Written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition, Season 5, Round 3
Kenmare Kestrels, Beater 1
Mandatory Prompt: Write about a Truth that is hatred OR write about someone being Dared to confess their hatred.
Optional Prompts: (word) fair
(emotion) scared
(word) difference
(color) midnight black
(word) wither
Word Count: 2,090
Thank you, Amber, for beta-ing! And for helping me choose a name for Oliver's owl. And for suggesting I go the Percy route in the first place. And for everything. This fic wouldn't exist without you.
Title and certain elements of this fic inspired by the Sea Wolf song of the same name.
Percy stared at the blank sheet of parchment in front of him, his quill held poised to write for so long that he could feel his hand begin to cramp. He gave up the pretense with a defeated sigh. It was probably the hundredth time he had feigned to write a letter to his old school friend. These days the same thoughts stopped him every time.
What if the letter is intercepted? It would be dangerous if his superiors ever discovered that his loyalty to them was wavering in even the slightest way. There was no telling what they would do to him. It wasn't a risk he could afford. What if he doesn't want to hear from me? The mere thought of it made Percy's chest hurt. He imagined anything from Oliver forgetting about him entirely or, worse, Oliver no longer harboring any friendly feelings for him to the point of disdain. What if he does want to hear from me? Percy wouldn't be able to stand the guilt of having ignored his beloved friend for so long. They lost touch not too long after Percy had started working for the Ministry full time. The letters had just piled up and were pushed aside in favor of highly important Ministry work, which is such a laughable concept now. Somehow the thought of Oliver still considering him a friend made his chest ache even more. He didn't deserve friendship, least of all from Oliver Wood. Where would I even start? There was so much he wanted to say, so much he needed to get off his chest. He just wasn't ready yet. He was too afraid to do anything outside of the life of routine and order he had precariously built for himself. So much for that Gryffindor courage.
—
Percy watched his brother die. He heard his laughter cut short. It was such a very Fred way to die, with one last laugh still clinging to him. What a thing to think! He felt everything inside him wither at the sight of his younger brother lying on the floor. Even when he did the right thing, those he loved suffered the consequences. He couldn't remember where he went so wrong, how he went from Perfect Percy to Pointless Percy who couldn't get anything right. He was already blaming himself for distracting Fred enough that he was caught so off guard.
Percy was sure he was screaming, his throat had that raw feeling, but all he could hear was blood rushing in his ears as he flung himself over Fred's body. He wasn't sure if the repeat of no, no, no, no, no was merely in his head or if he was actually saying it. His world had narrowed down to this, the end. He shook Fred desperately. He wasn't supposed to lose him, he'd only just gotten him back. No, Fred, you can't go now, please, come back. He heard someone shouting at him, but he shook his head. No! He heard another shout of his name and felt hands pulling at his shoulders, but he didn't want to leave. He couldn't let anything else happen to Fred.
The symphony of battle raged on in the background, muffled by his own despair. He clung close to Fred, until Harry leaned down. He was trying to get a hold of Fred under his armpit. It took Percy a minute, but he realized what was happening and readily relinquished his hold. He helped Harry carry his brother to a safer location.
—
As fate would have it, Percy quite literally bumped into Oliver. It was under a pale early morning sky. The Second Wizarding War was done, was won, but here they were. They were left with the ugly aftermath. There was much to be repaired, relationships included. What better place to start than his best friend? Or is it former best friend? He winced and rubbed his arm where it had collided with his burly possibly-former-friend. The tenderness of a potential bruise was quickly forgotten when Oliver pulled him into a fiercely tight embrace that just felt so right.
"Percy! I've missed you, you great freckled git."
There was no malice in his words; it was nothing but enthusiastic Oliver Wood affection. It was like a day hadn't passed since the last time they were together. Surprisingly, there wasn't so much guilt as there was a rush of immense relief. Percy was glad to be reunited with his old friend, especially after everything that had just happened. He returned embrace, holding on just as tightly. He didn't want to let go. It felt like a really good dream, one he didn't deserve.
"I've missed you too, Oliver. You have no idea."
They pulled out of their embrace to look at each other. They were both filthy, covered in the dirt and smoke and grime of the battlefield. Percy couldn't help but think Oliver still looked as handsome as he always had. It felt like a ridiculous thought, considering where they were standing, but Percy had been full of absurd notions over the past few years. He was done trying to suppress everything. He felt he was ready to open up. You can do this. With more privacy, preferably.
"Would you like to take a walk?" Oliver asked, as if he knew what Percy was thinking. Percy liked to think they could be on the same wavelength again someday. "I think we could both use the fresh air."
He nodded. Yes, I'd like that.
The pair walked in a companionable silence. More than once their hands happened to brush, but neither of them acknowledged it out loud.
After a while they found themselves at the edge of the lake. There were a few different logs placed conveniently along the shoreline. They shared one of the bigger ones, perhaps sitting a little closer than necessary. They were still inexplicably drawn to each other and Percy felt comforted by the familiarity of it. He really had come home.
"I'm sorry about Fred."
"I am too," he said, feeling like there was something caught in his throat. He hadn't cried earlier, but he could no longer hold back. All that angry adrenaline was gone; he was back to being a weary shell. A sob ripped through him, leaving an ache in his chest. "Gods, Oliver, I'm so sorry."
He wordlessly wrapped an arm around Percy and pulled him closer. Percy gripped his sleeve and used it as an anchor. He didn't want to sink.
He went on, before he lost his nerve, before Oliver could attempt to get a word in. "I- I feel like I'm to blame in a way. In many ways, actually. I abandoned my family, because I thought I knew better than them. I thought I was better than them. Can you believe that, Ol? Typical Pompous Percy, right? I abandoned them, I betrayed them, and for what? I'm an awful son, a worse brother… I come back in time to get my brother killed."
"Percy…"
"I was just so, I don't know...happy? Relieved? Finally. For the first time since leaving. I was so happy to be back. With family. I was finally doing the right thing. I thought I was. Perhaps it was too little too late, but we were fighting together, side by side, and it felt like it could be enough. I felt like I was really going to make a difference for the good. Then I just had to crack this stupid joke. Fred thought it was so funny. He died laughing at that bloody joke. It wasn't even that good." Percy laughed, but it was this bitter, hollow sort of laugh that hurt even himself to hear. He said mockingly, "Hello, Minister! Did I mention I'm resigning?
"I hate what I've become, Oliver," Percy confessed with a harsh whisper, because it was a harsh secret he had held onto for years. He wiped at his tears, ashamed. "I hate what I've done, what I haven't done. I'm no hero. I'm not brave or good. I joined the right side at the last minute because I spent so long being too afraid. I'm still scared, honestly. I don't know what comes next. I feel like my relationships with my family, with friends, are all irreparable. I haven't changed much, I've been a self-serving arsehole for so long."
There was a heavy silence for a moment, one where he could feel Oliver's gaze on him. He couldn't stand to meet it.
"First of all, what happened to Fred isn't your fault," Oliver paused, waiting for an answer and receiving none. "You hear me? You didn't do that to him. I know he shouldn't have gone like that, he shouldn't have gone so soon, but you know Fred. He died laughing, I know he would have found that hilariously poetic. You know it too. Let's find some comfort in that. I really think he would want us to.
"Yeah, you made some mistakes but we all do. We're getting older, yeah, but we're still learning. We're still growing. You're already a good guy, a great guy if you ask me. It's hardly an accurate assessment to call yourself self-serving, awful, or any of those things. Just the fact that you're here means a hell of a lot. That was brave of you, don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Yourself included.
Oliver sighed before continuing, "I'm not going to lie, Percy, I was angry with you. I was hurt. I sent so many letters. I thought they were getting lost somehow. Maybe I wasn't tying them to Llewellyn's leg tight enough? Merlin, I even scolded him a couple times for being so careless, got a bite for troubles each time, see," Oliver showed him two scars on his right index finger. "At a certain point, I had to come to terms with the fact that you clearly weren't going to be replying to any of my letters. I thought- no, I knew what we had was special. We weren't just mates, we were best mates, Perce."
The use of an old familiar nickname Percy hadn't heard in years had his eyes prickling again. He sniffed and didn't bother trying to hide his emotions, he was done with that. He had to be.
"I don't know how I gave all that up. I was foolish to think being a Ministry errand boy was ever a better position than being your best friend. I thought of sending you an owl so many times, you know," Percy admitted. His cheeks flushed, now it was time for that twinge of guilt and embarrassment. He especially disliked his fair complexion in moments like these. It always gave him away. "One way or another, I always managed to convince myself that it wasn't a good idea."
"This isn't broken," He pulled his arm back and inched away from Percy, just to gesture between them. "We're not. I've already forgiven you. We have so much more time to write letters, or, you know, talk like this. Like old times. You're still my friend. And you're still a brother and a son, you're still good and brave and true. You just got a little lost along the way."
"I'm ready to find my way back," Percy said, a little shaky but no less sincere. He sighed. "I'm not sure I believe you, that I can fix any of this, but I'm ready to try."
Oliver reached for his hand and told him, "I'm here to help you. We'll figure this out."
—
His dress robes were black like the midnight sky; there were even little specks of white lint like stars. He picked at one of the specks, absent-mindedly. He knew Fred wouldn't have cared about what he wore—he could have shown up in a frilly nightshirt—but some habits were hard to break. Percy felt the need to follow decorum, so he stood there in the color of mourning. It was his first time visiting his brother's grave. He hadn't felt strong enough to make the visit before, but with Oliver at his side and his misplaced guilt cast aside Percy felt a real sense of peace for the first time in a while. It no longer hurt to remember his brother; he could mourn Fred's death and celebrate his life at the same time. The world wasn't as black and white as he had mistakenly believed before. He was learning. Things were starting to get easier.