to get to know me?" His voice dropped to a whisper. "You've left it a little bit late, don't you think?"

Oliver couldn't believe it. Here he was making an effort, and it was totally and utterly unappreciated. "I'm sorry, I-"

"No." Percy sounded his stern Head Boy self with that word and Oliver sat up, staring across the room at him. "Of course you shouldn't have anything to do with me. We're too different, right Wood?"

"I..." For the life of him, he couldn't think of a thing to say. "I don't know what to say, I..."

"You've had a few too many Butterbeers." Percy turned away from him, tilting his head so Oliver could hear his next words. "So sleep, and in the morning you'll pretend this never happened."

If he hadn't known better, Oliver would have sworn that Percy sounded almost... hurt?

"No," he said decisively, getting out of his bed and marching over to Weasley's. He sat on the end of it. "Look, I'm making a bloody effort here, the least you could do-"

"Why? You haven't made any sort of effort in the last four years." Percy sat up in bed, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. "So why now?"

Again Oliver found himself at a loss for words. He looked at his hands, crossed in his lap. "You didn't make an effort either, you know."

Even as he said the words, he knew that it was at best a very weak excuse, and at worst not remotely true. There had been many times over the years that Percy was about to speak to him, and Oliver had purposely rushed out of the dorm.

There was silence for a small while, before Percy spoke. Only this time, his voice was quieter, and far less severe. "Why couldn't you talk to me, Oliver?"

Oliver figured honesty was probably the best policy in this case. "I wouldn't have known what to say." Then he sighed and figured he may as well tell the whole story. "I mean, you're... you're top of the classes, and Head Boy, and... well, I'm just a Quidditch player. What could I possibly say that would interest you?"

When Oliver dared to look up after that, he could make out Percy's offended look even through the darkness. "That's how you see me? As some, some haughty git? Too pretentious to talk to a lowly Quidditch player?"

"That's not what I meant," Oliver lied. Only, it was. That was how everybody in their year saw Percy. He had ostracised himself and nobody had ever tried to bring him back.

There was silence between the two of them for longer then, long enough that Oliver went to return to his bed. Percy quickly laid a hand on his leg, restraining him. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "The truth truly does hurt, I suppose." His voice was quiet, defeated. Oliver leaned forward and strained to hear every word. "The thing is... nobody really knows me." A quiet, derisive snort. "Oh sure, there's Penelope, but for everything that goes on, she really has no idea." Oliver noticed that Percy was staring somewhere past him. "Nobody in my family even knows me. I'm in the middle - Bill and Charlie are so much older, the twins have each other and then Ron and Ginny are too young. Mum and Dad have never understood me." Then his eyes focused on Oliver. "And then here, well, you just said it yourself. I suppose you all just see me as that pompous Head Boy, that stickler for rules."

There was another bout of silence.

Then Percy went on, and his voice was even quieter now. "The thing is, nobody bothers to find out who the person behind the Head Boy really is." He chuckled a little and went on in a condescending tone, "I wouldn't expect you to understand."

But something had struck a chord deep inside Oliver. "I wouldn't understand, Percy?" His tone rose markedly. "Think again. I understand exactly what it's like." He paused a little, and noticed that Percy was looking at him curiously. "Whenever anyone looks at me, nobody ever - and I mean EVER, sees just plain old Oliver Wood. Oh no. It's always Oliver Wood, Quidditch player. Oliver Wood, Gryffindor keeper. Oliver Wood, artificial celebrity. Nobody knows me either, you know. To this whole bloody school I'm just a decent Quidditch captain. I mean, it's perfectly understandable because to a certain extent Quidditch is me, it's all I ever think about. But I just... I doubt anyone ever thinks of me if it's not in relation to the sport." He paused. Something had just broken inside him - he had no idea where these feelings were coming from. He'd never felt like this before. Not consciously, anyway. "So don't tell me that I don't understand what it's like, Percy. I know exactly what it's all about."

Percy was silent for a minute. "I never thought about it like that, you know." He offered Oliver a tentative smile. "I suppose you do know what it's like."

Oliver smiled back, relieved. He stuck out his hand. "Truce, then?"

Taking his hand, Percy nodded very seriously. "Friends."

There was another pause between them, but now it wasn't awkward. "So what are you into?" Oliver finally asked, curious. He shifted around so his legs were crossed and his chin propped in his hands.

Seeming to consider the question quite seriously, Percy frowned. "I enjoy reading, of course."

"So do I," Oliver said with certainty.

Grinning, Percy said lightly, "Reading what, 'Quidditch through the Ages'?" He laughed, and Oliver smiled at how light Percy suddenly appeared. "Sorry," he apologised. "That wasn't very fair. Especially in light of what you've just been talking about. Anyway, I very much appreciate a good game of Quidditch."

"Really?" Oliver was surprised. Of course he'd known that Percy went to every match they played, but that was expected of the Head Boy or the House Prefect. Besides, most everybody went to the Quidditch games.

Percy nodded excitedly. "I actually play a bit at home, with Fred and George, and Ron of course." Oliver could have sworn that he was blushing, if only he could see in the darkness. "I'm bloody useless, but I do enjoy it." He sighed a little, took a few breaths. "Tell me something about you."

"Like what?"

"I don't know." Percy shifted his weight and brushed against Wood's hand. "Hey, you're freezing. Climb in bed with me while we're talking."

Oliver didn't hide his surprise, but jumped in anyway. The inside of the bed was certainly a long shot warmer than the top of it. He couldn't believe how well this had ended up going.

"That's better," Percy said as he took Oliver's hands between his own and rubbed them to warm them up. "Why don't you tell me about your family?"

"Oh." Oliver thought for a moment. What could he possibly say about them that would be interesting? "I suppose you're asking if I'm a pure blood? I am; my Mum and Dad both went to school here. Neither played Quidditch, though they both enjoyed it enough. I'm an only child. I think that's why there's so much pressure on me to perform. Because they don't have anybody else to focus on."

Percy let go of Oliver's hands and moved his own out to prop his chin up again. "I'm really sorry, Oliver. That must be exceedingly hard for you." He paused. "I can't imagine what it would be like as an only child."

Oliver smiled, thinking of what a commotion it must be at Percy's house when all the children were home. "I don't know what it's like to not be. But I suppose it's a lot less lonely."

There was a pause between them again. Percy moved his arms out of the blankets and suddenly embraced Oliver. It came as a complete shock to Wood and he lay stiffly pressed against Percy's chest for a few awkward moments before he snuck his arms around Percy's waist to hold him just as tightly.

"We're really very similar," Percy said offhand as they drew out of their embrace. "Lonely. Misunderstood."

"That, and the fact we both focus on one thing so much that we block everything else out of our lives." Wood said this very matter-of-fact, and Percy nodded his agreement.

Another pause before Percy turned to look at Oliver. Their faces were barely five centimetres apart, and Oliver felt Percy's eyes bearing into his own, searching for something. Percy broke the moment with a whisper, "I'm sorry I didn't try to get to know you sooner."

"I'm sorry too," Oliver whispered. Because he was the way he and Percy had connected so quickly tonight made him believe that they could have been so close all the way through school. And perhaps that would have abated some of the loneliness Wood felt so often. Maybe if he and Percy had become friends sooner he would have had a distraction when it wasn't Quidditch season. He opened his mouth to go on, but was stopped by Percy's long index finger.

"What-" Oliver started to whisper, but Percy was already moving toward him.

It suddenly dawned on Oliver: Percy Weasley was about to kiss him.

A million thoughts flashed through his head at once: He's got a girlfriend, This is totally wrong, Fred and George will kill me, I'm not gay am I? But then the thoughts abruptly stopped as he gave in, and leaned forward to meet Percy's lips with his own.

"Weasley?" Professor McGonagall's voice called sharply through the darkness. "Weasley, are you awake?"

Percy's eyes snapped open, and he stared at Oliver in silent panic. They both knew what this would look like if she walked in. Percy snuck a hand out to clasp over Oliver's mouth and called out, "Yes, Professor?"

"There are several fifth year Gryffindor students still down in the common room. I expect you to deal with these sorts of happenings, Percy. I have removed appropriate amounts of points and given the offending parties detentions, but it would be appreciated if you could give them a strict talking to."

Silence followed that speech, and Percy murmured his understanding. McGonagall's footsteps faded out of the room. Percy got out of bed, Oliver's eyes following him, and pulled on his robe. He pulled back the curtain and went to leave.

"Percy," Oliver called hoarsely. He didn't know what to say. He hoped the interruption hadn't destroyed Percy's nerve.

Percy didn't reply. He just looked at Oliver for a minute. Even in the darkness Oliver could make out the sad look on Percy's face. And then he dropped the curtain, and left.

Oliver sank back on the bed. He realised that he had just experienced a real defining moment. He wasn't about to get it back. Nothing had happened, of course - McGonagall had arrived just an instant too soon. So close. He was certain that their lips would have met, but of course he wouldn't know. After all, Percy's departure hadn't given him any clue that they would ever try to retake that step.

By now, he wasn't entirely sure that it had almost happened - the memory was already taking on the faded quality of a dream.

But, plain old Oliver Wood was completely sure that he wanted it to happen again.