Summer of '93 [PERCIVER]

12 - DIGGING HIS OWN GRAVE

"That's so dangerous! Why in Merlin's name would you even do something like jump off of your broom mid-game? Are you an- no. Sorry, apparently you are a complete and uttermost idiot who doesn't care for self-preservation or for his own safety." Percy exclaimed in shock as he took another bite of his pizza.

Oliver chuckled, rolling his eyes fondly at the exasperated ginger. He grabbed a fourth slice of pizza from the box, still hungry despite already devouring three pieces. The two boys sat on Oliver's unmade bed, a nearly empty box of pizza and a shared small order of salad laid on the covers. The blinds were closed and the light overhead was glowing obnoxiously bright. They had been on that bed for a good hour or so. Percy didn't care to keep track of the time. In fact, he didn't wish to keep track of anything.

"I had to get the quaffle! I would have rather died than let Slytherin get ahead of us in points! And I did end up catching it, so it's fine! I might have been saved by a Slytherin, something you better take to the grave with you, alright? But I saved it successfully!"

Percy shook his head with an annoyed sigh, if he ever wanted to have his imaginary relationship with the boy, he needed to stay alive first. Even if it was dangerous, fondness for Oliver crept into his heart. It was just like him to be so reckless and fearless. As long as he reached the goal in the end, it didn't matter what he had to use in order to achieve that.

Everything was light, he was weightless in moments like this.

"By next year, Hogwarts will definitely give you a plague to stick to one of the hospital beds. With how many injuries you've acquired, it's entirely plausible. You must get along with Madam Pomfrey well. Do you have tea on Tuesdays after scones and biscuits Saturday?" Percy snarked.

Oliver cheered, snatching the crust from Percy's third slice as he dropped it into the box.

"Ooh, I want the bed by the window! The one where you can see Madam Pomfrey sit at her office from. I like trying to sneak out of my bed because it pisses her off. I managed to reach the hospital wing door before she levitated me onto the bed once. I was high on pain medication so I just laughed while she yelled at me and all that." Oliver recounted, much to Percy's horror.

Of course Oliver would support the idea, embrace it in fact. The thought of all these bumps and bruises didn't daunt him, it was merely a part of his life. It endeared Oliver to him in a way that Percy wasn't aware until that moment that Oliver was capable of. To Oliver, life was something he was immersed in. Everything else was just there, much like a video game, he was meant to interact with it and take it on a journey. It fascinated Percy to no end. He was a mere child and the world was his playground.

"Are you sure you don't have a permanent concussion?"

Oliver grinned in amusement, raising his eyebrows in exaggeration.

"My parents have a theory that at some point as a baby, I was dropped on my head. Probably by my Uncle Jim, he's a major klutz."

Percy closed the pizza box and began to clean the empty takeout cartons off of the bed. He carefully placed them into the bin before creeping back. He frowned as his eyes scanned the room, especially the bed. It was chaos, utter chaos. He had to repress the urge to clean the room, to line up the shoes and fold the clothes. To carry the workout gear into its appropriate box and straighten out the crinkled sheets. The urge to organise the room was irritating him.

Oliver snorted in amusement.

"You want to clean it up, don't you? My nan gives me the same look when she sees my room, you know. Well, go on, do what you want, I don't mind."

Percy internally cheered, rushing to the clothes.

"So does that mean if your Uncle Jim hadn't dropped you on the head as a baby, you wouldn't be the fanatic I know and love today?" He questioned with a raised eyebrow, attempting to stay nonchalant but failing.