[fic] and the red light was my mind (all my love was in vain) (Harry Potter, Percy/Oliver, others)
Title: and the right light was my mind (all my love was in vain)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: PG-13 for swears
Warnings: Slash, extreme love of the Rolling Stones
Pairings/Characters: one-sided Percy Weasley/Oliver Wood, Molly Weasley, Bill Weasley, mentions of original characters
Word Count: 1,732
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to its respectful owner. I am making no profit off of this and, yes, in my head, Oliver Wood is a big fan of the Stones. (The Stones >>>> the Beatles, Indes, and you fucking know it. :D)
A/N: Oh, God, it’s been forever since I’ve written HP fic. But I was ~inspired~ because GoF was on ABC the other day. Unbeta’d, so all mistakes are my own. Enjoy.
it’s hard to tell when your love’s in vain
- the rolling stones, love in vain
i - august 7, 1992
Muggle London is too loud for Percy’s liking. It is summer, so the heat lays over the city oppressively, sticky and thick. People crowd around, pushing him out of the way (well, that’s not too different from Hogwarts and at least they don’t make fun of him here) and there are signs everywhere. (“Look left!” they scream and “Watch your step!” and since he always follows the rules, Percy does, and he looks right, too.) His palms sweat, a combination of the heat and nerves, the sticky wetness making the paper stick to his fingers as he reads the address his father gave him earlier.
A girl - she looks about seventeen, Percy estimates - with bright red lips and heavily lined eyes and a skirt that Mrs Weasley would never let Ginny wear out of the house sidles up to him. “Hey, love,” she purrs, and Percy can smell cigarettes and gin on her breath, her hand reaches up to touch the back of his neck. “Are you lost?”
“I…” Yes, I am lost, please help me. I don’t know what’s going on. “I’m fine, thanks.”
“You look lost.” The girl’s voice is rough and growling, predatory.
“No, thank you.” Percy gives her a tight lipped smile and walks quickly away before he finds the store he’s looking for.
ii - december 25, 1991
Percy wakes up before Oliver, and he rolls over and looks at his roommate. Oliver’s sprawled across his bed on his stomach. One arm is bent with the hand on his pillow and the other is draped over the edge of the bed, fingers grazing the floor.
He’s smiling in his sleep, and that smile makes Percy’s stomach all warm and funny-feeling. After a moment of gazing at Oliver’s (not perfect, Percy, get a grip, he scolds himself) face, the other boy twitches and opens one eye. “G’morning,” Oliver mumbles, his smile widening. “Happy Christmas.” The smile turns into a grin and the Scottish boy sits up, stretching. He’s hardly able to contain his glee.
“What are you so happy about?” Percy asks, because Christmas was never a major holiday for him. He loves presents, of course, but he doesn’t see the fuss in it. It’s just getting gifts for being alive. He never earned them.
Percy likes to earn everything he gets; it gives him a sense of a job well-done.
“Is it being Christmas not enough reason to be happy?” Oliver asks, raising his eyebrows. “Oh, right. I forgot you were a killjoy.”
This hurts more than it ought to, and Oliver seems to sense that. So he sighs. “I’m sorry, Perce. I’m just excited because I got you a few really great gifts that, if I may say, are fucking amazing.”
iii - august 7, 1992
“Hello, I’d like to purchase a record player,” Percy says, smiling at the woman behind the counter. The woman is wearing a black T-shirt with a bleached-blonde man holding a guitar and he looks sort of like Jesus, Percy thinks.
She raises her eyebrows. “I thought you lot were all about cassettes nowadays,” she muses. “What kind would you like?”
What kind of question is that? Percy wonders. “Um, one that plays records?”
The woman laughs, a round, hearty sound that makes Percy feel slightly less stupid.
Twenty minutes later, she’s putting a clunky black box in a box with instructions and tells him don’t drop it, or it will break, like he’s stupid and sends him on his way.
iv - december 25, 1991
When Percy looks at the way Oliver’s hair stands up on end in the morning, he tries very hard not to imagine how he’d look in the morning waking up in Percy’s bed.
So, instead of thinking that, he focuses on the way Oliver sits up in bed and reaches for his presents. “Well, go on,” he urges Percy. “Open them. I hope your mum made you one of those sweaters. They’re nice.”
“No, they aren’t. They’re ugly,” Percy mutters, because he hates the way they itch and she never remembers that he likes blue.
“Oh, come on, Percy,” Oliver soothes (and, no, Percy is not imagining how Oliver would sound whispering in his ear), “they aren’t bad at all. I wish my mum would make me sweaters. It’s a sign of how much she loves you.”
Percy snorts a little. “You sound like a woman,” he laughs and Oliver looks mock-offended.
“Take it back!” he chuckles, tossing his pillow at Percy’s head. He’s grinning again, that million-watt smile that forces Percy to smile, too.
After a few minutes of laughter and pillow-throwing, Percy waves the white flag. “Okay, okay, stoppit. As prefect, I order you to stop!”
“‘Order’?” Oliver echoes, snickering. “All right, Mr Prefect, if you insist. Now, as Quidditch Captain - ” Oliver can’t help but swell with pride as he says this, “I demand that you open the presents I bought you.”
v - february 14, 1986
Percy watches his eldest brother, Bill, put the finishing touches on the package he’s wrapping for his girlfriend, a pretty blonde named Miranda.
“See, Perce,” Bill was saying, “When you get old enough to have a girlfriend, you’ll buy her something pretty, too. Something nice. It shows how much you love her and how much you care about her.”
Percy nods. “Yeah, okay. Of course.”
Bill smiles and ruffles Percy’s hair, something the younger boy pretends to hate but secretly revels in. He loves being shown affection from his eldest brother, because Bill is his idol. “But you have to put a lot of thought into the present, okay? Don’t just get her something you picked out randomly.”
“Got it.”
When Bill smiles again, Percy’s heart swells with joy. “You’ll be a good boyfriend some day, mate,” he tells Percy gently. “Some girl is going to be lucky to have you.”
vi - august 7, 1992
The record is nothing like wizarding music, Percy decides. It’s all over the place - some of it is slow and mournful and some of it is loud and fast and hard. The cover of the one called Hot Rocks is blue with a man’s silhouette.
(“Mick Jagger,” Oliver explained. “He’s basically a God.”)
The cover of Between the Buttons has four men, who Percy assumes are the band and the most interesting one has big lips (no, not like Oliver’s) and he has his coat collar popped up and a really terrible hair cut.
He’s sort of sneering at the camera and Percy doesn’t believe Oliver when he learns that he’s the lead singer because he has such a nice voice on some of the slower songs.
(“Yeah, well, that’s ‘coz Jagger’s a God,” Oliver had said with a shrug. “God works in mysterious ways.”)
Percy spent several days that summer working in his room and playing the records.
vii - december 25, 1991
“See, I was thinking we needed to expand your musical horizons,” Oliver tells Percy.
Percy stares at the three records, dumbfounded. Hot Rocks, Exile on Main Street and Between the Buttons. What strange names. “Um, thank you.”
“No problem,” Oliver says over his shoulder. He’s taking off the T-shirt he sleeps in and Percy tries not to stare at his bare back. “I thought I should be nice to you before just getting you something by, I don’t know, nirvana or the red hot chili peppers.”
There is a silence. Then Percy says, “Oh. Well, thanks again.”
Oliver buttons up his white shirt before flopping down on Percy’s bed next to him. “Yeah. I wondered for a really long time, too. See, after dating Lane, I really got into Muggle music. There’s a lot more variety in it than in wizarding music. So I figured you’d really like it. Because if I like it, and I like you and you like me, then I figured you’d like it, too. I mean, it’s mathematically correct.”
That makes Percy laugh and he promises that he’ll listen to them over the summer.
viii - august 23, 1992
“Oh, what nice gifts,” Molly gushes when Percy lets her listen to one of the songs. It’s Percy’s favorite, slow and soft and it mostly repeats, she smiled sweetly. “You know, I always liked Oliver. He was always so nice to me.”
“Yeah, he’s a nice guy,” Percy agrees.
And Molly gives him that mothering look, the one where Percy squirms because it feels like she’s reading his mind. “Percy, you’re a Gryffindor for a reason. And you should tell him.”
Percy feigns confusion. “Tell Oliver what, mum?”
“Oliver’s such a sweet boy and you’d be surprised,” Molly answers cryptically.
And Percy understands.
ix - december 25, 1991
“Happy Christmas, Perce,” Oliver says through a yawn when they crawl into bed.
When he thinks Oliver is asleep, Percy whispers, “love you.”
Oliver whispers, “I love you, too,” in a groggy voice.
That night, Percy dreams of flying.
x - september 1, 1992
Deep breath, Weasley, Percy instructs himself. After all, he is a Gryffindor and Oliver is accepting and what does he have to lose?
It’s not like anyone takes him seriously, anyway.
Besides, with Oliver, he can laugh it off as a joke.
After twenty minutes of searching for his best friend on the platform, he finally spots the tall, terribly attractive Keeper carrying his trunk to the train. He looks even more beautiful with a tan and it makes his teeth look even whiter when he smiles. “Hey!” he yells through the crowd.
“Oliver!” Percy shouts at exactly the same time someone else does.
A moment later, Oliver has his arms wrapped around a beautiful girl with a long mane of jet black hair, pale skin and amazingly blue eyes. She beams prettily at Percy as Oliver kisses her cheek. “How are you, love?” Oliver asks her in that voice - the one Percy always had reserved for just him in his stupid fantasies.
Because that’s all they were now. Just stupid fucking fantasies that would never come true.
“Percy, this is Vivien. Viv, Percy. Come on, mate. Let’s go get a compartment.” Oliver throws him that mega-watt smile again, throws an arm around Vivien’s shoulders and heads off toward the train.
And all Percy can think of is that stupid song that went, “when you changed with every new day, still I’m gonna miss you.”
end
TELL ME, BBS, SHOULD I CONTINUE TO WRITE PERCY/OLIVER? Y/N/F U?
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: PG-13 for swears
Warnings: Slash, extreme love of the Rolling Stones
Pairings/Characters: one-sided Percy Weasley/Oliver Wood, Molly Weasley, Bill Weasley, mentions of original characters
Word Count: 1,732
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to its respectful owner. I am making no profit off of this and, yes, in my head, Oliver Wood is a big fan of the Stones. (The Stones >>>> the Beatles, Indes, and you fucking know it. :D)
A/N: Oh, God, it’s been forever since I’ve written HP fic. But I was ~inspired~ because GoF was on ABC the other day. Unbeta’d, so all mistakes are my own. Enjoy.
it’s hard to tell when your love’s in vain
- the rolling stones, love in vain
i - august 7, 1992
Muggle London is too loud for Percy’s liking. It is summer, so the heat lays over the city oppressively, sticky and thick. People crowd around, pushing him out of the way (well, that’s not too different from Hogwarts and at least they don’t make fun of him here) and there are signs everywhere. (“Look left!” they scream and “Watch your step!” and since he always follows the rules, Percy does, and he looks right, too.) His palms sweat, a combination of the heat and nerves, the sticky wetness making the paper stick to his fingers as he reads the address his father gave him earlier.
A girl - she looks about seventeen, Percy estimates - with bright red lips and heavily lined eyes and a skirt that Mrs Weasley would never let Ginny wear out of the house sidles up to him. “Hey, love,” she purrs, and Percy can smell cigarettes and gin on her breath, her hand reaches up to touch the back of his neck. “Are you lost?”
“I…” Yes, I am lost, please help me. I don’t know what’s going on. “I’m fine, thanks.”
“You look lost.” The girl’s voice is rough and growling, predatory.
“No, thank you.” Percy gives her a tight lipped smile and walks quickly away before he finds the store he’s looking for.
ii - december 25, 1991
Percy wakes up before Oliver, and he rolls over and looks at his roommate. Oliver’s sprawled across his bed on his stomach. One arm is bent with the hand on his pillow and the other is draped over the edge of the bed, fingers grazing the floor.
He’s smiling in his sleep, and that smile makes Percy’s stomach all warm and funny-feeling. After a moment of gazing at Oliver’s (not perfect, Percy, get a grip, he scolds himself) face, the other boy twitches and opens one eye. “G’morning,” Oliver mumbles, his smile widening. “Happy Christmas.” The smile turns into a grin and the Scottish boy sits up, stretching. He’s hardly able to contain his glee.
“What are you so happy about?” Percy asks, because Christmas was never a major holiday for him. He loves presents, of course, but he doesn’t see the fuss in it. It’s just getting gifts for being alive. He never earned them.
Percy likes to earn everything he gets; it gives him a sense of a job well-done.
“Is it being Christmas not enough reason to be happy?” Oliver asks, raising his eyebrows. “Oh, right. I forgot you were a killjoy.”
This hurts more than it ought to, and Oliver seems to sense that. So he sighs. “I’m sorry, Perce. I’m just excited because I got you a few really great gifts that, if I may say, are fucking amazing.”
iii - august 7, 1992
“Hello, I’d like to purchase a record player,” Percy says, smiling at the woman behind the counter. The woman is wearing a black T-shirt with a bleached-blonde man holding a guitar and he looks sort of like Jesus, Percy thinks.
She raises her eyebrows. “I thought you lot were all about cassettes nowadays,” she muses. “What kind would you like?”
What kind of question is that? Percy wonders. “Um, one that plays records?”
The woman laughs, a round, hearty sound that makes Percy feel slightly less stupid.
Twenty minutes later, she’s putting a clunky black box in a box with instructions and tells him don’t drop it, or it will break, like he’s stupid and sends him on his way.
iv - december 25, 1991
When Percy looks at the way Oliver’s hair stands up on end in the morning, he tries very hard not to imagine how he’d look in the morning waking up in Percy’s bed.
So, instead of thinking that, he focuses on the way Oliver sits up in bed and reaches for his presents. “Well, go on,” he urges Percy. “Open them. I hope your mum made you one of those sweaters. They’re nice.”
“No, they aren’t. They’re ugly,” Percy mutters, because he hates the way they itch and she never remembers that he likes blue.
“Oh, come on, Percy,” Oliver soothes (and, no, Percy is not imagining how Oliver would sound whispering in his ear), “they aren’t bad at all. I wish my mum would make me sweaters. It’s a sign of how much she loves you.”
Percy snorts a little. “You sound like a woman,” he laughs and Oliver looks mock-offended.
“Take it back!” he chuckles, tossing his pillow at Percy’s head. He’s grinning again, that million-watt smile that forces Percy to smile, too.
After a few minutes of laughter and pillow-throwing, Percy waves the white flag. “Okay, okay, stoppit. As prefect, I order you to stop!”
“‘Order’?” Oliver echoes, snickering. “All right, Mr Prefect, if you insist. Now, as Quidditch Captain - ” Oliver can’t help but swell with pride as he says this, “I demand that you open the presents I bought you.”
v - february 14, 1986
Percy watches his eldest brother, Bill, put the finishing touches on the package he’s wrapping for his girlfriend, a pretty blonde named Miranda.
“See, Perce,” Bill was saying, “When you get old enough to have a girlfriend, you’ll buy her something pretty, too. Something nice. It shows how much you love her and how much you care about her.”
Percy nods. “Yeah, okay. Of course.”
Bill smiles and ruffles Percy’s hair, something the younger boy pretends to hate but secretly revels in. He loves being shown affection from his eldest brother, because Bill is his idol. “But you have to put a lot of thought into the present, okay? Don’t just get her something you picked out randomly.”
“Got it.”
When Bill smiles again, Percy’s heart swells with joy. “You’ll be a good boyfriend some day, mate,” he tells Percy gently. “Some girl is going to be lucky to have you.”
vi - august 7, 1992
The record is nothing like wizarding music, Percy decides. It’s all over the place - some of it is slow and mournful and some of it is loud and fast and hard. The cover of the one called Hot Rocks is blue with a man’s silhouette.
(“Mick Jagger,” Oliver explained. “He’s basically a God.”)
The cover of Between the Buttons has four men, who Percy assumes are the band and the most interesting one has big lips (no, not like Oliver’s) and he has his coat collar popped up and a really terrible hair cut.
He’s sort of sneering at the camera and Percy doesn’t believe Oliver when he learns that he’s the lead singer because he has such a nice voice on some of the slower songs.
(“Yeah, well, that’s ‘coz Jagger’s a God,” Oliver had said with a shrug. “God works in mysterious ways.”)
Percy spent several days that summer working in his room and playing the records.
vii - december 25, 1991
“See, I was thinking we needed to expand your musical horizons,” Oliver tells Percy.
Percy stares at the three records, dumbfounded. Hot Rocks, Exile on Main Street and Between the Buttons. What strange names. “Um, thank you.”
“No problem,” Oliver says over his shoulder. He’s taking off the T-shirt he sleeps in and Percy tries not to stare at his bare back. “I thought I should be nice to you before just getting you something by, I don’t know, nirvana or the red hot chili peppers.”
There is a silence. Then Percy says, “Oh. Well, thanks again.”
Oliver buttons up his white shirt before flopping down on Percy’s bed next to him. “Yeah. I wondered for a really long time, too. See, after dating Lane, I really got into Muggle music. There’s a lot more variety in it than in wizarding music. So I figured you’d really like it. Because if I like it, and I like you and you like me, then I figured you’d like it, too. I mean, it’s mathematically correct.”
That makes Percy laugh and he promises that he’ll listen to them over the summer.
viii - august 23, 1992
“Oh, what nice gifts,” Molly gushes when Percy lets her listen to one of the songs. It’s Percy’s favorite, slow and soft and it mostly repeats, she smiled sweetly. “You know, I always liked Oliver. He was always so nice to me.”
“Yeah, he’s a nice guy,” Percy agrees.
And Molly gives him that mothering look, the one where Percy squirms because it feels like she’s reading his mind. “Percy, you’re a Gryffindor for a reason. And you should tell him.”
Percy feigns confusion. “Tell Oliver what, mum?”
“Oliver’s such a sweet boy and you’d be surprised,” Molly answers cryptically.
And Percy understands.
ix - december 25, 1991
“Happy Christmas, Perce,” Oliver says through a yawn when they crawl into bed.
When he thinks Oliver is asleep, Percy whispers, “love you.”
Oliver whispers, “I love you, too,” in a groggy voice.
That night, Percy dreams of flying.
x - september 1, 1992
Deep breath, Weasley, Percy instructs himself. After all, he is a Gryffindor and Oliver is accepting and what does he have to lose?
It’s not like anyone takes him seriously, anyway.
Besides, with Oliver, he can laugh it off as a joke.
After twenty minutes of searching for his best friend on the platform, he finally spots the tall, terribly attractive Keeper carrying his trunk to the train. He looks even more beautiful with a tan and it makes his teeth look even whiter when he smiles. “Hey!” he yells through the crowd.
“Oliver!” Percy shouts at exactly the same time someone else does.
A moment later, Oliver has his arms wrapped around a beautiful girl with a long mane of jet black hair, pale skin and amazingly blue eyes. She beams prettily at Percy as Oliver kisses her cheek. “How are you, love?” Oliver asks her in that voice - the one Percy always had reserved for just him in his stupid fantasies.
Because that’s all they were now. Just stupid fucking fantasies that would never come true.
“Percy, this is Vivien. Viv, Percy. Come on, mate. Let’s go get a compartment.” Oliver throws him that mega-watt smile again, throws an arm around Vivien’s shoulders and heads off toward the train.
And all Percy can think of is that stupid song that went, “when you changed with every new day, still I’m gonna miss you.”
end
TELL ME, BBS, SHOULD I CONTINUE TO WRITE PERCY/OLIVER? Y/N/F U?