They had won. Oliver could still feel the blaze of victory that had surfaced on his skin to meet the cold rain at the sight of his Seeker with the snitch. It was what he lived for: screams of success, arms throwing themselves around the winning team, embraces blinded by ecstasy. The trek to the locker room and then to Gryffindor Tower was lost in happy celebration. Oliver Wood felt his bludger of a heart beating against every point of his skin, his mouth open and enraptured. He was still wet with rain or sweat or both, dusty hair falling in delighted shambles over his forehead. His eyes shone more than his skin as he recounted each and every moment of the game, promising, suspenseful, and misleading. One sweep across the common room caught Oliver by surprise; his mouth hung open in mid-sentence, the crowd gathered around him hung onto his last word just as openly, but thoughts of his final save had receded: instead, the absence of one person made itself primary within his mind.

It was too predictable, and yet Oliver refused to allow it to continue. He pushed past his audience and left the remainder of his team at their disposal as he headed up into the boys' dormitories.

The buoyant conversation from the common room was reduced to a depressing murmur as the door shut behind him. The room was quiet and dark, with only a single wand of light hovering over a suspicious arrangement of parchment located on the bed at the far side of the room. Oliver's rushing blood was the loudest thing there, and he completely disregarded any disturbance he might be creating for the boy perched in front of the rolls of parchment.

"Oi, Percy." Oliver said, still breathless. Initially, the boy did not show any signs that he knew Oliver was there. Then, he stirred, but without taking his bespectacled eyes off his work.

"Hello, Oliver." The remark was grudgingly casual. Oliver inhaled and exhaled loudly in the doorway.

"We won. We beat Ravenclaw." Oliver's grin fluttered and his eyes matched the glow of Percy's wand. His happiness—and Percy's contradicting atmosphere—was disorienting.

"I saw. Now if you'll excuse me, this essay for Professor Flitwick is due in two days."

"Two days, Perce." Oliver spoke in a tone that stressed how many times they had been over this. He proceeded into the room and stopped at the side of Percy's bed. "Come and celebrate, I insist." He could still see the Quaffle on the field, headed his way.

"No, thank you." said Percy simply. Oliver stared down at his neat, red hair, then twisted around and slid onto the end of the bed, facing Percy.

"Take a break. We won, bloody hell, Percy, we won!" Oliver could still feel renewed exhilaration with each breath of their victory; why couldn't Percy Weasley?

"I did hear you the first time." Percy straightened and adjusted his glasses; his eyes left the parchment and flickered onto Oliver. "I am a prefect. I have to set an example."

"Come off it, Percy. No one cares, just this once?"

"No. You of all people should realize, I should think!" Percy bristled and kept his eyes on his homework. "Now, allow me to finish my work."

Oliver Wood refused to accept this. He was too happy, too free. He wanted to share it with his friend, this stubborn boy who never had any good fun. "Don't you have to take a break once in a while, you know, stretch your legs? Get your blood pumping?" He spoke with a vigor not unlike his enthusiasm during Quidditch meets; the Quaffle was spinning closer, as red as Percy's hair in the wandlight.

"Do you ever take a break from Quidditch?" Percy asked automatically.

"Isn't that obvious?" Oliver said, and this time his eyes sparkled quite differently.

"You take Quidditch more seriously than—" Percy began, but that line of thought was abruptly severed when Oliver's lips touched his. With a victorious grin, Oliver leaned back and absorbed the mixture of offense and bafflement on Percy's pale face.

"I-I… I suppose…" Percy stuttered almost thoughtfully as his glasses tilted crookedly over his nose. Oliver went for another save and kissed him again, softly and pleasantly. Percy continued speaking between Oliver's content kisses, voice faltering and finding itself in an uneven pattern. "You make a—good point… One must—keep—the body… stimulated… for… maximum… mental… perfor—" Oliver assaulted Percy's lips with a firmer, deeper shove, then slid his hand delicately up Percy's arm and toward the illuminated wand. The parchment between them was brushed onto the floor, and while Oliver stifled Percy's half-hearted protests with his mouth, he leaned forward, pressing Percy back onto the bed and simultaneously relieving him of his wand. It clattered to the floor, and Oliver pulled away for just a moment to catch his escaping heartbeat. Percy's nose glittered in the moonlight by the window, and a hint of scarlet had crept around the back of his neck. Percy followed Oliver silently with blue eyes bright with heat, and something seemed to unhinge from his throat.

"…mance." He swallowed, and Oliver felt that not even the greatest broomstick could amount to that rule-obsessed, teacher's pet, attractive, red-haired, thin boy beneath him.

"Good man," Oliver replied, before closing the space between them to celebrate.