Quills, Quidditch, and Percy Weasley

Chapter Twenty-Eight

"Oliver, are you okay?" Percy asked from the kitchen of Oliver's house. He was attempting to cook. Oliver didn't have much in his refrigerator to work with.
"Yeah. Why?" Oliver replied. He was sitting on the very edge of the couch, his feet tapping uncontrollably.
"Because... you're freaking out or something. You haven't been still for two seconds since you got home from practice two hours ago."
"I'm good. Just... Percy, actually, I'm worried. What if I'm not as good as I was before?"
"Oh, Oliver," Percy sighed, walking into the living room and sitting down beside Oliver. "You're Oliver Wood. You're... the keeper. You're everybody in Europe's favorite player."
Oliver shrugged. "I know. I'm just worried. I didn't practice for so long-"
"Oliver. You. Were. Hurt. You couldn't practice."
Oliver sighed. "I guess."
"What started this?" Percy asked, shifting to face Oliver, who shrugged again.
"I don't know. Practice was good today, we played like we always have before... I don't know, Perce."
Percy pulled Oliver into a hug, his chin resting on the keeper's shoulder.
"You're going to be great tomorrow. I know it. Just don't worry, and go be Oliver Wood. You've been the best keeper around since... probably first year."
Oliver laughed. "True. Okay. Thanks, Percy."
"Now, " Percy said, stepping back from him, "you have nothing for dinner. I say we go grab something?"
"I'm good with that."