"Percival Ignatius Weasley! Come away from that window!"

At the sound of his mother's voice, Percy turned from the open window. "I was just..." He broke off and brought his arm to cover his face. "Hih-chesshh, highhyeeshh, eshhh, ayeehhshh, hhuheshhhoo." He rubbed his drippy nose with his sleeve. "Waitig for Errol to brig the posd."

"Standing at an open window is not going to help you get better any quicker, young man." Crossing the room, she pressed a few tissues into his hand and draped a blanket over his shoulders. "Bless you." She softened and guided him to the couch.

"Thaks." Percy gave a fierce blow into the tissues and laid back down on the couch.

Molly fretted over him for a few minutes, tucking the quilt around him. He'd managed to come down with a pretty bad cold, further complicated by his pepper-up allergy. The muggle medicine they'd been giving him only met with limited success. So she had been trying everything she could think of to help him feel better, tea, soup, hot water bottle, the works. At nineteen, Percy was technically an adult, but she was still going to fuss over one of her babies while she still could. "And just why is the post so important today?"

Percy coughed roughly, taking a sip of tea. "It's dot, I guess. Just waitig for a letter."

"Well, it'll get here when it gets here. I swear, every year, you come down ill, and every year, it gets harder and harder to keep you in bed. Rest is the only thing that will break that fever, Percy."

"I dow, bother. It's just hard to stay id bed whed I could be workig." He gently wiped his nose and winced at the tenderness.

Molly noticed his expression and picked up a small jar from the table. She dabbed her finger in the jar and gently coated his nose with balm to ease the tenderness from repeated blowings. "Better, hon?" She clucked.

"Thaks." He resisted the urge to rub at his sensitive nose in order to give the balm time to work its way into the red, chapped skin, instead looking toward the window to distract himself.

"I'm not going to get you to go to sleep until the post comes, am I?" Molly sighed.

"Do, prob'ly dot." He brought a tissue to his nose, but the anticipation of the sneezes drove away them away. Bringing his hand back down, he sighed. "I'b sorry, bother. I just hate beig ill."

"I know, Percy. You never have, and I doubt you ever will." She broke off, noticing his nose crinkle.

"Heyehshoo, ehhshuhh, uhhshehhh, uhhshishhh, heyeshhoo, ehhshoo." Percy gave his nose a fierce yet tired blow. "Excuse be." He apologized.

"Quite alright, dear. You've got rather a nasty cold. I've got to run to the market to pick up some things for dinner. I'll be back in a bit. And for Merlin's sake, stay in bed!"

"Yes, bother." He blew his nose again, and settled back on the pillows as Molly gathered her basket and headed out.

Percy snuggled into the couch, looking around the familiar room. He'd spent many winters in the sitting room, curled up on this very couch; 15 winters of colds that he could remember in fact as well as a few summers when he was suffering from the hay fever that had plagued him from ages 5 to 9.. Molly always moved him downstairs when he'd get sick as it was easier for her to care for him. And the room hadn't changed much in 15 years. It was cluttered and the furniture was worn, but it was home. It was safe and comfortable, and Percy liked things familiar, especially when he had a rotten cold..

Glancing again towards the window, he pulled the quilt up to his chin. He'd had this quilt for 8 years now. Before each of the Weasley children started at Hogwarts, Molly made each of them a quilt. And each patch on it was something from Percy's childhood; the majority of them coming from his baby blanket that he had stubbornly and secretly refused to give up until he was 7, and after that, he would still cling to it when his asthma got bad. The only way Molly had been able to get it away from him was to tell him she was putting it into a quilt for him to take to school. This quilt, reminding him of home, had made 7 years of colds at Hogwarts a bit more bearable. Well, so did Oliver; actually, Oliver made them a lot more bearable, . And he was hoping for a letter from him today. He'd written him when he'd first gotten ill, and he'd been hoping for a response ever since.

A thump against the window startled him out of his reverie. Slipping out of bed, he went to the window and opened it to retrieve Errol. A shiver went through him as he set a letter from Charlie on the table, and he barely had time to set the mail down and bring his hands to his face, let alone make it back to the couch and the tissues. "Hahh-chesshhh, hay-eshhshh, ehshuhh, hihhshhehh, ihhchehhh, Chhushhhooo."

Nose dripping on his nightshirt sleeve, he finished sorting the mail, noticing one addressed to him at the bottom. Recognizing the writing, he went back to the couch and tended to his nose before curling up under the quilt and opening the letter.

‘Hey Perce -
Practice has been rough...been hit with quite a few bludgers lately. Coach has been working us pretty hard...I've been falling asleep as soon as I hit the bed.'

Percy shook his head. Of course Oliver was working hard; when it came to Quidditch, he always did. Although he did wonder how many bludgers to the head Oliver could handle.

‘Sorry to hear you're ill...wish I could be there to help you feel better. First time in years you've been sick without me. But, I'm sure your mum does a good job taking care of you. Although, I seem to have picked up a wee bit of a sniffle myself...'

Percy chuckled and then coughed. Oliver would get the worst head colds he'd ever seen, and whenever Percy would inquire as to his health, Oliver would always insist that it was a "wee bit of a sniffle."

‘...probably too much practice and not enough sleep. Anyway, hoping you feel better soon...I'm due to be in London next Tuesday for a team physical, so I hope you'll feel up to having dinner. Miss you and miss even more when I‘m not feeling well...it was always nice knowing there was someone there in the middle of the night when I wasn't feeling the greatest.'
Oliver

Percy always liked having Oliver there in the middle of the night, too. Just knowing someone who cared about him was a few feet away always made him feel loads better. His parents were just across the hall; they'd made that arrangement after Percy's first asthma attack 15 years ago; but across the hall wasn't the same as in the room.

Smiling, Percy set the letter and his glasses on the table. Blowing his nose one more time, he pulled the quilt back up to his chin and closed his eyes. When Molly came home, she found him sleeping soundly and snoring slightly. Her eyes scanned the table, cluttered with her son's glasses and inhalator, tea cups and water glasses and crumpled used tissues and focused on the letter with the now familiar scrawl. Understanding why her son had been so obsessed with the post the past few days, she tucked the quilt around him and gently kissed his cheek. He'd tell her in time, and she'd be ready to remind him, all she ever wanted was his happiness. And in the dark times that lay ahead, if Oliver gave him hope, well, that was good enough for her.