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The Weight of Living	By : percyplusoliver Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Percy/Oliver Views: 4738 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: This can also be found at AO3. I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters. I am not making any money from this story. I just do this for kicks :) Note: This begins around HBP-era

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
Saturday dawned cool and bright; perfect weather for a Quidditch match. Percy woke early, a result of both his nerves (on Oliver’s behalf, of course!) and excitement at seeing Oliver play with the first team. He arrived at the pitch 45 minutes before the match was supposed to start, and, like Oliver had told him to do, introduced himself at the ticket office. He was waved through and shown to some pretty choice seats. Oliver had really taken care of everything, he thought. He was sat right near the home team’s goalposts; he would have a perfect view. He watched both teams as they warmed up and then retreated to their changing rooms to prepare for the beginning of the match. He looked at his watch. Twenty minutes. He had enough time to get himself a Butterbeer before the match started.
After he had returned to his seat, the announcer welcomed the crowd to the match and began introducing the players, starting with the Holyhead Harpies. Percy only half-listened, choosing instead to look around the pitch, taking in the grandiosity of it all. The stands were much better appointed than the ones at Hogwarts, he noticed, with plush cushions on the benches and bright flags flying from the end of every other row. The grass on the pitch was well-kept and the goalposts seemed to sparkle in the sun. But that was to be expected, it being a professional stadium instead of a school, he thought. Don’t be an idiot, Percy.
“...and captain Gwenog Jones,” finished the announcer. “Now, onto the home team, Puddlemere United!” Loud cheers and whistles erupted from the stands.
“We begin with the Chasers: Wilda Griffiths, Lachlan Wilder, and Euan Williams.” The announcer paused for cheers.
“Next, the beaters: Evelyn Johnson and Terrence Peyton.” Another pause for cheers.
“Joining us from the reserve team as Keeper, Oliver Wood!” Percy cheered very loudly at this, certain he would lose his voice by the end of the match.
“And your Seeker and captain, Michael Robinson! Please welcome PUDDLEMERE UNITED!!” The crowd roared with excitement as the final player was announced. “Let’s have a good, clean game!” With that, the players rose into the air and settled into their positions. Percy trained his eyes on Oliver, who seemed – from Percy’s line of sight – confident. A moment later, the Quaffle was set into play and the Snitch was released. The Bludgers were flying about maniacally, trying to attack all of the players.
The match was fast-paced; Puddlemere scored first, and then the Harpies. Puddlemere twice more, and then once again. With every save Oliver made, Percy shouted as if his life depended on it. He wondered if Oliver could hear him. Probably not, but that didn’t matter – he would still cheer as loudly as he could. He felt such an intense swell of pride and excitement for Oliver. He had wanted this for so long, to play professional Quidditch, and now he was getting to.
For a long while, no one scored, and then it seemed that the Harpies’ Seeker had spied the Snitch. She flew about the pitch frantically, chasing the sparkling golden ball. Seconds later, she stopped in mid-air and held her hand out, opening her fist slowly. The Harpies’ fans cheered loudly. Percy felt his stomach drop. Oliver would be so disappointed.
“And the winners of our match today are the Holyhead Harpies!” the announcer called, a bit of disappointment coming through in his voice, “by a score of 160 to 40!”
The United fans shuffled out of the stands, defeated. Percy heard snippets of chatter from fans around him - “-should have won-” “-what was Robinson thinking?-” “-at least Wood played well-...” At that, Percy felt his heart swell. Yes, Oliver had played well. He had only let one goal through, and if the Seeker hadn’t caught the Snitch, he would have done even better. He was proud of Oliver, and he couldn’t wait to tell him so.
***
Oliver felt like shit. All of his efforts had been for naught. They had lost – again – and they were going to get the shouting of a lifetime. He sat on a bench in the changing room and mentally prepared himself for the verbal thrashing he was about to receive, even though he was hardly at fault – he had saved nearly all of the Harpies’ shots and couldn’t have done anything about the Snitch. Instead of listening, he zoned out, thinking about Percy. He had been at the match, right? Merlin, what a first match to come to, one where they had lost. He frowned. Percy would come to more matches, wouldn’t he? Would he even want to, since they had lost so badly this time? Oliver hoped so – knowing Percy had been there supporting him had bolstered his confidence.
“THIS IS THE FIFTH MATCH IN A ROW YOU BASTARDS HAVE LOST!” raged Robinson. “WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?”
Oliver looked around the changing room. He saw a bunch of stony faces. He thought it was equally, if not more so, Robinson’s fault; he ought to have followed the Harpies’ Seeker when she had seen the Snitch, but being just a member of the reserve team, he wasn’t going to speak up.
You bastards? he thought. Great way to promote team unity. He wanted to roll his eyes, but knew that wouldn’t be wise.
Robinson glared at each player individually, seemingly daring them to respond. No one did.
“Fine,” he said sharply. “6am practises from now on.” A collective groan arose from the team. “Until we can work as a unit, we’ll practise from 6am until 3pm.” He paused. “Wood, you too. You can practise with the first team as well.”
Oliver felt a mixture of excitement and dread: he was ecstatic that he had seemingly been promoted to the first team, but dreading 6am practises. He nodded at Robinson, indicating that he would be there.
“Now go,” Robinson said angrily. “I don’t want to see any of you right now. Tomorrow morning, 6am sharp, be on the pitch. If you’re late, you’re out of the squad for the next match.”
Oliver stood and walked to his locker, where he quickly changed into his street clothes. He knew Percy was waiting for him, and Oliver didn’t want to keep him waiting any longer. He sighed. At least it was over, and he wasn’t the target of the shouting – at least not the only target. And he had been promoted, so one good thing had come from this afternoon. He stared at his feet as he walked out of the tunnel, not paying attention to where he was going.
***
Percy stood outside the fence of the pitch, waiting for Oliver to finish changing and meet him. How long could it possibly take to change clothes? he wondered, slightly annoyed. He looked at his watch and then felt someone walk straight into him. “Watch it!” he said, irritated, and then turned his head to look at the offending person. It was Oliver, looking discouraged.
Percy felt like a grade-A arse. “Sorry,” he mumbled, taking Oliver into his arms and holding him tightly. “You were brilliant today.” He meant it, too – Oliver had played like a champion.
“We still lost,” Oliver complained. “What a match for you to come to; our fifth loss in a row.” He frowned.
“I don’t care,” Percy said. “I care about seeing you play.” He squeezed Oliver tighter, eliciting a squeak from him.
“Still wish we would’ve won, though,” said Oliver grumpily.
“Hey mate, good game,” called one of his teammates. It was Terrence, one of the Beaters, walking out with Evelyn and Euan. “Well done being promoted to first team.” Terrence stopped for a minute to talk to Oliver and, presumably, Percy. Oliver pulled away from Percy and turned to face his teammates.
“Thanks, mate,” Oliver said with a smile. “Bad luck that we lost.” He paused, looking around before continuing, “but Robinson really ought to have followed their Seeker a bit more closely, huh?” He raised an eyebrow and shook his head. “But who am I to say, I’m just a reserve keeper.” Oliver forced a laugh.
Euan laughed and agreed, as did Evelyn and Terrence. “Wood, who’s this dashing man you’ve got here?” asked Evelyn with a hint of desire in her voice. She looked at Percy almost hungrily, sizing him up. Percy felt uncomfortable; he felt like an exhibit at a museum or a side of beef.
“Oh...” stammered Oliver. They hadn’t discussed this yet. He glanced over at Percy quickly, seeing the same anxiety in his eyes. Deciding to go for it and talk about it later, he said, “This is my...boyfriend, Percy.” He paused, watching Percy’s eyes light up. Good, he thought. I said the right thing. “Percy, this is Evelyn, Euan, and Terrence.”
They made small talk for a few minutes, and then Oliver’s teammates excused themselves. “See you tomorrow, bright and early,” Oliver called after them.
“First team!” Percy said excitedly. “I’m so proud of you! Congratulations!” Oliver blushed. He didn’t want Percy making a fuss over him – well, he did, but he wouldn’t say it or even admit it to himself – so he brushed it off like it was nothing. He shook his head. “Only because I just let in one goal today,” he said dismissively. “And Robinson cocked the whole match up by losing the Snitch.” He rolled his eyes.
“Don’t diminish yourself,” Percy said, sounding annoyed. “You played brilliantly. I’m so proud of my boyfriend.” He put extra emphasis on that last word, indicating that he approved of what Oliver had said to his teammates. “Come home with me and I’ll cook you dinner to celebrate. What do you want?”
“I don’t care,” Oliver said, “as long as I don’t have to cook. I’m knackered.”
***
Back at Percy’s, Oliver showered and settled on the couch while Percy prepared spaghetti bolognese and Caesar salad. “Need any help, Perce?” Oliver called from the living room, half-asleep, hoping the answer would be negative. When it was, he closed his eyes and yawned. It had been a hell of a day, and he deserved this little rest. He had started his morning like every other match morning, at 5am with a long run to loosen up his muscles. Then, as usual, a big breakfast – typical fry-up for energy. But he had been too nervous to eat much. It had been his first time playing with the first team, so he was playing doomsday scenarios over and over in his mind, worrying about fucking things up royally. He had only managed a few slices of toast, in the end. And then there had been the match. Fortunately, he had done well – well enough, at least. He hadn’t gotten injured and he’d only let in one goal. He considered that a success for his first first-team appearance. It could only get better from here.
In the kitchen, Percy cooked absentmindedly. His thoughts were on Oliver calling him his boyfriend to his teammates, even though they hadn’t officially discussed it yet. He was absolutely chuffed that Oliver considered them to be a couple – he, of course, had overanalysed it every minute they were apart, wondering how Oliver classified their relationship and if it even was a relationship – but now he knew, and he was over the moon. Boyfriend. He rolled the word around in his mind. It felt good to have someone who cared about him. It felt especially good to have Oliver care about him and, even better, want to be with him. He would do anything to keep it that way.
“Ollie!” Percy called “Food!” When there was no answer, Percy walked into the living room to find Oliver fast asleep on the sofa. He smiled. He really is knackered, Percy thought. But he has to eat. He shook Oliver awake, saying, “Time to eat, sleepyhead.”
Oliver opened his eyes. “Urgghhh,” he groaned groggily. “Bring me food?” He looked so pathetic that Percy couldn’t help but laugh. “What’s so funny?”
“You are,” Percy replied, kissing his forehead. “Sit up and I’ll bring you a plate.” Oliver complied grudgingly, wanting to go back to sleep but at the same time wanting to eat – he hadn’t eaten anything substantial since the previous day, and he was starving.
“I’m hungry,” Oliver complained. “I’m tired. I’m crabby.” He knew he was being difficult, but he didn’t really care. He had had a shit afternoon, and he wanted attention. He wanted consolation; confirmation that he was, indeed, a good Quidditch player and that he did deserve his spot on the first team. He was just as insecure as Percy sometimes, though only when it came to Quidditch. It had always been his top priority, and he had always trained hard to make sure he was the best. It would be different now that he was playing with the first team; he would have to train longer and harder if he wanted to be even as good as his teammates, not to mention better.
“Here,” Percy said, “stop whinging and eat.” He handed Oliver a plate of pasta and salad and sat down beside him with his own plate.
Oliver took his plate and silverware and took a bite. Merlin, this was good. “You’re a fantastic cook, Perce,” he said with a mouth full of pasta, making it sound more like “Yrafntsccukpirs.” He took another huge bite, barely taking time to taste it before swallowing.
“Can you repeat that without your mouth full?” Percy asked, rolling his eyes. “I didn’t understand a word you said.”
Oliver set his fork down and swallowed his third bite of pasta before he said, “You. Are. A. Fantastic. Cook, Perce”, over-enunciating every word sarcastically.
“Thank you,” Percy said with a smile. “That wasn’t that hard, was it?” He poked Oliver in the side teasingly.
“Yes it was,” Oliver said grumpily. “You made me stop eating.”

“Merlin, you’re crabby tonight,” Percy said. “Why don’t you just finish your dinner and go home?” He didn’t really want Oliver to leave, but if he was going to be this unpleasant, there was no point in having him stay.
Oliver immediately felt bad. Yes, he was in a terrible mood. His team had lost, they had been shouted at even though it technically wasn’t their fault, and he was exhausted. But should he be taking it out on Percy? No, he thought, it wasn’t his fault. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “’s’not your fault I’m in a bad mood. Can I still sleep over here tonight before practise tomorrow?”
Did he really have to ask? Percy thought incredulously. Percy would give him a key if he thought it wouldn’t frighten him away. “Of course,” he said gently. “Finish eating and I’ll wash the dishes. You can go straight to bed.” He ruffled Oliver’s hair and kissed his temple.
Oliver smiled. “Thanks,” he said, shoveling the last bite of pasta into his mouth. “I’ll just set this in the kitchen, shall I?” When Percy nodded, he stood up and took his plate to the kitchen, returning to the living room to kiss Percy goodnight. “Don’t stay up too late,” he said. “I have to be up early for practise, and I may want to wake you up.” He winked and kissed Percy passionately.
Percy flushed a deep maroon – he still hadn’t got used to Oliver’s frequent use of innuendo and it always made him blush. “You’re so cute when you blush,” Oliver said with a smile. “I love it.” He paused. “And you.”
“I love you too,” Percy said. “Go to sleep, crabbypants. I’ll be in soon, after I tidy up in the kitchen.” He waved Oliver off to the bedroom, and he headed into the kitchen to begin tidying up.
- 10
- 11
- 12
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The Weight of Living