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It all starts when Oliver finds Percy in the library.
"Percy," Oliver says in a hissing whisper more disconcerting than his normal voice would have been. Percy startles at the interruption and looks up from his Potions essay to find a harried-looking Oliver staring down at him.
"Oliver," he says calmly, trying not to feel alarmed.
"I need your help," Oliver says, still hissing, and Percy's hand goes to his wand, already picturing the worst. Has someone else fallen victim to the Heir of Slytherin?
"With what?" he asks warily.
"Transfiguration," Oliver hisses, and Percy deflates with a sigh.
He casts a quick Muffliato and gestures for Oliver to sit. "I wish you'd have just said that instead of carrying on like your cat was dying. Go on, I've cast a spell so we can talk normally without being overheard."
"I mean, not my cat, but McGonagall…" Oliver says, sinking down into the chair with a massive sigh. Honestly, Percy's never seen someone so melodramatic about Transfiguration, even after living with Charlie for so many years.
"So you're looking for tutoring?" Percy prompts, hoping to get this conversation moving so he can get back to his essay. It's far from the first time his housemates have come to him to get their grades up so they can stay on the Quidditch team; he's frankly surprised they've made it nearly six years without Oliver asking.
"Yes, if you're available? I can pay you for your time."
Percy has to hide his surprise at the offer. "That's not—" he starts to say, but cuts himself off. He could do with a bit of pocket change, really, and what could it hurt? It would certainly be a balm to his frustration during each session if Oliver proved to be as thick as his muscles. But he can't be thinking of Oliver's muscles right now.
"Please, Perce?" Oliver asks, mistaking Percy's hesitation. The nickname sounds strange, but Percy finds he likes it. "It really would be a great help. I've seen you in class, it's like it's old hat to you. What's your going rate?"
"Two galleons per session," he blurts, knowing it's ridiculous.
Oliver's eyebrows shoot up. No, Percy knew it was too much. "Saving up for something special, eh? Or maybe someone? Alright, I can manage that. Three sessions a week, you think?"
"Y-yes, that seems doable," he says, clearing his throat. Six galleons in a week. That's more money than he's seen at one time, at least in his own possession. Of course, he's not going to let Oliver know that. "We can start tomorrow."
"Excellent. You're a lifesaver, Perce." And he leaves Percy staring down at his Potions essay, completely unable to focus.
***
Tutoring Oliver in Transfiguration actually turns out to be quite fun. He's very creative with his projects, and Percy finds himself trying new things based on what they work on together. Most of his problems seem more to do with mental blocks than lack of actual knowledge, which Percy happens to know all about. Oliver thrives during their sessions, but he seems to still have trouble during class.
"It's like I forget everything once McGonagall's eyes are on me. I'm hopeless."
"You're not hopeless, you're just… stuck in your head a bit. Here, pretend I'm McGonagall," Percy says, and performs a few spells to transfigure his face into something like hers.
This does nothing to help Oliver's concentration. It is, apparently, the most hilarious thing he's ever seen. "You look like—if McGonagall just came out of the dryer—and her hair was on fire!" Oliver manages between great, bellowing laughs. Percy spells a patch of wall into a mirror and has to laugh at his own reflection. Oliver does have a point. Soon, they've both dissolved into uncontrollable laughter.
"Alright, alright," Oliver finally says, trying to get his breath back. "You should probably take that off if we're going to get anywhere today." Percy still can't quite stop laughing, but he focuses well enough to dispel the modifications to his face. "Much better," Oliver says, grinning at Percy so earnestly that it makes his stomach flip.
"Right," Percy says, pulling himself together. "So, let's start over with the bamboo plant."
***
The next weekend is a Hogsmeade weekend for the Easter holidays, and Percy is excited to be able to do some shopping for once. He runs into Penelope Clearwater on his way out of the prefect bathroom, and they make plans to head over together.
They make their first stop at the Three Broomsticks, where Percy insists on buying their first round of butterbeer. It's not much, he knows, but he still feels like he owes her for putting to bed those awful rumors at the end of last year before they could spread too far. Percy would never get involved with a teacher, let alone if that teacher were Snape. If he needed to stoop so low for better grades, surely he'd go for a more difficult class than Potions. Luckily, the student body seemed to take Penelope's word for it, though he's pretty sure she led them to believe she was dating him instead, which he could've done without. Still, better to be assumed straight than unethical.
Penelope had become a fast friend after that. They bonded over their love for Quidditch and the magic behind it, along with their ambitious plans for the future.
The bartender sets down the two drinks before him, but before Percy can turn to head back to their table, a warm hand claps onto his shoulder. "Alright, Percy?" Oliver asks, making his own space at the bar next to him.
"Oliver," Percy says, surprised. "Thought you might be hanging back today."
"Hufflepuff booked the pitch as soon as they moved the Hogsmeade date. I know, completely unfair, but what can you do? At least they're not the bloody Slytherins, trying to bribe their way into the Cup. Oh, are you here with someone?" he asks, gesturing at the two drinks in front of Percy.
"Penelope," he says, nodding at her from across the room. She smiles and gives them both a wave.
"Ah, say no more," Oliver says, smiling and waving back. "Now I see what you've been saving up for," Oliver murmurs, shooting Percy a wink that makes him wither inside.
"Oh, er—"
"I won't keep you any longer. Go, enjoy your date!" And with a nudge, Oliver sends him back to the table, cutting off any chance of correcting him.
***
"We've got to move these meetings up for the rest of the week," Oliver says at the start of their next session. "I'm scheduling Quidditch practice every night, right after dinner."
Percy grins. "Hopefully not right after dinner, unless you want a mess all over the Quidditch pitch." The look on Oliver's face tells Percy this is no laughing matter. "Right. Well, I'm free after five o’clock most days. How about we do it then?" It's usually when he gets a start on his homework, straight after classes while everything is fresh on his mind, but he can make an exception for just one week.
With the scheduling out of the way, Oliver spends the next ten minutes ranting about the Slytherins, and the Hufflepuffs, and his own team. Percy takes it in stride, seeing the passion behind it now that he knows Oliver a little better. When his words seem to shift from venting to catastrophizing, though, Percy starts to worry. He's been there many times himself, so he tries to employ the same methods he's used and asks, "What's the worst thing that happens, if you lose this match?"
Oliver makes a pained noise. "We lose the Cup. It's all my fault; the team shuns me. They're my only friends, you know." Percy frowns. "Knowing my failure, I can't focus on classes, and I fail those too. Hogwarts kicks me out before our seventh year, knowing that if I washed up at Quidditch, then there's really no point in having me back. Merlin's beard, Percy, it's the only thing I'm good at!"
"That's… that's not true," Percy says, realizing he would've said the same thing a scant few weeks ago. "You helped me with Arithmancy just the other day!"
"That was a complete fluke and you know it," Oliver says, muffled, as he holds his hands over his face.
"Well, I can't speak to the Quidditch, but I can safely say that your team would never shun you, unless you were possessed by some anti-Oliver spirit and gave up before the match even started." Oliver scoffs, offended at the notion, as Percy knew he would be. "And since that will never happen, they're still going to be your friends after. And you'll have me, too, though I know that doesn't count for much."
"It counts for a great deal, Perce," Oliver says softly, dropping his hands back to his sides to reveal an earnest expression. Percy feels his ears heat, and he forces himself to look away. "I'm sorry, listen to me prattling on about myself, and we're already a quarter of the way through our tutoring session. Don't worry, I'll still be sure to pay you in full; it's my fault we didn't get started on time."
"No, don't," Percy says before he can talk himself out of it. "I don't want you to pay me anymore."
Oliver frowns. "Your sessions help me a great deal, though; it's the least I can do. And I thought you were saving up to take out that Ravenclaw."
"No, that's not… that was never true," Percy admits, staring somewhere over Oliver's shoulder. "She's very kind, but I'm not interested in Penelope."
"Oh," Oliver says, looking flummoxed.
"That doesn't mean the other thing is true either!" Percy says—nearly shouts—his voice cracking a little.
"What other thing?" Oliver asks, more bewildered by the second.
"Oh, n-nothing." Percy clears his throat. He's got to pull himself together, this is ridiculous. "Just some petty rumors someone tried to start last year. I'm not seeing anyone; let's just leave it at that."
"I shouldn't have assumed," Oliver says. "My apologies if that made things awkward for you."
"You're far from the first one to make that assumption. No harm done." Percy clears his throat again and sits up straighter in his chair. "Now. I want to see the progress you've made on the pointed-ear transformation."
***
Two days later, Hermes swoops down in the middle of Percy's conversation with Lee Jordan over the upcoming Quidditch match and drops a parcel in his lap. He absently gives Hermes a snack in thanks, trying and failing to recognize the return address. Curious, he carefully peels back the paper to reveal the exact journal he's had his eye on, with its expandable note-taking sections and its capabilities of recording wand movements. There's no way anyone in his family could have afforded this, so who…?
He finds his answer inside the front cover. The inscription reads, Consider this a thank you, since you won't accept payment. You're aces.
Percy inexplicably feels tears springing to his eyes. He glances up, looking for Oliver, but realizes he never came down to breakfast. He goes to excuse himself to Lee, but finds him already deep in talking strategy with his brothers, so he gets up and leaves the Great Hall without ceremony.
He finds Oliver at his desk in their shared dormitory, bent over a Charms essay he almost certainly should have completed last night.
"Oliver, I can't accept this," he says, holding out the journal.
Oliver takes it, looking stricken. "You don't like it?"
"It's not that. It's an extremely thoughtful gift, but… it's too much. I can't take it."
Oliver's eyes soften, and he stands, pressing the journal back against Percy's chest. "You can and you will. They don't accept returns."
"Well, that— but— I still can't accept it," he splutters, trying to push the book back on Oliver with little success. "Use it yourself, it's got a lot of great features."
"I got it for you."
"But why?" Percy finally asks, his voice rising of its own accord.
Oliver smiles. "Because you go above and beyond to help me. Because I knew you would like it. And because I like you, and I wanted to see your face go all splotchy like it does when you're overwhelmed."
Percy holds onto his composure by his fingernails, sure that Oliver heard his breath catch at 'I like you.' He has no doubt that his face is exactly that splotchy, and there's nothing he can do to stop it. "Oliver, I—" He cuts off abruptly as Oliver takes another step toward him, crowding into his space.
"You said you aren't seeing anyone, right?" Oliver murmurs. Percy stutters a non-answer, his ears ringing suddenly. "So would it be alright if I kissed you?"
Percy clears his throat and tries to will himself to step back. "Is—is this a prank?"
"No." Oliver reaches up to cup Percy's jaw. "You didn't answer my question."
"Yes," Percy breathes, reaching up to pull his glasses away before closing the distance himself. Oliver makes a noise that sounds both surprised and pleased, tilting his head and pressing back in a kiss so wonderful it has Percy feeling lightheaded. When Oliver nibbles on his bottom lip, Percy gasps, and the next thing he knows Oliver's tongue is in his mouth. Merlin, if he thought it was good enough before, he was a fool. He takes his cues from Oliver, sincerely hoping he's doing things right, and he's pleased to see Oliver flushed and happy when they finally break apart.
"You've no idea how long I've been wanting to do that."
"I really don't," Percy agrees, reaching up to touch his own lips. He's still not entirely sure he isn't dreaming.
Oliver ducks his head. "I've been looking for excuses to spend time with you for an age. Ever since I heard you talking the nitty-gritty of Quidditch with your Ravenclaw friend. But you're always, always studying."
Realization starts to dawn on Percy. "So the tutoring—"
"—has been amazing. I love to see the unique way you apply things. It makes me see everything in a whole new light."
"But you didn't actually need it," Percy concludes, staring down at the journal in his hands.
"Not strictly-speaking, no."
Another thought strikes him. "Oliver! Have you been making mistakes in class on purpose?"
"No! No, all of that was real, and I was hoping that meeting with you would help me with my weird... brain block. It's easier now, to think back on your McGonagall impression, and let go of my apprehensions."
Percy grins, unable to hold on to his indignation. "Speaking of Transfiguration, we have class in ten minutes."
Oliver wraps his arms around Percy's waist. "There's a lot I can do with ten minutes."