Challenge: Big sis/Lil Sis comp, GGE, Camp Potter- First aid.

Pairing: Percy/Oliver

Prompts: Phrase: too many to count / "Are you going to tell him?" Emotion: calm; Broken strings, Wishing well, "I hate that I love you, you know."

Note: This is connected to Nay's fic (Piano keys were made to break) via the theme of rejection, and the use of music. Also, Kelly, this is for you. I hope you like it! Xx

Violin strings were made to snap.

You've always been alone. You've always been Percy the high achiever, Percy the mature one, Percy who was all about decorum, who called his parents 'Mother' and 'Father' instead of 'Mum' and 'Dad'. You've always been Percy who is different.

The fact that you love Oliver Wood makes you even more different. Even more alone.

The blood rushes frantically through your blue veins at the sight of him. You're like a violin. The strings are taunt, tight, ready to be played. Incomplete without their bow to bring them to life.

But he doesn't know that.

It's New Years Eve, the time for change, to take risks. It's your final year of school. You're a Gryffindor. You can do this.

It's entirely rational, you think, you just have to approach him and say three little words. Three words. Logically, it should not be difficult. Not at all. I love you.

So why are your palms sweating? Why do you detect a slight tremor running through your hands?

Oliver is standing there, on the table. So close. He has a bottle in his hand, and he's clinging to it like his life depends on it. His shirt clings to his body as he is drenched in sweat.

You feel you heart constrict seeing the muscles in his arms and torso so clearly defined. You can't help but let your eyes glaze over as you imagine what it would feel like to be held by those arms, to feel his lips on yours, to run your hands over his body, to-

Stop it. You can't think like that. You shake your head to clear your thoughts and to try and calm your laboured breathing. You can't loose control like that again. You are Percy Weasley, the Head Boy. You have to set an example. It's not the place, nor the time.

(But oh how you want to!)

You need a distraction. Oliver keeps invading your mind, you need to get him out. You can't tell him. You just can't.

Spotting a first year trying to sneak down the stairs, you sigh in relief. In an attempt to push Oliver from your mind, you tear your eyes away from him and purposefully march over to the child.

"First years are not allowed at this party, it's very late. Please go back to your dormitory and stay there."

Being in Head Boy mode feels good, it provides the distraction you need from Oliver. The child sulks and slinks back up the stairs.

You find yourself looking at Oliver again, you can't help it. This time he's dancing with Katie Bell. An irrational, burning rage builds up in your chest. Oliver should be dancing with you like that! It should be your hands trailing up and down his chest, your lips nipping at his neck, it should be you-

No. You must stop these thoughts. It's jealousy. Jealousy is irrational. Jealousy will not get you perfect NEWT scores or a job in the Ministry.

Breathe in, breathe out. You have to calm your racing heartbeat, you need another distraction. You can't tear your eyes away from Oliver. He's still dancing with Katie.

Why does he want Katie? Why doesn't he want you?

You curse yourself under your breath. Thinking like that is the epitome of stupidity.

Your strings begin to loosen. That is what happens when they don't get looked after, when a violin gets forgotten or replaced. The strings start to fray, and come loose. Just little bits at a time.

The Firewhisky is beginning to look incredibly appetising.

No. As Head Boy you aren't allowed to drink, how can you set a good example for others if you reprimand them for drinking when you drink also?

"Are you going to tell him?" A voice breaks you out of your reverie. It's Fred.

"Tell him what?" Feigning innocence seems the best idea.

Fred is on your left, George on your right. They look at each other, then at Oliver, then back at you.

"You know what," George's tone is admonishing.

You bite your lip, and sneak a glance at Oliver. He is shirtless now, he'd lost it at some point during the night. Your heartbeat pics up again, it's so loud you swear it can be heard a mile away. You've seen Oliver shirtless many, many times. Too many to count. However you've never reacted as much as this.

Calm down. Breathe. Stop looking at Oliver.

"You've got a bit of drool action happening there, Perce," Fred says with a grin.

"You might want to wipe it off before You Know Who see's," George agrees.

Fred and George both have alcohol on their breath, they have clearly been drinking. You immediately adopt your Head Boy mode. Another distraction.

"One, how much have you had to drink? Two, you are both underage. It's incredibly irresponsible to be drinking, and three-"

"What's three, Perce? Gonna send a letter to Mumsy telling her that her two favourite sons were caught underage drinking? Fancy that, Georgie, Percy's gonna tell on us."

"That's such a shame. You'd think Oliver would have rubbed off on him some-"

"George!"

"Oh shush, Percy, that's not how I meant it-"

"Yes it is, George is lying. That's exactly how he meant it-"

"You're right, that is how I meant it-"

"You two are disgusting."

"-now now Perce, do let me finish, interrupting is rude you know, oh and don't sound so horrified. You know you wish he had." You snort in disgust. "As I was saying you'd think Oliver would have influence him some, or at least taken the stick out of your arse."

"George, something tells me Percy is too uptight, even for Oliver to fix."

"I do not need fixing!"

"Sadly, Fred, I think you're right. I mean, even we couldn't fix him!"

"Ah, but he's not in love with us though, is he?"

Fred and George both look thoughtful. Your face contorts into a stricken expression.

"I am not in love with Oliver!"

They look at each other, then back at you, then back to each other as if they are having a silent conversation that you wasn't aren't of.

"Oh you so are," they say in chorus.

Your face flushes.

"I am not! Now stop making such preposterous accusations and leave me in peace! I am Head Boy, I need to make sure this party does not get out of hand."

The twins roll their eyes and sigh.

"Percy, dear Percy, what you need is to loosen up."

"A drink or two ought to do it."

"He's probably a lightweight, so don't give him a big drink, yeah George?"

"Got it! Don't worry Percy, we'll teach you how to have a good time."

"Yeah. We'll loosen you up so you can prove to us all why you were placed in Gryffindor!"

You say nothing, ignoring them isn't tactic that has worked on them before- your brother's are nothing if not persistent-and it is also incredibly childish, but you just can't bring yourself to care anymore.

The blood flowing through your veins quickens its pace, flooding your body with hormones as you watch Oliver dance, his shirt off exposing his incredibly toned chest. He catches your eye and sends you a wink and you wonder how you haven't had a heart attack yet. It swells up inside of you, just how much you love him. It feels like your on fire, but then that might just be the Firewhisky that burns your throat and increases your heart rate tenfold.

Watching him dance, is like he'd moving the bow along your strings. You'd throw a coin in a wishing well if you could, just to wish that he could be you that he'd dance with. You that he'd kiss. You that he'd love.

You down another glass of Firewhisky. Your head starts to spin, just a little and you are utterly filled with the urge to be near him. He's the bow to your violin, he controls you. What note you play, when you play it, how you play it. You need him.

Oliver is alone, finally. Katie moved on. Now was your chance. Logically, it was the best moment. Oliver wasn't surrounded by people anymore, he didn't have Katie hanging off his every word. But you still have that tremble in your hand, your palms are still slippery with sweat. How hard can three little words be?

"What if he doesn't love me back?"

Your whispered confession is the first time you've verbally acknowledged that you care for him.

They look at each other again. It's starting to drive you mad that you don't know what they are thinking.

"Well, considering he's only looked your way at least a hundred times tonight I'd say he does love you," Fred starts.

"But," George continues. "If, hypothetically, he doesn't love you-"

"-which he definitely does-"

"-then he wont matter if you tell him, because we can just keep giving him Firewhisky until he's so drunk he wont remember anything tomorrow," George finishes with a self satisfied smirk.

You feel a strange rush of gratitude towards your younger brothers. Too many times to count, you've told them words akin to I hate you, just phrased more diplomatically. You clash like the old cliche of fire and ice. Hot and cold. Polar opposites. But there are times, very few and far between, where you are genuinely grateful to have Fred and George as your younger brothers.

The Firewhisky awakens your Gryffindor courage, and shuns your pride. You stumble up to Oliver. He's drunker than you are, but not quite drunk enough to have lost all sense of sanity.

"Isn't this great, Percy?" Oliver's smile lights up the whole room, it moves the bow on the violin, filling you with desire. The urge to kiss him has never been greater. You need him.

Oliver babbles on, talking about nothing really. You're too wrapped up in the sound of his voice to register the words.

Your breathing starts to get more laboured, his shirt is off and his eyes are on fire. Shining so brightly, you can't look anywhere but there. You have to tell him. You must.

"...I don't know what I'd do without you Percy," he says, or rather he whispers. Your eyes meet and electricity charges through the air. He is controlling you, moving the bow along the strings to play the music. He's in charge.

"I love you Oliver!" you blurt out. It goes against all decorum to speak so bluntly but you cannot take it anymore. You have to tell him or else you'll drown in your own desire.

A slow smile spreads across his face. You bite your lips, is he about to laugh at you? You can't handle it when people laugh at you.

Your first string snaps. Oliver doesn't want you. It's evident. The bow can't play on a violin with only three strings, it isn't logical.

But then he takes your hand, and begins to replace the broken string. Little bit by little bit as you follow him up the stairs into your dorm.

When he kisses you it's like nothing you've ever felt before, you feel both calm and excited, safe and in danger, all at the same time. As his arms twine around your waist, his tongue slips between your lips and the string is completely fixed. He is the bow, you are the strings. The bow moves seamlessly across the healed strings like Oliver moves with you. Together you create a violin, moving in sequence to create the music.

His lips trail down your neck, the way you imaged them doing and you moan quietly.

You were always alone, your ambition left little time for true friends, but now you have Oliver and it's like your wish in the wishing well came true.

Murmurs of I need you and whispered confessions of I love you are made throughout the night, and when you wake up in the morning, curled up in his arms, the first thing you say is, I love you, Oli.

The happiness in your voice is entirely unmistakable, your strings are beautifully tuned, and there was not a fray in site. Oliver is the bow, rosined and ready. You are the violin strings. Made to be together.

Little do you realise just how wrong you are.

Oliver stirs, you can tell he's hung over by the way he groans. You have a headache, but it must be nothing compared to what he's feeling. You get up, and get him a glass of water. He'll probably need it when he's fully awake, you think. Anything to make him feel better. After all, what good are strings if there is no bow?

He groggily sits up and accepts the water from you. You flash him a smile and sit on the end of his bed.

"How are you feeling?"

"Peachy. My head is pounding from drinking so much last night. I'm feeling wonderful," he deadpans.

You laugh. Something tugs at the corner of your mind. You've always been alone, just you and your shadow, but now you have Oliver as well. Don't you?

"Oliver...what are we?"

You hate sounding needy, but you have to know. You have to know if it was all a dream, if you're going to be alone again. You need to know if your strings are going to be broken.

Oliver looks up, like he is surprised by the question.

"Percy," he starts. His face hold no trace of the humour that was there before. "I thought you knew?"

"Knew what?" You feel your fragile strings start to fray, beginning to loosen and bend and eventually they will break.

"I can't be with you."

You stare at him in shock.

"What do you mean?"

He stares blankly at you, although traces of guilt and regret are present in his eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Percy. I can't actually be with you, last night was a mistake, I lost control. I gave you hope and now I'm taking it away from you."

The hurt and pain start turning to anger at the calm manner in which he is talking to you.

"I love you, Oliver, and you said that you loved me back. I wasn't kidding when I said I need you. I gave you everything last night, because I thought-" you break of mid sentence. A small tear appears in the corner of your eye. You don't try and wipe it away. "I trusted you, and then you go and use me like this?"

You're shaking your head, you can't believe this, your strings are snapping, one by one.

Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap.

"I was drunk!" Oliver yells, he's standing up in just his boxers. It would almost be comical if the situation wasn't so serious.

Snap.

"Is that your excuse? You slept with me, because you were drunk? Oh and what, now that you're nice and sober, you realised that I'm not worth it? That last night was fun, but it meant nothing? Why?"

Oliver is as furious as you are. "We can't be seen together, Percy. It would ruin my reputation. I love you, I really do, but we can't be together."

Snap.

You scoff. "Since when do you care about what people think of you?"

Oliver glares at you coldly. "You're the one who taught me the importance of decorum when being ambitious, Percy. You're the one who always said to cultivate your contacts as to better your chances at getting a job, and rising through the ranks. You taught me how much appearances matter. Don't be a hypocrite, Percy. I'm only doing whats best for me."

Snap.

"I hate that I love you, Oliver Wood, I really really hate it."

"You know what, Percy? So do I."

You watch as he leaves the room, the tears flow freely down your face now. You collapse on the floor.

You feel like you're drowning, drowning in pain and in tears. Drowning in love that can never be. Drowning in being alone. In being different. Drowning in Percy Weasley, the guy who is in love with Oliver Wood. Percy Weasley the violin strings. Percy Weasley, the one who is all alone.

How can you be a violin when there is no bow? How can you play if the strings are broken? You don't understand, if you are the strings then he is the bow. Bow's aren't supposed to break.

Violin strings, on the other hand, are made to be snapped.

Please review

xx Liza