A/N: Hey y'all! This was written for Hogwarts. :)
Demonology Task 10: Write about someone suicidal.
Word Count: 2355
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Those rights go to JK Rowling.
WARNINGS: Major angst, mentions of attempted suicide, suicidal thoughts. Please don't read if this will hurt you, and, as always, please PM me if there is any misrepresentation.
Enjoy!
There was no sound.
That was the first thing that struck him in the days following Fred's death. The whole world seemed muted somehow. Percy closed his eyes against the pain in his head, shuddering. How many times had he shut the door to block out the noise? How many times had he hissed at his brothers to keep quiet?
He'd give everything he had if it meant he could hear that laughter again.
Percy rolled over in bed, not bothering to put on his glasses. His room was blurry without them, but he didn't care. He didn't want to see anything anyway—his mother's tears, his father's tired eyes, George's blank face—
It was all too much to bear.
The sky was grey. He gazed out the window at it, thinking it appropriate for the grief that had settled over the Burrow. There shouldn't be any light anymore. There shouldn't be any warmth.
Fred was gone. Dead. And he wasn't coming back.
He could cry, he realized. He had every right to. But what would that help? It wouldn't bring Fred back.
You were there, a nasty voice in the back of his mind said. You should have saved him. He was your little brother—it was your job to protect him.
Percy shuddered again and closed his eyes. He didn't want to think about that night. He didn't want to think about the lives he'd damaged.
If he hadn't left his family then, would his brother still be alive? Would he had been standing in a safer place? Not distracted by his older brother's joke?
He'd never know.
It was a week before Oliver came.
He stood in the doorway awkwardly, Percy's father patting him reassuringly on the shoulder before he turned to leave the two boys alone. The sound of his footsteps was jarring. Percy's silence—courtesy of a few spells he'd cast—had only been broken three times a day, when his mother came in to deliver his food. Molly used to try to speak with him, but he wouldn't answer. She eventually left him to his solitude; she was focused on George at the moment.
Percy didn't blame her.
Eventually, Arthur's footsteps faded away. Percy stared at the wall.
"Er. Hey, Percy."
A long sigh left his lips. "Why are you here, Oliver?"
Oliver Wood came in and shut the door behind him, his dark hair—shaggier than the last time Percy had seen him—flopping in front of his eyes.
"I was worried about you," the other man murmured. "I heard about what happened to your brother."
"You can say it," Percy replied hollowly. "It's not a secret. He's dead."
Oliver didn't flinch. "Yeah, he is. But you're not."
Percy rolled over, his red hair a mess against the pillow. "No."
The bed creaked, and Percy noted with some annoyance that the Quidditch player had sat down.
"You smell."
Percy snorted. "Thanks. Lovely."
"What I'm saying is that you should take a shower."
"I don't want to."
Oliver ran his hands through his hair. "I don't much care. Get up, come on. You can't stay in bed a second longer. It's not healthy."
Percy didn't respond, though he was bristling at being spoken to like one of Oliver's Quidditch team recruits. The bed creaked again, and Percy was satisfied at least that the other man was leaving. But Oliver ripped the duvet from Percy's shoulders, eliciting a yelp from the slighter man.
Percy sat up to glare at his old dorm mate, his fists balled. "Go home, damn you! Just leave me alone."
Oliver crossed his arms. "Not a chance. And no need to work yourself into a frenzy—just take a shower so we can talk."
Percy stormed into the bathroom, in hopes that Oliver would leave as soon as they spoke. The hurricane in his mind didn't slow even when he was under the faucet, and he was shaking from all the emotions lying just under the surface. He didn't want Oliver to see this—he didn't want anyone to see this. But the man had insisted.
Oliver must have thrown in a fresh change of clothes while he'd been showering, and Percy put them on begrudgingly. His hair still dripping wet, he went back into his bedroom.
Oliver smiled when he came in. "There you are."
Percy didn't respond.
The Quidditch star stood up, stretching, and Percy was out of sorts enough not to admire the muscles rippling across the other boy's torso. "Let's go downstairs, Percy. You need a change of scenery."
Percy closed his eyes against the onslaught of panic he felt at that statement. "No. I'm not going down to see them."
"They're not here," Oliver said calmly. "I asked them to give us some space."
After much more prompting, Percy finally conceded. He walked shakily down the stairs and into the sitting room, lowering himself into a large, worn armchair in front of the fireplace. With a flick of his wand, Oliver lit it, and the warmth flooded through Percy's flesh but could penetrate the coldness in his mind.
They sat in silence for a long time. Finally, Oliver spoke.
"George wrote to me about yesterday. You really scared them, Percy." Solemn brown eyes found Percy's pinning him in place. "They already lost one son. They don't need to lose another."
Ah. So that was what this was about. He'd suspected briefly, but had pushed those worries aside in favor of trying to forget about the event. He knew that, in reality, he hadn't truly been alone—that they were all peeking at him, listening in—but he needed to think he was alone.
But he was never alone. If it wasn't people surrounding him, then it was his thoughts, his guilt. He could never just exist.
"I don't know why George would write you," he said truthfully. "It never had anything to do with you, anyway."
"He's scared of losing you, Percy," Oliver pressed, obviously hoping for more of a reaction. Percy was surprised he hadn't been more blunt.
But he didn't want to hear about how much he was hurting his family. He had hurt them enough already. Percy looked up suddenly, almost angry. "And why don't we talk about what makes you angry, Oliver? Or maybe what you're afraid of?"
His lips pressed tightly together. "Don't try to change the topic, Percy."
"No, I'm serious. Let's, for one moment, pretend that I didn't hold my dead brother in my arms. That I don't see his face every time I close my eyes, hear his last words before I fall asleep every night! Let's talk instead about how you always press others to be open and honest, when you're too afraid to do the same yourself!"
Oliver reeled back, and, just as Percy had hoped, his line of questioning was temporarily forgotten. "What is that supposed to mean?"
Percy ignored him. "You ruined my life and now you're ruining my death, too. I'll try again, you know, and nothing you or anyone else says can stop me."
"Ruined your life? How the hell did I do that?"
Percy glared at him. "We had a good thing going. And then you left, because… because…" He broke off, horrified at the tears springing into his eyes. He didn't want to think about how Oliver had chosen a career over him, and how that had led to him trying to become even more successful than his ex as a sort of petty revenge. He'd fallen into the horrible pit that resulted in Fred's death, and he knew he had only himself to blame.
Hands gripped his shoulders, and he looked up, startled.
"I know I hurt you," Oliver said slowly, his words strangled as though they caused him pain. "I'm sorry for that. But it was my dream, Percy, and I had been waiting so long for it that I couldn't imagine sacrificing it for anything else."
Percy looked away. "I know."
Oliver sighed. "When I got George's letter, I… I'd never been so scared. Merlin, I raced over here, hoping you hadn't tried to do it again. What I'm trying to say is… Quidditch isn't my dream anymore, Percy. Not without you. So," he took a deep breath. "Choose life. Please. I don't know what I would do if you weren't in mine."
Percy's breathing turned shallow. He had wanted this for so long, but he wasn't in the right frame of mind to think it through properly. All he could think about was how much he hated his weaknesses, how guilty he felt about his brother's death. Wouldn't it be right, justice, even, if he joined Fred?
"The world is cruel," he said softly. "People die. And no one… no one even remembers that they were here."
Oliver took his hand. "Percy. Fred hasn't been forgotten."
Percy shook his head mutely. "I don't think that," he finally choked out.
"Well, then what do you think?"
"I think you're leading me on with this hand holding."
Oliver dropped his hand in frustration, dragging his fingers through his hair. "Stop trying to distract me. Merlin, you aren't making this easy, are you?"
Percy looked at him in disbelief. "Nothing about this is easy. Aren't I allowed to be sad?"
"I didn't say—"
"Aren't I allowed to feel guilty?" he continued, his voice rising. "Can't I wish that it had been me? Why do I have to live when he's gone? Why should people remember me longer than they'll remember him?"
"I need you to explain that," Oliver said softly. "What do you mean, you'll be remembered longer?"
Percy stared at the crackling fire. "The wall blew up. He wasn't killed in a duel, or in a significant part of the battle. He's just… he's just another name on a memorial." Percy's shoulders were shaking now. "He deserved more than that. He died for nothing."
There it was again, that hand on his shoulder. "There is no shame in dying for nothing. That's why most people die."
Percy shivered. "Fred wasn't most people."
"No," Oliver agreed. His voice was hollow. "He was an exceptional Beater, and one of the funniest people I know. No matter how bad things were, he had a joke. And he was brave." Oliver glanced at the bespectacled man beside him. "But he wouldn't want you to throw your life away. Fred doesn't blame you at all for his death. I think you know that."
Percy leaned against the back of his chair, his eyelids heavy. "I just," he began slowly, "wish he was still here. I want to be with him. But I… I can't be."
"No," Oliver admitted. "But Percy, I'll be here. Your parents will be here, and your brothers and sister. They want to help you."
Percy sighed. "Yeah. You're right."
Oliver's gaze was deadly serious. "So no more Muggle medicine?" he asked softly.
Slowly, Percy nodded. "Yeah," he said thickly. "I think I can do that."
Oliver's smile was relieved, and a twinge if shame broke through the fog in Percy's brain. "Good. I'm glad. Listen, your family will be back soon, and I have to go. Is it all right if I stop by tomorrow?"
Mutely, Percy nodded.
As the weeks went by, Oliver's visits increased. Percy had to admit that it was nice—it had been a long time since someone outside of his family had shown him this much care. And the bottles that he had managed to steal back from his father were always forgotten when the Quidditch player was in the room.
One day, Percy came to realize something he hadn't thought of before.
"Aren't you missing work for this?"
Oliver looked a bit sheepish. "About that," he began in his thick accent, "I've been offered a permanent spot on a professional team. It's a… a big opportunity."
Percy's heart was sinking. This was seventh year all over again. While he'd never been able to push aside his feelings for the other man, and he hadn't gotten his hopes up this time round, he couldn't deny that Oliver had become an important part of him once again—one he wasn't sure how to live without.
"I've talked to your mum and dad, and… Percy, d'you think you might want to come with me?"
Percy's head snapped up. "Sorry?"
"There'll be a lot of traveling," Oliver said hurriedly. "But I promised your mum we'd visit on the holidays, and your brothers will get tickets to any game they'd like to come to—"
"You want me to—come with you? Be with you while you play for England?"
"I know it's selfish," Oliver said quietly. "I know that I'm asking you to give up your career—your dream—in favor of my own. But I honestly don't think I can do this without you, Percy."
The third-eldest Weasley ran his hands through his hair, thinking hard. He'd worked so hard at school to reach the point he was at now, had sacrificed so much to keep it that way. It hadn't all started because of Oliver—his ambitions had only increased, albeit drastically. Could he really give it all up now?
But hadn't he already? He wasn't a fool; he knew that his place at the Ministry would be different now that there was a new Minister, not to mention the amount of work he'd already missed. And besides all that, wasn't Oliver much more important?
Percy grabbed Oliver's hand and raced out of his bedroom, down the stairs and into the kitchen.
"Mum," he announced breathlessly. "I'm going with Wood."
He was aware of his parents' support, of the hugs goodbye and the good luck wishes, but all he could focus on was the quiet beam on Oliver's face.
He wasn't okay yet—he knew that. But for the first time since the war, he began to hope that he could be. He could leave the Muggle medicine bottles behind. He could try to distance himself from his guilt, and maybe one day he could forgive himself. He could start afresh, a new life with Oliver by his side.
Somehow, he knew that Fred was cheering for him.
A/N:
Assorted Appreciation: 4. Write about starting something new
Disney Challenge: Dialogue 1. "The world is cruel."
Book Club: Toramaru — (trait) loyal, (action) running, (word) frenzy, (dialogue) "Go home, damn you!"
Showtime: 10. Seventeen — (word) damage
Amber's Attic: 5. Green Arrow — Write about trying to distract someone (5 bonus points)
Liza's Loves: 5. Write about someone sitting in front of the fireplace
Angel's Arcade: 6. Lex Luthor — (color) grey
Lo's Lowdown: Dialogue 1. "There is no shame in dying for nothing. That's why most people die."
Bex's Basement: Lego House by Ed Sheeran — If you're broken I will mend you (bonus)
Film Festival: 14. (dialogue) "You ruined my life and now you're ruining my death, too."; 17. (dialogue) "Choose life."