A/N: So sorry for not updating in forever. I promise I'm alive! Shout out to everyone who's reviewed. You guys rock.

Chapter 6

Academically speaking, Percy Weasley was one of the brightest pupils Hogwarts had ever seen. Socially speaking, however, he was definitely lacking. But that said, even he had no trouble reading the signs, what with Oliver Wood's face mere inches from his own.

He's going to kiss me, he thought, mind racing. Somehow, the keeper had invaded his carefully crafted personal space. Percy could feel Oliver's warm breath on his face; could smell his intoxicating scent. But more alarmingly, he could see the clear intent shining bright in his deep brown eyes. As Oliver's nose brushed against his own freckled one, Percy's breath hitched and his eyes fluttered shut. This is it, he thought, his stomach churning with trepidation as he leaned forward, my first kiss…

But just as Oliver's lips ghosted against his own, an almighty crash of metal on stone rang through the air, causing the house elves to shriek and scatter. It was so loud that both boys jumped back, pressing their hands over their ears.

"The fuck was that?" Oliver gasped, his eyes wide as Sprinkles darted off.

Percy shook his head in bewilderment, heart hammering and face flushed. Part of him was eternally grateful for the distraction. If he'd actually gone through with kissing Oliver Wood—no matter how much his confused brain approved of that action—he might have just died of embarrassment.

Wands raised, the Gryffindors tiptoed towards the corner where a stack of brass pots seemed to have fallen over without any provocation. Their stomachs turned as they edged nearer. The kitchens had gone deathly still and quiet…too quiet.

"Oliver…" Percy whimpered, grabbing a handful of his roommate's jumper. "Oliver, what's happening?" His heart leapt as a lone saucepan began rattling noisily at the top of the heap.

"I don't know, mate," the other boy breathed. He gingerly stuck out a toe and nudged a large cauldron on the bottom of the pile. The rattling saucepan went ominously still, resting precariously at the top of the heap. With bated breath, the boys stared at it for several tense seconds. "Huh," Oliver said when nothing happened. "Guess it was just—GAH!"

Without warning, the saucepan flew off the top of the stack, pelting straight at their heads. Wrenching his arm free, Oliver pushed Percy out of the way and dove at the pan, catching it against his stomach in true keeper fashion. No sooner had he discarded it when several more pots and pans rose into the air and hurtled towards them like oddly shaped bludgers.

"Oliver, look out!" Percy yelled, as the keeper fended off a flying crockpot.

"Huh?" Oliver ducked just in time before a skillet smashed him in the back of the head. "Thanks—Agh! It's coming back!" He lunged at Percy, tackling him to the ground as the skillet boomeranged back toward the prefect's head.

Pulling himself to his feet, Oliver caught a pot in each hand and deflected a third with his shoulder. Beside him, Percy hauled himself up and flung spell after spell at the possessed cookware. "Impedimenta! Flipendo! Expulso! REDUCTO!" he shouted, and Oliver had to cover his head with his arms when a size seven pewter cauldron exploded right above him.

The battle raged on until both boys had taken several hits and were forced to retreat under a table where dozens of shaking house elves had already sought refuge. The assortment of cookery continued to zoom dangerously overhead and smash with reverberating clangs around the kitchens. Just when they thought it would never end, all the cookware froze mid-flight, shuddered, and plummeted to the ground with a cacophony that thundered in their ears. A ringing silence followed, and as the dust settled, the boys realized—much to their chagrin—that they had been clinging to each other.

"…Is it—is it over?" Percy whispered into Oliver's shoulder.

"I—I think so…" he replied, massaging his elbow where a discus-sized fry pan had nailed him. Oliver gathered what was left of his Gryffindor courage and crawled out from under the table. The damage was vast; food and golden dinnerware were everywhere, the pots and pans had been dinged badly, and several house elves were crying. One of them was sporting a nasty goose egg on her head.

It didn't take Oliver long to hone in on the culprit. "What are you playing at?" he shouted furiously.

Percy disentangled himself from the house elves under the table and stood up, looking around for the miscreant. And then he saw him in the middle of the carnage. Sitting atop an overturned cauldron and grinning madly was Peeves the Poltergeist.

"Are you mental?" Oliver raged on. "You could've killed us!"

The poltergeist giggled innocently, apparently quite pleased with himself. "Peevsey only wanted to play a little round of Catch the Cauldron. Not his fault if the nasty curfew-breaking students sustain a concussion!" He raised his hands, making several pans rattle menacingly.

"You're going to be in a lot of trouble for this, Peeves," Percy said, assuming his most authoritative voice.

"Is that a threat?" He spun to face Percy, leering, his countenance suddenly ferocious. "We both know you're full of dung. You'll be saying nothing 'bout your midnight wanderings to no one, you ginger-haired whelk!"

Glowering, Percy turned his back on Peeves. There was no use trying to reason with a menace like him. Instead, he focused on summoning ice for the poor house elf with a head injury. Behind him, however, Oliver was still engaged with the poltergeist.

"A present for you, laddie," Peeves was saying. He levitated a small tin can and dropped it at Oliver's feet. It bounced a few times and rolled into his toe. He squinted down at the label, dread filling his stomach when he recognized the empty tuna tin.

"My—my cat," he stammered, the color draining from his face. "What did you do to her?"

"I didn't do nothing to your mangy beast!" Peeves spat, an unpleasant grin cracking across his face.

"Then what's this about?" Oliver snarled, picking up the tuna tin and hurling it at Peeves. The poltergeist rolled in the air to dodge it, but scowled as his bowler hat was knocked askew.

"Oh alright, maybe I did do something," said Peeves straightening his hat. "Maybe I squashed the wee kitty 'neath that skillet over there!"

A triumphant smile spread across his wicked face as Oliver let out a strangled cry. He ran over, knocking several house elves aside in the process. He dropped to his knees and threw the skillet aside, but Sprinkles wasn't there. Terror ripping through him, he began tossing around all the pots and pans in vicinity, but she wasn't under any of those either. Completely frenzied, he dashed back to Peeves and kicked over his cauldron.

"MURDERER!" he shouted as horrible images conjured behind his eyelids. Peeves howled with laughter, obviously taking immense pleasure in Oliver's pain. The keeper trembled with fury, hot tears filling his eyes. He was too worked up to notice Percy appear at his side.

"The house elves said they're going to search the entire kitchen for her," he whispered gently.

Behind them, the elves set to task, overturning cookware and debris throughout the kitchen in hopes of finding Sprinkles' body. Oliver, meanwhile, was not faring well. He pressed his hands over his eyes, humiliated as a few burning tears found their way around his fingers despite his best efforts to hold them back. Peeves, on the other hand, looked delighted at this turn of events.

"Crybaby! Bellyacher! Your kitty's gone to meet her maker!" he sang, taunting the stricken boy as he zoomed in circles around his head.

"Oh, shut up, you!" Percy snapped, aiming his wand furiously at the poltergeist. A whizzing noise sounded and Peeves was thrown backwards, his bottom wedging itself tightly in an overturned juice pitcher. With another flick of the wand, his mouth was transfigured into a zipper and sealed shut.

Turning back to Oliver, Percy laid a hand lightly on his shoulder. The dark haired boy didn't respond, but he didn't try to shrug Percy off either. He just tried his best to swallow his anguished sobs before they could escape his throat. Percy's heart ached for his poor roommate. In times like this, he had to remind himself that Oliver was more than just a Quidditch fanatic with a one-track mind—as was the popular joke about him around school. No, Oliver Wood was a bloke with real feelings the same as anyone else, and right now, as his shoulder trembled beneath Percy's hand, Percy could almost feel his broken heart.

"…Sir?" said a knobby old house elf, tugging on Oliver's sleeve. "Sir, we has found your cat, sir…"

Oliver looked up at the horde of somber-faced house elves through bleary eyes. They parted, stepping aside to leave a path between him and a wide-eyed elf. Tensing, he strode purposefully towards her as large, fat tears rolled down her cheeks. She held Sprinkles out and Oliver took her carefully in his trembling hands.

"Oh Sprinkies," he lamented, feeling like he'd just taken a bludger to the gut as he held her limp little body in his arms.

"Oliver, I'm so sorry," Percy said, following close behind. His heart clenched as he took in Oliver's tear-bright eyes.

"I know you didn't like her, Perce," he said in a hollow voice. "But she was my best friend. Got her as a kit when my little brother was born…I was promised a sister, you see. Already had two brothers. So when Liam came along, mum and dad got me a girl cat as a—a consolation prize." He laughed sadly, giving Sprinkles a small squeeze.

Percy nodded sympathetically. There was nothing he could say.

"…It was my brother Michael who named her," Oliver continued, swallowing thickly as fresh tears blurred his vision. "I hated the name at first—I wanted to name her after Gwenog Jones, but 'Sprinkles' ended up sticking and I learned to love it. Funny how that works."

"Mm," Percy murmured, his mind conjuring up a random image of Oliver as a toddler flying around with his cat on a toy broomstick. "It's—it's not that I didn't like her, Oliver," he added quickly. "It's just that…well…it was truly vile when she'd leave dead mice on my pillow."

Oliver choked back a laugh. "She only did that because she didn't want you to starve! She loved you, Perce. …Granted, she didn't think you were much of a hunter, but she loved you best out of all the guys in our dorm."

"That's…very kind of her." Percy managed. He was slightly taken aback and maybe, if he was being honest with himself, a little touched. "How—?" he paused, phrasing the next question as gently as he could. "Forgive me, but how could you possibly know that? That she liked me?"

Oliver squeezed his eyes shut. "Because she said it all the time, Perce. Believe it or not, a cat has a lot more to say than just 'meow.' Your brother Charlie knew that. Cedric does too. Hell, even that grubby old squib Mr. Filch knows it…" He smiled down sadly at Sprinkles' still body. "It's amazing the things an animal can tell you if you only take the time to listen."

"Huh. I…I guess I never thought about that before," Percy said, suddenly feeling quite stupid.

A somber moment passed between the boys while the house elves stood by, respectfully quiet. Behind them, a silent Peeves struggled futilely to uncork his bottom from the pitcher, his face contorted with rage as he thrashed about. Tentatively, Percy extended a finger to stroke Sprinkles' ear, and just before he made contact, an amazing thing happened. Her nose twitched.

"Oliver!" Percy yelped, pulling his hand back in shock. "Oliver, did you see that? She moved!"

Even though he knew better, Oliver allowed a glimmer of hope to swell in his chest. He stared down expectantly, but his beloved cat was stiller than ever, which only served to make reality all the more crushing. Anger flared inside him and he wanted to yell at Percy for making light of the worst thing to ever happen to him—and that included that embarrassing defeat by Slytherin in Quidditch last spring. Instead, he choked on a reply several times before he could manage a response that was both coherent and diplomatic.

"I know…I know that you want to help me, Perce. I know you do. …But it's cruel to get my hopes up like that," he said flatly.

"No! I swear it! Her nose just twitched—!"

But he was quickly cut off by two very alarming noises.

The first was a large slam coming from the fruit basket painting, as if someone was throwing his entire body weight against it. The attempt to open the portal was quite unsuccessful, hindered, as it was, by the veritable mountain of unyielding pots and pans stacked in front of it. The second was a loud zipping noise as Peeves finally unstuck his mouth. With a nasty leer, he wasted no time in shrieking loudly.

"Students out of bed! Students out of bed and they've ransacked the kitchens!" he snarled, struggling with renewed vigor to dislodge his bottom from the pitcher. Whoever was on the other side of the painting responded by body-slamming it so hard that it bowed in its frame.

Tensing, Oliver drew himself up bravely, despite the fact that the tears on his cheeks had not yet dried. "We need to move. Now," he said to Percy.

"This way, sirs," whispered a house elf, waggling her scraggly fingers, bidding them to follow.

Without hesitation, the boys snuck after her, moving as quickly and quietly as possible across the minefield of a kitchen, Oliver clutching Sprinkles protectively to his chest.

"They're getting away!" Peeves shouted as the boys drew nearer to the giant brick fireplace in the back of the kitchens. "Are you a wizard or not? Blast the fecking painting away, will you, and get in here before they escape!"

"I can't blast it away, you little shite!" came an indignant voice from the other side of the painting. That raspy voice could only belong to the cantankerous old caretaker, Argus Filch. "What have you done in there this time, Peeves? I swear on me mum, if there's so much as a cracked plate on the other side of this door, I'll have your head! This time, I'll have you out—!"

"It wasn't me! This time it actually it wasn't me!" shouted an incensed Peeves, thrashing so hard that the pitcher tumbled over and rolled with him still stuck inside.

"Then who was it?" Filch demanded.

"It's one of those—those ginger-haired tossers! And he's escaping with his shite-for-brains, Quidditch-obsessed numpty of a mate!"

Filch didn't seem to believe him. "Cork it, Peeves, you're finished! Done! This time I've got you—!"

"Would you just listen? We're on the same side here…!"

But Oliver and Percy never got to hear the end of the exchange. The house elf had yanked on a low-set torch bracket by the brick fireplace, and a secret doorway opened up beside it.

"Get inside!" she squeaked, ushering them into a tiny closet that was barely large enough to fit a trunk, let alone two growing teenagers. Somehow, they managed to squeeze in quite uncomfortably.

"Whoa, hey! What are you doing?" Oliver hissed, putting out a hand to block the elf from shutting the door. His voice was slightly muffled from having his head wedged between a wall and Percy's elbow.

"I is saving you, of course!" she said, prizing Oliver's fingers off the door. "You must go, sir, there isn't much time!"

"What is this thing?" Percy called after her, feeling quite claustrophobic as she shut them in.

"We is calling it a dumbwaiter, sir. Safe travels!"

"A dumb-what?" Oliver hissed. "What in the world is—ARRGH!"

And then the boys were screaming, for their dark little cubicle had shot them straight up in the air, much like a cork leaving a wine bottle.

A/N: So sorry for not updating in forever. I promise I'm alive! Shout out to everyone who's reviewed. You guys rock.