Written for QLFC Season 5, Semi-Finals
Team: Wigtown Wanderers
CHASER 1: A fluffy story using the prompt 'hate' (emotion) OR an angsty story using the prompt 'love' (emotion)
Additional Prompts: (emotion) cynical, (location) Croatia, (quote) Cheers to a new year and another chance for us to get it right. – Oprah Winfrey

Word Count: 2440

Many thanks to Aya for betaing!

Somewhat AU.

A/N A blackout is a wartime practice meant to minimize any light so that the enemy wouldn't be able to identify their targets during bombardments and such. I don't know if blackout was actually in force in any Croatian city in December '95 when this story is set. It probably was not since the Bosnian War ended right in 1995, but… let's just pretend it was. It somehow fits the mood.

He mustn't close his eyes.

Percival Ignatius Weasley, the third child of Arthur and Molly Weasley, Junior Assistant to the British Minister of Magic, picked yet another paper and squinted in the dim light of the one candle in the little room. He dare not light any more because of the blackout that still was in force in the Muggle areas of Dubrovnik, but he had to keep working on the files he had found in the city archive.

Birth certificates, identity documents, and family trees of the main Croatian families were scattered on his desk along with anything that could make him aware of the relationship between Great Britain and Croatia: international laws, treaties, even some old letters.

He sighed as he held the paper mere inches from his nose and scanned it before throwing it on the floor, frustrated. Nothing. Still nothing.

In his mind, it had been all so easy, so smooth — get a job at the Ministry, prove to be trustworthy and hard-working, move up the ranks, use his position to do something good. Maybe it was not an original plan, but it was clear. It had worked for other people, why couldn't it for him? Why hadn't his parents understood? He had never wanted to choose his job over his family, and his certainly wasn't some twisted way to show disapproval of his father's choice. But then his father had often laughed at his expense while Percy had only and ever wanted to make his family proud of him — it was the least he could for them — and find a way to protect them, but it was proving almost too painful to do.

All he needed to end this torture was some little subparagraph or footnote, maybe dealing with immigration, that would make it possible for British people to come to Croatia in case Harry Potter was right. Not that Percy liked to linger on that thought; it would be too cruel, too… impossible. He still remembered his uncles, his mother's desperation at their deaths. It couldn't happen again, not with his little brother so close to Potter. He didn't want to go through what his mother had; he wasn't strong enough to face it.

No, I won't. It's just a lie, it must be a lie, he tried to convince himself once more, even as some unknown dread filled him, almost choking him. Please.

He had used to trust Albus Dumbledore with all he had, but that didn't extend to his family's safety, and when Ginny and Ron had risked their lives, when even Hogwarts had proved flawed, Percy had hardened his heart once more and decided to take things into his own hands. And the only way to save lives in the supposed upcoming war was to have contacts in high places, like he was sure You-Know-Who had, to level the playing field. Or, even better, to prevent the Dark Lord to take over the Ministry; ostracizing allies was never good in wartime, and Dumbledore was handing the Ministry to Voldemort by antagonizing them.

So Percy had stayed and shown them what loyalty meant.

That was part of the reason why Percy had been acting the way he had, even volunteering when Umbridge and Fudge had announced they needed to send someone to Croatia to deal with some issue regarding the centaur colony there. Not that Percy meant to deal with it — in times such as these, it barely mattered — but he had immediately seized the opportunity to leave London.

Why he had believed he would feel less lonely spending the Christmas break in a foreign country, he couldn't tell now. So far, it had proved foolish, petty even, but it certainly didn't make him feel any better. Or any warmer, despite the mild climate of southern Croatia.

A sudden wish to curl up and cry himself to sleep overwhelmed him and subconsciously his right arm that had come to rest in his lap in defeat wrapped around his waist as a shiver ran down his spin. He brought the candle closer, the flame being the only source of warmth in the poor room, but the cold still lingered, seemingly coming from somewhere between his heart and his diaphragm.

You mustn't close your eyes, his mind whispered again.

He blinked a few times and lifted his gaze from the pile of files on his left to the coat rack near the door. Maybe a little walk in the wizarding neighborhood would do him good. He just needed an idea, something to put him on the right track, he thought, casting a Disillusionment Charm on himself to be safe.

.x.

The pub wasn't more lit than his room, but it was crowded enough for Percy to pretend to be a part of something for once in his life, the thick cigarette smoke conveying the heat from one human body to the next.

Percy, a bottle and a glass clutched in his hands, slid into a chair and let himself fade into the dim light, become just another face without a past nor a future as he filled his glass for the first time. He didn't stop to discern the liquid color, its brightness diminished by the shadow cast by one of the clients, and just poured it into his mouth, carelessly. It tasted foul and scratched his throat, but Percy didn't mind. It was what he wanted, needed — pain always meant some sort of interaction, even if it was merely between his mucous membranes and some cheap liquor. It helped him focus.

He felt the liquid going down — hopefully it wouldn't be too acidic to create any damage — and reaching his stomach, immediately spreading heat from there. The warmth was not comparable to the one of the Burrow, but it had to do. He felt his head light and his muscles relax as numbness seized him.

He mustn't… close… his eyes.

"Tell me, Percy," said his mother's sad voice from the shadow behind him, "tell me when you've become this person? One who lies to himself and the others?"

Just as he turned to stare into the darkness he felt something soft and warm brushing his cheek, lips pressed to his temple in a soft goodbye.

A smell of oranges filled the air, of the same oranges that his mother had used to make a distasteful jelly that neither he nor his siblings could stand. How he missed it now!

When his eyes snapped open, the scent still lingered for a little while longer and his gaze was still fixed on the corner behind him. It was empty apart from some dust. There was no sign of his mother. Only uncaring strangers surrounded him. Of course she wouldn't be here, anywhere beside him; not when she had already chosen her "precious Harry" over him. But the dream had felt so real, his mother's caress so loving that Percy was lost now, the pain and the loneliness even more sharp. He found himself wishing… wishing… wishing what he didn't deserve, came the harsh thought, and to Percy, it had the same effect as a door slammed on his face or a hammer blow — something inside him trembled and broke.

No one else to blame but himself.

He knew that; he always had.

He shouldn't have stopped trying; he'd given up too soon. Not because he didn't love them — Merlin forbid! — but he had learned too early that he could use some cynicism to prevent his heart from being crushed one time too many.

.x.

Of the little bundle safely cradled against Mummy's chest, Percy, raising on his tiptoes, could only catch some glimpse of pink.

Excited voices surrounded him.

"A new baby..."

"A girl…"

"A little sister…"

"Is she pretty?"

They all crowded Mummy, eager to see their new sister and see who she'd look like.

"She's more like me, Fred," George stated, prompting a fight between him and his twin.

As Daddy tried to calm down everyone and made them take a step back because "Mummy is very tired," she smiled wearily and said, "Children, this is…" She paused. "Who wants to name her?"

Chaos ensued again.

"Georgia!" and "Fredda!" the twins said.

"What about Molly?" Daddy intervened.

Charlie wrinkled his nose. "But that's Mum's name."

"Let's call her Muriel," someone said.

"No no no," the twins protested. "Our baby sister won't smell like Auntie Muriel."

Only Percy had kept silent the whole time. He had a good reason; he felt in his heart that this might be his last chance to have a sibling like him. He stared at his new sister, his eyes wide in awe, as something warm and great blossomed in his chest — trepidation, concern, happiness, pride, love. And hope. He gulped. He couldn't afford that last one. Not yet.

His voice trembling, Percy said, "Ginevra. After the beautiful Queen from Dad's stories."

"Ginevra." Everyone tested the name on their tongues.

"I like it," Bill said.

Mummy and Daddy exchanged a pleased look.

Fred and George pouted before suddenly beaming. "Ginny. That's it."

"No. Ginevra," Percy repeated, an unknown fear running down his spine. "Ginevra."

"Ginny, Ginny, Ginny."

Percy's last "Ginevra" was weak even to his own ears, and just like that, he knew the girl would be Ginny, not Ginevra. Never his Ginevra. Once again, his new sibling wouldn't love him as much as he loved them.

.x.

Percy's face twisted in a bitter grimace as the scene replayed in his head.

Ginny had been a hyperactive toddler, a talented child, and was now an amazing, brave girl. Percy was proud of her, but that didn't prevent him from feeling alone and, more often than not, misunderstood. Because he had tried, he really had, to establish some bond with each new sibling: he had taught the twins to say each other's names, Ron to play chess (and Percy was proud to know that his little brother was now the best at it, even better than McGonagall), Ginny her first spells. But in the end it had been all in vain. Bill and Charlie had always been better than him at everything, included this whole big brother thing.

He should have expected it.

He sighed in defeat and guilt. No wonder his family had come to detest him. Even now he might be disappointing and hurting them just by sitting here. It all came down to one thing: his Weasley jumper and whether or not his mother had knitted it. Despite himself, despite how much he'd felt its absence when Christmas had passed without even a present, he found himself hoping she hadn't. He didn't deserve it and he would have had to give it back, so he had ensured that the jumper would get returned to her without him even knowing.

He took another sip of liquor to get rid of the vision of his mother's heartbroken face when — if, he hastily corrected himself, if — she had sent the jumper and seen it returned without even a note from him.

His own heart shattered at his inability to keep his family close. He wasn't worth them, didn't deserve them. Then why did it hurt so much? Why was it like losing them all over again every time he allowed himself to dwell on his feelings? It was just a never ending circle of pain.

Because it's only fair you suffer, a little voice whispered. You must hurt or you won't learn your lesson.

The clock struck eleven times and a half; the year was about to end and Percy felt hopeless. It might be too late. While he'd have wanted to reconcile for his mother's sake, he couldn't bear a life of humiliation and rejection any longer. They didn't care about him for who he was, but only about the fact that his leaving was casting a poor light on their family.

He missed them, but they could wait. If anything, his absence would be a relief to most of them.

.x.

Croatia wasn't that different from England, Percy decided as everyone fixed their eyes on the grandfather clock behind the counter.

The countdown to midnight had begun and the small groups had blended into a huge one, eager to greet the New Year and alive with joy and hope. Only Percy still stood by, unsure about what to do, even if he had saved enough liquor to toast. He knew but a few Croatian words without using any translating spell, but the blissful expressions and the friendly gestures towards each other were unmistakable and about the same that, albeit perhaps more reserved, could be found in England.

Here as it is back home, he thought. And here, like back home where language and culture held no secrets for Percy, he was alone.

So yes, Croatia was very similar to England. Except for a little yet significant detail: here, new beginnings felt more possible, more real, closer. He had seen plenty of proof of it while walking around. The war had just ended and had caused enormous damage, but the reconstruction was already ongoing and promised to be quick and efficient. Dubrovnik was clearly well-loved by its people.

Percy felt a twinge of envy, wondering what would it take to repair him, assuming that it was even possible. Almost without thinking, he grabbed his half-full glass and took a few steps towards the Croatian wizards and witches right when the last seconds of 1995 were about to expire.

When everybody raised their glasses, he was mere inches from them, mesmerized.

The countdown drew near the end. "Tri… Dva… Jedan… Sretna Nova Godina!"

Happy New Year, Percy thought. So that was it.

Suddenly feeling self-conscious, he started to retreat to the shadows, but the crowd was fluider than Percy expected, hugs and other affectionate gestures making it necessary for everyone to move and search for their dear ones, and he soon found himself in the middle of it all, warm bodies pressed against his. For once, he didn't bother him or made him feel even more invisible. In fact, quite a few people clinked their own glasses with his, smiling and shouting foreign blessings.

Desperately needing it to be true, Percy answered with one of his own, "Cheers to a new year and —" His voice broke, but he hoped whoever heard him would dismiss it as a mere hiccup due to the alcohol. "And another chance for us to get it right."

The glasses cheerily clinked, the sound as promising as the one of a silver bell.

"Tri… Dva… Jedan… Sretna Nova Godina!" = "Three... Two... One... Happy New Year!"