AN: Comps and Prompts down the bottom.
QL AN: Troll Dolls - A highly collectible toy from the early 60's. And, well, our Oliver — he's collecting.
~ WARNINGS: CHARACTER DEATH, BRIEF MENTION OF SUICIDE. ~
Feel No More (Feel No Less)
AlwaysPadfoot
Oliver wiped the sweat from his brow.
The journey had been long. The sun was beating down on his bronzed skin as Hogsmeade finally came into focus on the horizon. The edges of the town seemed to shimmer in the heat the way he expected a mirage would.
Spurring his steed — Firebolt — onwards, the two crossed the dusty floor towards the town.
The rumour was that this was where he would find his next mark from the Weasley Gang. This was where he'd find the next of the sons: Percy Weasley. He ran his fingers along the notches he'd filed into the butt of his gun. This would be mark fifteen — number four alone from the Weasley Gang.
Firebolt rode at a canter as they entered the town. Oliver's eyes scanned the quiet scene. Most of the population had chosen to shelter inside, out of the sweltering heat.
"Woah, girl," he commanded, patting the chestnut brown of Firebolt's neck. "This will do."
Oliver swung his leg off the horse, securing her to the fence by a trough of fresh water. He considered his next move as he fed Firebolt a treat from one of the saddlebags affixed to her back. Usually, when he rode into a new town, he met with an ally, but in Hogsmeade Oliver knew no one. For a man as notorious as he was, he didn't find it odd that the few people around seemed to know him, giving him a wide berth.
After all, Oliver was a bounty hunter, a renowned gunslinger whose achievements were infamous. Running his tongue across his teeth, he gave Firebolt a final pat and left the correl. He wiped his hands on his chaps and cracking his aching neck.
"Hey, mister," a voice called. "You try way too hard to look cool!"
Oliver's eyes fell on a dishevelled young boy, and he grinned smugly. "I ain't trying. Where's the nearest saloon, kid?"
"I ain't no kid; I'm nine-and-three-quarters." The boy scrunched up his face and then pointed down the street. "You want The Three Broomsticks — it's the best saloon in town."
Tipping his hat to the boy, Oliver flicked him a coin.
"Thanks, mister."
Oliver walked along the narrow street. He'd learnt a long time ago to ignore the looks that people gave him. He had grown tired of the horror and fear that filled their eyes.
Instead, he mapped out his surroundings until his attention was caught by the ungodly amount of wanted posters. They weren't just of the Weasley Gang, but of numerous other undesirables. He'd never seen so many in one place. Not in Godric's Hollow, where he'd fulfilled his bounty for the Weasley twins, nor in The Burrow of Ottery, where he'd tracked down William and Ronald.
"Nice horse."
The voice was low and gravely, belonging to a man sat on the porch of the saloon. He was older — with greying hair and a glass eye — and Oliver couldn't help but feel a sense of familiarity.
"She's a beauty," Oliver agreed, removing his hat to tuck it under his arm. "You look mighty familiar; have we met?"
The man grunted as he got up and extended his hand. "The name's Alastor. I knew your old man, boy, even before he was a gunslinger."
Oliver took his hand firmly, perhaps a little too firmly after being called a boy. Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody, as he now recalled, had a bone-crushing handshake. His hands were calloused and rough. Oliver couldn't help but stare at the glass eye that spun inhumanly fast in the man's eye socket.
He let go of Moody's hand just as they were joined by a bartender, who was now wiping down tables behind them.
"Can I get you a drink?" he asked, collecting Moody's glass. "Another whisky, Alastor?"
"Thanks, Tom."
"I'll have the same," Oliver added. "By the way, you got a spare room?"
Tom pulled a loop of keys round on his belt and detached one, handing it over. Once payment was sorted, Moody invited Oliver to sit with him. For a long moment, there was silence. Oliver's ear pricked at the sound of someone playing the harmonica nearby, but apart from that, the town was quiet. It was not uncommon for people to shelter inside when the sun was high in the sky, but Hogsmeade felt like a ghost town.
Their drinks came and Tom left again, the saloon doors swinging shut behind him.
"So, I hear you're collecting Weasleys like trophies," Moody said gruffly.
"They've accumulated high bounties for their crimes over the years," Oliver responded, removing a tin of tobacco and skins from his pocket and rolling a cigarette.
He didn't like to talk about work; he had no interest in discussing the morality of his life choices. Oliver thought that was better left between himself, his victim and the solicitor of the bounty. Putting the cigarette between his lips, Oliver struck a match and lit the end. He breathed in deeply, exhaling smoke through his nose.
"Sheriff Thicknesse and Deputy Umbridge are keen to eradicate the entire Weasley Gang from Hogsmeade," Moody continued.
Oliver made a noise of acknowledgement, flicked away some ash and leant back in his chair, crossing his legs at the ankles.
"They do got a whole lot of posters," Oliver pointed out.
"Sure do." Moody shrugged, lifting one leg and dropping it down with a wooden clunk. Gnarled mahogany wood peeked through the older man's trousers.
"Ever wonder what it would be like to just... stop?" Moody asked. "After all, your father only stopped because this business ended up killing him."
"Not really."
Actually, Oliver had thought about it. A lot.
He didn't want to die the way his father had — taking his own life because the shadows of the dead haunted him. It was not an end that Oliver wanted to consider. He couldn't do that; he would never do that. Even though Oliver had considered 'retiring' as a bounty hunter, he couldn't guarantee that the craving for adrenaline wouldn't drag him back in.
Either way, he'd told himself the Weasleys were his last bounties, the last notches he'd make on his gun.
Oliver excused himself after his cigarette.
"You can't move on if you're stuck in the past, son," Moody said.
Oliver pushed through the saloon doors. It was cooler inside. Tom nodded to him and Oliver walked swiftly towards the stairs at the back of the empty bar. He wanted to wash and rest after his long journey to Hogsmeade.
Not wanting to dwell on the memories Moody had dragged up, Oliver found his room and unlocked the door. It was simply decorated. He was glad that it was uncluttered, unmemorable. It was for the best.
Eventually, after giving himself time to settle in, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded-up piece of paper. Smoothing it out with his fingers, he gazed upon the stencilled face of Percy Weasley under the black words: Wanted: Dead or Alive. These pictures were drawn to look far more menacing than reality, but as Oliver stood to affix the poster to his wall, he couldn't help but notice how plain and unthreatening Percy looked.
He was going to rest and freshen up. Then, come dusk, Oliver would go to Percy's last known location.
When Oliver woke, the sun had dropped low in the sky. He busied himself by filling the tin basin by the sink and tossing a cloth into it. He slipped off the clothes he'd slept in and reached for the wet cloth, grateful for the cool water as he washed himself down.
He had just finished when the door of his room opened.
Oliver straightened up and turned, feeling no shame at his nudity. In the doorway stood the man he'd been sent here to find: Percy Weasley himself.
Percy's ears turned a shocking shade of pink at the sight of him, and the door clicked shut.
"I believe you're in town to see me," he said.
"That I am," Oliver responded, looking across to his gun a few feet away. "I was just dressin', if I may?"
He noticed Percy's eyes linger before he nodded curtly and looked away. Oliver crossed the floor and pulled on fresh underwear and a shirt. Then, soundlessly, his hand shot out for his pistol. Unfortunately, Percy must have had the same idea because the next thing Oliver knew, the cool barrel of a gun was pressed against this neck.
"This discussion does not require a weapons discharge," Percy said.
"You got it," Oliver responded coolly, stepping away from the gun and turning to size Percy up. "So, you want to talk like civilized men?"
With his ginger hair and freckles, he was not unlike the brothers Oliver had already collected rewards for. Mostly, Percy was like his youngest brother, tall and thin, but he carried himself in a more dignified manner.
"You're in Hogsmeade to kill me," Percy responded, eyes falling to the wanted poster tacked to the wall. "Or am I mistaken?"
There was no point in beating around the bush.
"You're not."
Despite reholstering his own gun, Percy's fingers hovered by it, ready for a quick draw. Oliver knew he had to take control of this discussion. Even without a weapon, he still had his words.
"We both know why I'm in town, but only you know why you're in my room," Oliver said.
"I'm here because of my younger sister, Ginevra. Before she ran away and abandoned the family, she told me"—Percy paused, swallowing so thickly that Oliver saw his Adam's Apple bob under his pale skin—"'You had a shit childhood. Don't let that lead you into a shit adulthood.' Terrible language really for a young lady, but she's right. I'm not that person."
He gestured sharply to the wall. This Weasley girl seemed the most decent of her family.
"I've not come here to change your mind. I've watched my brothers hang from the gallows for something we had no business being a part of," he continued. "I've watched my family break. And I ask myself, what do you do when there's nothing but pain left inside of you?"
"I'm afraid I don't have an answer to a question so profound," Oliver said.
The two men locked gazes for a long moment.
"I don't believe there is an answer," Percy admitted. "I thought if anyone knew, it would be a gunslinger."
The silence hung thick between them. Oliver's job was simple. All he had to do was hunt down his target, collect his bounty, and file another notch into his collection. Percy was a mystery — an enigma.
"This gesture, this admission to you, is one of the heart. A confession before I go back into town to save face, to be the man on that poster," Percy said. "Because that is my world; I'm in too deep to cross over into another."
He stepped back and raised his hands, nodding at Oliver's gun.
"Kill me."
Oliver blinked in surprise. He scooped up the gun and ran his fingers over the notches before placing it in his holster.
"No. It's not a gunslinger's job to play by your rules. That ain't how this works." Oliver's expression hardened. "You want an honourable death? Then we meet outside in the dust like gentlemen. If not, I come find you and you die in the dirt or hang when I hand you over to the Sheriff. Either way, you'll leave this room alive, whether you like it or not."
Percy's face dropped down to stare at the ground, his teeth gritting together.
"Then a word of advice," he said hoarsely. "Leave; leave before it's too late. Collect your final bounty this night and ride away before you lose everything... like I have."
It was evident now that Percy had lost more than his brothers, more than his pride.
"Get out," Oliver said.
Percy Weasley left without another word. A gnawing feeling in Oliver's stomach said he'd made a mistake somehow. Gritting his teeth, Oliver reached for his chaps and pulled them roughly on. He preferred to relax before he collected a bounty and now the gunslinger felt riled up.
He had to push past this.
He still had a bounty to collect.
The following day, Percy Weasley was condemned to hang.
It was not by Oliver's hand, but by the local Sheriff's. He'd lost his chance to collect the bounty, and because of that, he'd packed Firebolt's saddlebags and was about to take his steed and leave Hogsmeade. He stopped, however, at the gallows where a crowd had gathered. As he stood at the back, Oliver noticed the kid he'd met upon his arrival to town. He was stood on the fence of the corral, peering over the heads of people.
"You shouldn't watch this, kid," Oliver told him.
"No offence, mister, but you ain't my Dad."
Oliver rolled his eyes. As he turned back to the gallows, a heavily tattooed man — the executioner — stepped on stage. He was followed by Percy Weasley and two women, their arms in chains. One of the women looked young, no older than sixteen, tear tracks staining her dirty cheeks. Not many women were sentenced to hang, and Oliver felt discomfort wash over him. They must have been caught together; the younger girl could easily be Percy Weasley's daughter, judging by the resemblance.
He couldn't bring himself to leave as the Sheriff stepped up and the executioner fastened the nooses around the trio's necks.
"Today," he called over the murmurs of the crowd, "we are gathered to see the condemned: Percy Ignatius Weasley, Audrey Elizabeth Weasley, and Molly Cedrella Weasley hung for their crimes against this town and its residents. No longer will we allow these criminals to continue their wicked ways."
The silence that fell over everyone was stifling. Out of the corner of Oliver's eye, he saw the kid looking on. His eyes were filled with horror. Surreptitiously, he moved a little closer to the boy — just in case.
"As the sun reaches its pinnacle in the sky, these three will hang from their necks until the darkness falls across this town."
Oliver ran his tongue across his teeth. He should leave. Taking Firebolt's reins, he turned, only to notice tears shining in the kid's eyes. It was clear the boy was too young to see a hanging, but no one else seemed to care about him — not one adult looked in the kid's direction. No longer interested in the hanging, the gunslinger frowned as he tried to figure out just why the kid looked so horrified.
He didn't see the bodies drop, but the crack of their necks was audible. Instead, he saw the kid jump from the fence with a cry barely distinguishable over the applause from the crowd — vengeance in his eyes. Oliver's hand snapped out. His fingers wrapped around the boy's wrist and pulled him back.
"Get off!"
The kid's voice broke. He was desperate to pull away, but Oliver denied him that. The kid would get himself killed if he ran up there. When he realised there was no escape, he turned and buried his face against Oliver. The gunslinger's heart broke for the kid — his whole body was shaking as he clung to Oliver's side.
The applause died and the Sheriff's words were distant as Oliver stared at the gallows.
There was something so very wrong with all of this.
For Oliver, this was normally so simple, so pain-free. This time was different. From the moment Percy had stepped foot in Oliver's room, there'd been a hint of doubt. And now, with the horror that had filled the kid's face when the lever had been pulled to send the three Weasleys' bodies plummeting downwards, Oliver knew, he knew, something wasn't right.
He crouched, pushing the kid to arm's length. His eyes were puffy and red from crying and Oliver forced himself to be firm.
"Quit crying," he said. "Tell me your name."
"But—"
"Your name, kid."
"Lou," he stammered.
Oliver studied the kid's face; the familiarly was evident now. "You their kid?"
Lou didn't respond verbally, just inclined his head ever so slightly. Swearing, Oliver knew he had to keep the kid safe. No doubt the Sheriff would send him off to the mines to work if he found out — it wasn't right. Oliver asked if the kid had any more family. The answer: no, none here.
"You gonna sell me out, mister?" Lou asked.
Oliver straightened up. "No, I ain't. You heard of the town called Hogwarts?"
Lou shook his head.
The gunslinger had fond memories of Hogwarts; he'd grown up there for a while after his father had taken his own life. There were a couple of women there — Minerva and Poppy — who cared for children with nowhere else to go. That's where Oliver would take Lou, if the kid allowed him.
He had to admit he was surprised that Lou even entertained his idea. The kid didn't complain as Oliver lifted him up onto Firebolt's saddle. Keen to begin their journey, he filled up their water supplies and climbed up behind Lou as Firebolt carried them out of town.
The kid was quiet as Hogsmeade disappeared beyond the horizon. Oliver didn't want to bother him. After a few hours, Lou took a photo from the pocket of his trousers. It showed Percy and Audrey Weasley holding a baby wrapped in blankets, a young girl — whom Oliver assumed was Molly — smiling beside them. On the back, inscribed in pencil, it read: Percy, Audrey, and Molly welcoming baby Lucy to the world.
Lou. Lucy.
Oliver inhaled deeply. Taking the metal file from his shirt pocket, he began to file three more notches into the butt of his gun. There would be no more — not after today.
He was a gunslinger no more.
Comps and Prompts
QLFC, Round 3: Chaser 3 - Troll Dolls - A highly collectable toy from the early 60's. [2. (genre) Western, 9. (word) Horror, 10. (object) wanted poster/s]
Assignment 12: Muggle Creatures, Task Four: Write about someone dangerous.
World Cup, Qualifiers: 24th June - Poland vs Colombia - 19:00 - Pairing: Percy/Oliver
IHC: 228. AU - Cowboy
365: 153. Genre - Western
Resolutions: Write a SciFi or Western.
Gobstones: Red Stone - Hunt [A: (object) keys, P: (dialogue) "You had a shit childhood. Don't let that lead you into a shit adulthood.", T: (dialogue) "Ever wonder what it would be like to just... stop?"]
SC — Days of the Year — July 14 2018 - National Nude Day: Write about someone being caught in the nude. [Bonus]
SC — Summer Prompts — (dialogue) "You try way too hard to look cool."
SC — Colour Prompts — Mahogany
SC — Birthstones — "What do you do when there's nothing but pain left inside of you?"
SC — Flowers — Cosmos - (title) Feel No More (Feel No Less)
SC — Shays Musical Challenge — 14. Fun Home - write about discovering more about someone's past
SC — Gryffindor Prompts — Medium: Percy Weasley / Trait: Arrogant / Other: (location) The Three Broomsticks.
SC — Summer Astronomy — August 26 2018 - Mercury at Greatest Western Elongation. - (scenario) Someone's luck running out
WC - Character Appreciation - 7. (word) Vengeance
WC - Disney Challenge - Character 4. Kristoff - Write about the Weasleys (any of them)
WC - Book Club - Dante: (word) tattoo, (word) heart, (colour) black
WC - Showtime - 2. Take What You Get - (dialogue) "You can't move on if you're still in the past."
WC - Amber's Attic - 8. Face Paint: Write about someone hiding who they truly are,
WC - CYB - 1. (dialogue) "This discussion does not require a weapons discharge!"
WC - Ami's Audio Admirations - 2. No Such Thing As — Write about a Sceptic.
WC - Em's Emporium - Character 5. Scorpius Malfoy: Write about the world ending. Alt - Write a fanon pairing.
WC - Lo's Lowdown - 2. Character - Spock - write about someone caught between two worlds
Word Count: 3005