Keeper's Secrets

Keeper's Secrets: Chapter One: Every you, every me

* * All alone in space and time.
* * There's nothing here but what's here's mine.
* * Something borrowed, something blue.
* * Every me and every you.
* * Every me and every you,
* * Every Me...he

--Placebo, Every You, Every Me

"Happy birthday, Ol," Oliver Wood vaguely heard as his bed's curtains swished open, letting the light in. He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the light, and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

Percy Weasley stood at the side of his bed with a large brightly-coloured wrapped box, tied with a golden ribbon. Wood swung his legs down and sunk his toes into the white fluffy sheepskin rug on the floor next to his bed, reaching for his burgundy, thick towelling dressing-gown.

"Cheers, Perce," he said, slipping into the dressing-gown and his slippers and perching back on the bed. He pulled at one end of the ribbon and the elaborate bow magically unravelled, unwrapping the present at the same time and revealing a deep blue cardboard box with gold trim. He excitedly pulled open the box to reveal a long navy blue Puddlemere United Quidditch robe with the team's crossed golden bulrushes on the crest. "Fantastic!" Oliver crowed, hurriedly shedding his dressing-gown and pulling on the robe. He capered across his single study-bedroom and into the corridor, the robe billowing behind him. Running back into the room, he grabbed his Nimbus and ascended into the air above his bed.

"You know, Ol, thirty feet of ceiling really isn't all that much to maneuver in," Percy said, wincing as Oliver nearly hit a beam. Oliver descended to the floor again just as Neil Marcus and James Alexander piled into his room carrying a long box between them.

"Brilliant present, Perce, cheers!" Oliver said, hanging the robe on a hanger from the end of his bed and admiring it.

"Well, it is your eighteenth," Percy said with a reserved smile. "Doesn't happen every day, you know."

James and Neil lowered the box to the floor and stood grinning as Oliver opened it to reveal a gleaming new set of Quidditch balls, the Quaffle a bright scarlet and the dull iron Bludgers struggling against their shiny chains. He tapped the Hogwarts shield in the lid to release the Snitch, holding it in his hand and admiring it.

"Happy birthday, Woodsie," James said.

"Guys, this is ace," Oliver said, tossing the Quaffle to Neil, who caught it with a flick of his wrist. Neil adjusted his thin wire-framed glasses and grinned. "As Weaz said, mate, it is your eighteenth."

"Yeah. Plus," James said, eyes grinning from beneath his black hair, "we did kinda have a hand in wrecking your old Quaffle's Descending Charm, after all."

Oliver grinned and turned to see Jasper Wainwright walking through the door with another box. He opened it to discover three bottles of champagne, one each of port, madeira and sherry, vodka, gin, rum and tequila, and a red and white wine.

"Wow, cool, Jas," Oliver said, inspecting the bottles. Jasper, who wasn't one to waste words and said simply, "Happy birthday, Olly."

"Oh, nearly forgot," Percy said with a wry smile. "McGonagall gave us permission to take you up to Hogsmeade and get you absolutely stonked tonight. How does leaving right after dinner sound to you?"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Oliver said with a grin.

* * *

They all hurried off to dress for breakfast and, his dressing-gown swishing behind him, Oliver headed into the communal bathroom which all five of the seventh-years shared. He hopped into the shower and turned it on hot, washed his hair and soaped himself down. As he hummed Puddlemere's anthem, "Beat back those Bludgers, boys, and chuck the Quaffle here," he missed the quiet clank of the door to the bathroom opening.

"SURPRISE!" a group of people thundered, and Oliver dropped the soap in shock and whirled round. A flash went off and the dozen-odd people there started to sing "Happy Birthday to you". Oliver blushed furiously and grasped for his towel, cursing freely, mainly at Fred and George Weasley, who appeared to be finding it hilarious.

"Get OUT!" Oliver thundered at them, and, giggling still, the group of people, which he noticed included Percy, James, Neil and Jasper, as well as several of the sixth-years, crammed out the door again. Oliver rinsed himself off and, muttering still, headed back to his room.

As he arrived at the Gryffindor table, the Weasleys grinned innocently at him. Oliver eyed them with suspicion and sat down, helping himself to the sausage and eggs which were on the table. "I am going to kill you, all of you," Oliver pronounced calmly as he shook salt onto his eggs.

"You'll have to get in line behind Snape," Angelina Johnson said from the other side of the table. "Fred did blow up his favorite cauldron, didn't you, Freddy-poo..."
"I most certainly did not. And he can Veritaserum me all he likes," Fred said indignantly, spreading jam on his toast.
"Yeah, besides, it was me," George said with a grin. "Just tip the powder out of a few fireworks and stick it to the side of a cauldron...and boom!"

"I didn't hear that," Percy said from their other side.

* * *

Percy and Oliver headed down the corridor towards Professor Dumbledore's office for their Muggle Studies seminar. Dumbledore preferred the informal nature of round-table discussions so much that he actually had a round table around which they all sat. Percy, with a smile, sat down in his usual seat next to Penelope Clearwater, and Oliver took his place next to Antony Fairbanks, a Hufflepuff who had taken third place in the class the previous year, coming just behind Oliver and Penelope, much to Percy's irritation. Percy was no academic slouch, and there were only five marks between the four of them, but, in true Percy fashion, he was annoyed by it.

The door to Dumbledore's tower opened and the Headmaster emerged in his habitual purple robe.

"Good morning," he said, sitting down in his usual place at the table. "Has everybody prepared a piece on the Muggle Age of Consent laws? Excellent. Before we begin, let me just say that there really is no need for embarrassment or blushing when discussing sex. Right, let's see...Mr Weasley, would you start?"

"Um, yes," Percy said, shuffling his parchment and pulling out one with green ink. "First of all, there is a trichotomy between the age of consent for heterosexual, male homosexual and female homosexual sexual activity. The age for heterosexual consent is 16, male homosexual 18 and there is none for female homosexual."

"And why is that?" Dumbledore asked.

"Er..." Percy shrugged. "I don't know, Professor."

"Anyone?"

Oliver raised his hand slightly -- once one got into NEWT classes, one stopped extending one's hand completely towards the ceiling, but just raised a couple of fingers slightly to indicate that one had something to say.

"Mr Wood?"

"Doesn't it date back to Queen Victoria? If I remember rightly, she couldn't understand how two women could have sex, so it was never made illegal when gay sex was."

"Correct. Mr Weasley, please continue."

Percy cleared his throat. "There is currently a movement to equalise the age of consent at 16 among homosexual and heterosexual people. With the current government, however, it is unlikely to get anywhere."

* * *

* * Sucker love is known to swing.
* * Prone to cling and waste these things.
* * Pucker up for heavens sake.
* * There's never been so much at stake.

* * *

Oliver, Percy, Neil, James and Jasper trudged up the hill towards Hogsmeade. It was a rainy September evening, Oliver's birthday night, cold and damp, and the chill penetrated easily through their long cloaks and scarves. The lights of Hogsmeade glowed orange through the rain, and they hurried past the shop windows until they saw the creaking sign of the Three Broomsticks swaying in the wind. Shouldering his way inside, Percy hurried over to the open fire roaring in the fireplace and held his hands out. "By Gods, that feels good," he said, grinning at Oliver, who had moved to stand next to him. The pub was reasonably empty for the time of night, with only a couple of local wizards sitting playing wizard dominoes in the corner.

"Vile night," Oliver said, the feeling only just starting to come back to his nose.
"James Marcus!" Madam Rosmerta boomed from behind the bar. "I thought I told you never to darken my doors again!"
James' eyes went wide and he sidled up to the bar. "Madam Rosmerta, how can I ever ask your forgiveness? I overindulged...can you find it in your heart to forgive words said in haste and under the influence?"
"You scamp," Rosmerta said, reaching over the bar and pinching his cheek. "Oh, I never could find it in my heart to keep a grudge with you. What'll you and your friends have?"
"Something warm," Percy interjected from in front of the fireplace.
"How's some nice mulled wine sound?" Rosmerta asked with a smile. "Got some on the go right now, actually."
"Heavenly," Oliver said with a grin. "I'll have two."
"Get away with you!" Rosmerta said with a grin, heading into the kitchen and coming back with goblets full of blood-red hot wine, mulled with spices, an orange and with a hearty splash of brandy added for good measure.
"Oh, that is good," Percy said. "Cheers, Ol, happy birthday."
"Cheers," Oliver said, clinking goblets with the other Gryffindors.

After several games of skittles and several more goblets of mulled wine, Oliver was starting to feel just a little bit tipsy. He sat down on a chair and looked at Percy, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he played Neil at Cribbage, a game involving dice and little pegs in a block of wood. Oliver smiled, but the smile faded a second later and he started to stare off into the distance.

"All right, Woodsie?" James Alexander asked, walking by and slapping him on the shoulder.
"Hmm? Oh, yes, fine, cheers," Oliver said. "Miles away."
"I'd never have guessed," James said with a wide smile. "Here you go, have another goblet of wine."
Oliver sipped absently at the refilled goblet, not tasting the wine, and watched Percy's face break out into a triumphant grin as he won the game. Percy was so competitive, so perfectionist, so...so Percy. Always striving to be not just better -- but the best. Oliver reflected, in that tipsy thoughtfulness which always accompanies having just a little too much to drink, that Percy was very handsome indeed. Very handsome...but out of Oliver's reach.

Oliver had known he was gay since he was twelve. He'd started looking around in the showers in the mornings, after Quidditch matches... Of course he'd had crushes, lusted after people...but he had never had a crush on Percy. Percy was the paradigm -- the model everything. Model Prefect. Model student. Model Gryffindor, with the courage to follow through on his convictions. Model Head Boy. And Model Item Of Lust for Oliver Wood.

Oliver was used to it by now. The sudden rush he'd feel from seeing Percy without his shirt on. Not particularly muscly, but not feeble either. The cute downy ginger hair on his chest, under his arms and underneath his navel were so adorable. The way the corner of his eyes crinkled when he let down his guard, the way that the block went straight back up again...Oliver guessed that Percy was blocking against anyone trying to hurt him. This was the problem with being from such a large family, Oliver supposed -- Oliver was an only child -- continually being on guard for someone to get the extra attention, to get another helping of dinner. To take it from you.

Percy stood, stretching and running his hands through his hair. He walked over to Oliver, not in his self-assured Head Boy walk, but in the more gentle Off-Duty walk which Oliver remembered from the earlier years when they had shared a dormitory. Oliver raised his eyes to Percy's and smiled.

"You look a bit drunk, Oliver Wood," Percy said with a friendly smile.
"There's probably a reason for that," Oliver said, grinning back.
"Not good, for a Quidditch player. You'll lose your edge, your fitness."
"Bugger."
Percy lifted Oliver's goblet with a "may I?" look. Oliver nodded, and Percy took a sip. His eyes widened and one eyebrow shot up. "Bastards..."
"Mmm?"
"Bastards. They spiked your drink. That's brandy with just a splash of wine in there."
"Nn-kay."
"Oh, bloody hell. James!" Percy's eyes flashed.
James and Neil wandered over. "You win tonight's prize. Having got our Star Keeper here trolleyed, you get to carry the poor bugger back to the Tower."
"Fair enough," Neil said.
Percy's eyes narrowed. "Just like that? Fair enough?"
"Yep. What's wrong, Weaz?"
"Nothing, nothing," Percy said, looking down at Oliver.
"I feel fine," Oliver slurred. "Thezh nofing wong writh me. Wong...wrong writh, oh, bugger. I'm smashed."
Percy smiled. "Okay. I'm going to the loo. Drink up, boys, and we'll head back."
"Righto," Jasper said, lifting his goblet to his lips.

* * *

Percy walked back into the pub a minute later. "Those little BASTARDS!"

* * *

Percy opened the door to find that the rain had stopped but that the mist had closed in, making the valley extremely foggy. Swearing loudly, he walked down the street, arm around Oliver, keeping the Keeper from falling over. "Oh, sod this," Percy said as they reached the grass at the end of the village, which was sodden with fog dew.

"Leviosum!" he said forcefully, tapping Oliver with the wand and allowing him to slide backwards until he was about five feet off the ground.

Oliver muttered something which sounded like "Flying! Whee!" and then started to snore softly. Taking hold of Oliver's left foot, Percy started to walk back to the castle with the other boy floating along behind.

Forty-five minutes later, as the bell in town struck midnight, Percy floated Oliver back into his study. He lit a lamp, pulled open Oliver's sheets, muttered a quick warming charm and looked around. A jug of water stood on a chest and Percy poured a glass and set it on the bedside table. He gently removed Oliver's cloak and hung it on a peg. Pulling off Oliver's rollneck black jumper and t-shirt underneath, he folded them on Oliver's desk, receiving a grumpy look from a model of Puddlemere's Seeker, Ally MacBeth, a tall, long-haired wizard wearing the blue robes of Puddlemere United. Percy's hand brushed unintentionally over Oliver's chest, the dark hairs feeling soft and featherlike under his fingertips. Percy pulled Oliver's boots off and started to fumble with the buckle of Oliver's belt, finally unbuckling it and laying the trousers across the back of a chair. He pulled Oliver's socks off and, muttering "finite incantatem", carried Oliver, clad only in blue-green boxers, over to the bed. As Percy laid him on the bed, he noticed that the fly of the boxers had come open. Percy turned Oliver over onto his side in case he was ill, and pulled the duvet up to cover his firm, slightly hairy chest.

Damn, he's fit, Percy thought. If only he were gay...

* * *

* * Like the naked leads the blind.
* * I know I'm selfish, I'm unkind.

* * Every me and every you.
* * Every me and every you,
* * Every Me...he

* * *