Love is tearful or it's gay.

It's a problem or it's play.

It's a heartache either way,

But it's beautiful.

—Frank Sinatra

But Beautiful

Oliver Wood wanted to be alone. It was simply too much to take. Being back at Hogwarts, under these circumstances, seeing You Know Who, fighting Death Eaters, watching friends die. Seeing him again. Even if it was fleeting, insubstantial, the briefest of glances. He couldn't bear it. He had to get away. And so, as others began to clear away the wreckage and carnage of what had once been the great hall, he wandered the campus, once so familiar and now oddly changed, probably irrevocably.

He wasn't surprised when he found himself at the Quidditch pitch. It was still familiar, comfortable, somehow reassuring. It was full of memories, which were mostly happy, even if the losses were still painful. Especially that loss to Hufflepuff during his last year, the one where Cedric had caught the snitch and then apologized for it. Cedric was always so insufferably fair-minded.

Cedric had not deserved to die.

With that last thought, Oliver collapsed on the turf of the pitch, his legs no longer able to bear his weight. He caught himself on the palms of his hands, which pushed slightly into the damp earth. Waves of grief and exhaustion, the two emotions so tangled together that he couldn't tell where one ended and the other began, washed over him. He pushed himself back up into a sitting position, his muscles protesting against the effort, and looked at the stars overhead, which were beginning to dim in anticipation of the coming dawn.

"I miss you," he whispered into the sky. "It's been three years and I still miss you, Ced."

He sat there for an indeterminate period of time; it could have been hours or minutes. The stars moved slowly overhead, their light fading as the sky gradually turned from navy to a paler shade of blue. At some point, he hugged his legs to his chest and began rocking softly. He wanted to cry, but he couldn't. He was too exhausted.

Gradually, he became aware of another presence. He turned his head to look over his shoulder and saw a tall, slender figure dressed in torn and stained robes. The man's ginger hair was a mess. "Weasley," Oliver said, his voice thicker than usual, "you're a mess."

Percy Weasley coughed politely. "You don't look much better yourself, Wood," he replied. Oliver noticed that he sounded tired. "They sent me to look for you. When we didn't find your body, everyone was afraid something had happened."

"I'm in once piece, or at least mostly," Oliver replied flatly. "I'll mend."

Percy sat down beside him unbidden. "I thought you might be here."

Oliver glanced over at the former Head Boy. Percy's left eye was blackened, and he had a long scrape along his jawline. His lower lip was split. His robes were stained here and there with blood; it was impossible to say whether this was his own or someone else's. Oliver quickly averted his gaze, unwilling to look Percy in the eye.

"I wanted to be alone," he replied simply. "I couldn't take being back there."

"I understand."

They sat in silence for several minutes. It was almost as if they were schoolmates again. They'd been friends and roommates during their seven years at Hogwarts. It had always been easy to talk to Percy; Oliver always felt as if he had Percy's undivided attention, as if whatever he were saying was the most important thing that he'd ever heard.

"Tonight was hard," Oliver said, finally breaking the silence.

"Yes."

"I don't just mean the fighting. Not that that was easy or anything, but…" he trailed off, unsure of what to say next. Finally, he resumed, "I hadn't been back to Hogwarts since it happened."

"The Tri-Wizard Tournament?"

"Yes."

"That was a nasty mess," Percy sighed, grimacing. "I can't help but think that things would have been different, easier, if we'd only believed Potter."

"I can't help but think that things would have been better if he hadn't managed to get himself dragged into the tournament."

"Well, he can hardly be blamed for what happened."

"Bloody hell, Weasley. If it weren't for Harry bleeding Potter, none of it would have happened. I don't know if you noticed, but dark wizards didn't follow Cedric everywhere he went." Oliver could feel his face heating up in anger. In a small, rational part of his brain, he knew that Harry wasn't directly responsible for Cedric's death, but even three years removed from the events, it still hurt too much not to nurse an unreasonable grudge.

"You loved Cedric." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes." Oliver sighed, and a comfortable silence descended between them again. "The last thing we did was fight," he continued eventually.

"And that troubles you?"

"Damn right. Wouldn't it you?" Oliver didn't wait for an answer. "Ced wanted to tell people about us, to go public as a couple, but I didn't want to because I was afraid that it would hurt my career. I mean, what team would have a gay player? All I wanted was to move up to first string at Puddlemere. Now, I'd give up Quidditch if it would bring him back."

"You made first string this year, though, right?"

"It's not nearly as great as I thought it would be." Oliver smiled ruefully. "Not without Ced."

Again, the conversation descended into silence. Percy was the one to break it this time. "Fred's dead," he said simply.

"Shit," Oliver swore. He didn't know what to say. "Are you okay, Weasley?" Even as he said them, the words felt flat. Of course he wasn't okay; his brother was dead.

"I'm in shock. I won't be alright in a few hours, but now I just feel numb."

Oliver nodded. He let go of his knees and put an arm around Percy's shoulders. Percy leaned into the embrace.

"I'm just so tired, Oliver. Exhausted. You have no idea what this last year at the Ministry has been like."

Oliver had no response to that, at least none that didn't sound condescending or idiotic, so he kept his mouth shut.

"There were Death Eaters everywhere, scrutinizing everything," Percy continued. Oliver could feel him shudder. "You-Know-Who himself was sometimes actually inside the Ministry itself, not just running things from somewhere else. Since they thought that my family was basically blood traitors, I was especially suspect. I wanted to do something to help the resistance, leak information if nothing else, but I didn't. I was too scared. I expected to be drug off to be tortured or killed at any moment. I think the only thing that saved me was that I was a lowly undersecretary.

"And then, all this. It's just too much. God knows where the remaining Death Eaters have run off to. God knows who at the Ministry can still be trusted. God knows what we're going to do without Fred."

"You don't have to worry about those things now, Weasley. There will be time to sort them out later."

Percy sighed. "It's what I do; you should know that."

"I know. You always worried yourself sick the night before a test."

"This is much more important than any test."

"But there's nothing you can do about it right now. Shit, Weasley, you're going to make yourself sick. You need to process things before you go running off to fix the wizarding world. You're not the only one who can solve problems."

"I know that, but…"

"There's no buts, Weasley. For once in your life, don't bear the weight of the world on your shoulders."

They both sat looking at the stars. "You can still see Sirius," Percy said.

"Where? I was horrible in astronomy."

"I know," Percy chuckled. He pointed toward the brightest star in the sky. "There. It's part of Canis Major, the great dog, but you really can't see the other stars now. The Greeks said that it was one of Orion's faithful hounds, who protected him. The Romans said that it was Europa's guard dog, who failed to prevent Jupiter from abducting her."

"Huh."

"I've always liked the Roman story better. I never knew why. I guess I always resonated with the sense of failure. Especially now."

Possible replies filled Oliver's head. Part of him wanted to assure Percy that he was no failure, and never had been. To let him know that tonight's events weren't his fault. But another part understood Percy's grief, sympathized with it. Reassurances wouldn't help, not tonight. So they sat together, silently reflecting on the loved ones whom they'd failed to protect, commiserating with the fading hound.

Oliver slipped his hand from Percy's shoulder and began to rub his back. Percy sighed and let his head rest on Oliver's shoulder. Their heads turned toward each other, and their eyes met. Oliver slowly leaned his head down to gently press his lips against Percy's.

The kiss was perfect. Oliver could taste the metallic tang of blood from Percy's split lip. The whole thing was perfectly chaste, just a meeting of lips, but no kiss had made Oliver feel so wonderful in years. Oliver pulled back, blinking tears from his eyes. He hadn't intended to kiss Percy. Part of him felt slightly unfaithful to Cedric's memory, but another part was beginning to wonder if Cedric would want him to continue to live stuck in the past. "I'm sorry," he said huskily.

"Don't be."

"But, it's damned insensitive of me. Your brother just died; God knows how many of our friends are dead."

"Oliver, I've been secretly wishing that you would do that ever since we were in school."

"Oh."

"The timing's hardly what I wished, but that's life."

"I'm not trying to take advantage of you while you're vulnerable."

"I know."

Oliver cleared his throat. "We should probably get back."

"Not yet. I want to watch the sun rise."

They sat in silence, Oliver holding Percy close, Percy snuggled against Oliver's chest, both watching a new day, full of new hopes, full of new fears, dawn over Hogwarts' grounds. Tears streamed down their faces, cutting tracks through dirt and grime, tears for loves lost and loves gained.

It was a new day.