He sat in the dark, the dull glow of the fire was his only company.

He should be asleep, like everyone else.  Lights went out hours ago.  I can't fall sleep here, he thought, I am an example for other students.  He was just about to stand-up, and go to bed when he heard a voice, or rather, three voices.

"Open up, quick!  We're late!"  The first one sounded suspiciously like George, or Fred.

A yawn, then, "Password?" Followed by another yawn.

There was a hastily whispered consultation, before another voice spoke, "Blunder puss."

He recognized that voice too.  Oliver Wood: Quidditch captain, classmate, and for a time, friend.  The brief rush of something he felt when he heard the voice surprised him.  It was almost like excitement… or lust.  You're with Penelope, he reminded himself.   Penelope was… perfect.  She had been his dream girl, now she was his reality.  She suited him in everyway… fire to his fire, ice to his ice.  So why don't I want her…? And why do I always sit behind Oliver, so I can see the way his hair curls where it meets his neck…

The voices were quiet for a moment.  Until there was a thump and a single muffled curse.  Then silence again.

He should speak up, it was well after the time they should be in bed.  Of course, if he did that then he'd have to explain what he was doing up.

He caught a flash of red hair in the dark. That must be one of the twins, he thought, then they brushed past him.  The other two figures paused one of them began to rub his injured shin, or so he surmised from the motions he could discern in the dim light.

"Night," the twin muttered before following his brother out.

The remaining figure stood for a minute, then sighed, exhaling tiredness and pain.  Percy's heart was racing in the darkness, it felt exhilarating to be watching unnoticed from the shadows. 

"Percy?"

He nearly screamed at the quiet question.  He knew I was here all along?

"Yes?" he answered hesitantly, not even bothering to start a lecture.  He couldn't pull his 'perfect' persona over this situation.

Oliver laughed, "I thought I saw your mop," he said lowly, "I would have felt stupid if you hadn't been there."  He sat on the arm of Percy's chair, somehow finding it in the dark.

"I should report the three of you," Percy said neutrally. Of course, then I'd be in trouble too.

"We were planning new attacks for Quidditch," Oliver explained.

Percy nodded, then realised that Oliver probably couldn't see him, but didn't bother to say anything.

"Why were you up?" the obvious question caught him off guard.

"Thinking."  Simple answer didn't require much introspection.

"Ah." Understanding.

They sat there, lost in thought, for a few minutes, the occasional crackle of wood from the fire keeping them company.

Percy was painfully, achingly aware of Oliver's arm over the back of his chair, of his back pressed against his arm.

They had been good friends once, before they'd drifted apart.  Now what were they?

"Do you remember Sally Barton?" he asked.

Silence.

"I'm sorry about that," Oliver said quietly, finally.

Percy laughed, "Long forgotten," he assured him, but the fact he'd brought it up told another story.

Sally Barton.  Oliver had 'gone out' with her in one of his first years at Hogwarts.  In the way most 13-year-olds 'go out'. They held hands in meetings, giggled together at the back of Divination.  She went to all his Quidditch practices, he carried her books to and from class.  Percy couldn't understand why his best friend, his only friend, was abandoning him for a girl.  Oliver had been the only one to want to hang out with the geeky little brother of Bill and Charlie Weasley.  They promised to be friends for life.  Why would Olly rather hang out with a girl?

He tried to ask Oliver about it in class, but Snape had yelled at them, and taken 5 points from Gryffindor, it was the first time Percy had ever gotten in trouble.

"Olly, can I talk to you?" Between classes was his only chance.  Oliver looked uncomfortable, "Sure, Percy," he said, glancing at Sally.

"Why don't you like me anymore?" He hated sounding so needy.

Oliver looked sad.  "I'm sorry, Perce," he said, "but my mum thinks we hang out too much… she thinks I should show more interest in girls."

Oliver had to have the only mother in England, muggle or not, who wanted her son to hang out with girls.

"Sorry."

Oliver got new friends. Percy didn't.  They weren't enemies or anything, they had a perfectly amiable relationship, but from then on, they moved in different circles, and Percy kept the things he would have told Oliver inside himself.

"I was trying to prove myself," Oliver explained, "show I was a man.  Mum said that we were too close…"

Percy started, "T-that's ridiculous," he blustered.

Oliver sighed, "Is it?" he questioned.

"We were friends, as close as friends usually are," Percy said, "much as my brother Ron and Harry are."

"That may be true for you," Oliver said, "but at 13 I was becoming aware of… things.  My mum caught me looking at you through the bathroom window when you were having a shower.  She sat me down, had a little talk, and said she thought we should have some time apart."

Percy tried to see what Oliver's face showed, but the light from the fire bathed him in red.  Unless he's blushing…?

 "I-I…" he trailed off, uncertain as to what to say.  I want you? I need you?  I like you…?  "I want to be you."

Oliver's hand squeezed his arm gently, his fingers began to caress Percy's shoulder.  "You're the perfect one," he protested mildly, more intent on stroking him than arguing with him.

Percy shook his head.  "I'm… boring, and pompous and finicky… a stuffed shirt?" he said, unsure of the phrasing.

Oliver laughed, "Don't listen to Fred and George," he said, "I know the real you."

The real me?  I don't even know the real me…

Oliver turned in his seat, now facing Percy, "Lumos!" he muttered as quietly as possible, they both blinked in the sudden light.  "I wanted to see you," Oliver explained.  Then he leant down and very carefully, very gently placed a kiss on his lips.  "Goodnight, Percy," he whispered into his mouth.

Percy sat alone in the dark, his mouth felt tingly and he could still taste Oliver's breath.

Why did I let him do that? He asked himself, ignoring for the moment how much he had enjoyed it.  Oliver is… loud… he's all the things I'm not, all the things that I wish I were… he is ice to my fire, fire to my ice.

The tingle was like drinking hot chocolate through crushed ice, hot and cold, melting and diluting.  Fire and Ice again.

Oliver woke early to prepare the Quidditch field for practice.  His thoughts invariably swept to Percy. The perfect, stuffy, vulnerable, gorgeous Head Boy. Who comes with a matching girlfriend.

He finished dressing quickly, and headed through the common room.  He glanced the chair they'd sat on last night, and was surprised to see a tuft of hair poking up over the arm. He must have fallen asleep there. 

"Percy?" he whispered, shaking his shoulder. The rest of the Quidditch team would be here soon. He could imagine how Fred and George would harass their brother.

Percy blinked, "Olly…?" he muttered, then blinked again.

"Oliver," he greeted him, standing and shaking sleep from his limbs, instantly falling into the persona he had carved for himself.  "I would appreciate it if you didn't mention finding me here, last night or now.  Students need to look-up to and respect their Head Boy."

Oliver nodded, covering a smile.   Forget about Penelope, he told himself, let Percy choose.

"Sure thing, Head Boy," he said, "and feel free to wait up for me again."

"I assure you that your late arrival was not a factor in my sleeping here," he said pompously.  The effect was spoilt somewhat by his unruly hair, and the angle his glasses were tipped at on his nose.

Oliver grinned, "I know," he said, "but it could be…"

"Wha-?"

Then Oliver pulled him forward and kissed him, quickly, but with passion.

Percy blushed.  "Oh."

Maybe he should watch Quidditch practice today.  He pressed his hair down with one hand and straightened his glasses.  The Head Boy should be involved in school sports. And I'll get to see Oliver in action again.