All rights and privileges to Harry Potter are copyrighted trademarks and property of J. K. Rowling, Warner Brothers, and all peoples associated. And all rights and other stuff to The Lioness Quartet and Wild Magic are copyrighted trademarks and property of Tamora Pierce and Random House. The characters of these fictions are used WITHOUT permission for the entertainment purposes only. This work of fiction is not meant for sale or profit. As if anyone would actually pay money for this thoughtless drivel. And even if they like it, it's right here and money is not required. So there! Bottom line: I don't own them I just like to play God with them. Like an ant walking back and forth across my feet for what seems like miles upon miles. Or a bug with a magnifying glass as it slowly burns into nothingness. *Ahem* Yes, I don't own them. Never have. Never will. *Sigh* And the title was borrowed from a Savage Garden song, The Animal Song, so that belongs to them and the same disc applies.

Pairings: Percy/Marcus
Contents: Angst, Slash, POV, it's kinda General
Spoilers: Yup. Books 2 and up.
Summary: Percy may be a freak, but that's not always a bad thing. That, I think, is the worse summary I've ever come up with.
Status: Incomplete – Still…
A/N: Sorry, this chapter is mostly dialogue.

*~* Indicates time change

~*~ Indicates scene change

Indicates the voices in Percy's head… rather his recalling past dialogue

Superstars and Cannonballs

I just blink at him, refusing to believe what I should have pieced together years ago.

"I'm sorry, I misheard you," I laugh forcibly. "I though you just said you were psychic."

He raises his eyebrows; he's amused, but not greatly.

I sober.

"Start at the beginning," I tell him stoically.

He sighs. I don't know if he's going to hit me or tell me.

Maybe both.

"Your sixth year," he starts, "when you received training from McGonogall – "

How does he –

"I'm a psychic, Weasley – actually more of a telepath. Anyway. While you were playing with little fuzzies, I was training with Severus – Yes, we are now on a first name basis."

"But I didn't even – "

"You did before," he cuts me off quickly.

Oh, yes, I remember I did.

"Don't think, just listen," he snaps. He sounds tired and cranky. "Damn right I'm tired: I'm controlling your pretty little gemstone, because you're unable to do so on your own."

I flush. I'm too weak to even do anything by myself. It was Marcus' mind games that kept me safe. That's odd.

He growls in frustration. "I'm not saying that only you are unable to control the Jewel; I'm saying that no one can control it without outside help. At first. Once you're accustomed to the enormous amount of power, then you can begin to control it on your own."

This is too much.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

He's right, though. I don't like to admit that, but that doesn't stop the truth.

I can only feel a small trace of power that was there before. I feel empty.

All that trouble I went through just to get that power stolen.

Marcus shifts and the floor creaks loudly.

I open my eyes.

"What is it?" I frown.

"That Chitral took my form," he says.

"Yes, it di- Don't go digging around in my mind!" I reprimand hotly.

"Oh please, you were advertising it," he returns with mild scorn.

"Well, go away or shut your mind off, you never used it in school anyway," I return bitingly.

"Grow up, Weasley, we're all going to need that."

We are, are we?

"What do you mean?" I narrow my eyes suspiciously.

"Whoa! That was wicked." Marcus shifts closer to me.

I scuttle away. "What was?"

"Your eyes, the pupil split, just like back in your sixth year," he responds enthusiastically. Leave my eyes alone.

"Can you please answer the questions?" I growl, feeling an unnerving and overwhelming sense of déjà vu. I bow my head to shade my eyes.

"I can," he smirks, leaning against the wall.

"Will you?" Fool, get your English straight.

"Since you asked so kindly," he drawls. "Who was the one to fill in for Fudge if anything were to happen to him?"

"Crouch, of course." Everyone knows that –

Merlin.

I took Crouch's place. I'm gone. Roger took my place. That's why he begged for me to return. I wish that had been sorted out after Crouch died, but Fudge had put it off. Fool.

"Roger is the stand-in! When's the inauguration?" I inquire anxiously.

"Next week."

I sink my head into my hands.

"I rather detest politics," I announce quietly.

"It doesn't matter if you like them or not," he rolls his eyes.

He never did answer my question. "Quit straying."

He scoffs. "There's much more. A lot more. But most importantly – to you, that little interlude before the NEWT's - about that 'lust potion'." It's about time he answered that. He chortles. "That was a test from Severus, to see if I could control a mind, and well, you were passing by when he explained the mechanics, so he chose you as my test subject."

I can't help but feel hurt. I know I was furious with Marcus and myself at the time, but it was the only thing that I've ever really done that was outside the rules. And it wasn't real.

"Aw. Don't feel bad, Weasley, Severus never gave me an order as to how – it was my intent on having you shag me. But, alas, I was not trained enough at the time even to control a puny mind such as yours."

My face is very hot, with both anger and embarrassment.

"I was right!" I crow. "It was rape!"

"I would never have done it if you didn't want me to," he counters vehemently.

"That's just it, I didn't want you to!" I shout back.

"Oh yes," he smiles as if remembering some fond memory, " you did want it."

"I think I would know what I want," I bark. How dare he!

"No, you wouldn't."

I don't want to think about this; it's too much.

I feel so helpless stuck in a hole while the world crumbles, let alone being stuck with him.

"Whether you want to be stuck with me or not – you are and will be until this blows over," he bangs his head against the wall.

I wince.

"What is 'this'?" he never did explain it, just avoided it.

"Hogsmeade is under attack." He closes his eyes.

The bottom of my stomach falls out.

"You can't be serious," I tell him in understandable disbelief.

"Why would I joke about it? I'm just as in peril as you are, if not more." He opens one eye to see my expression, which is somewhere between incredulity and sheer terror. "I told you that you wouldn't enjoy any of it."

Oh Merlin. There's more.

I groan, running a hand through my grimy hair.

Ew.

The last time I bathed was back in Nepal.

I feel the weight of eyes on me. And since I'm here with only one other person… "What is it, Marcus?"

I look up at him.

He's got this funny look about him; I can't quite place the emotion. His eyes are glossy, like he's looking at something that isn't really there.

"Marcus?"

His eyes slide back to normal.

"I want to kiss you," he announces blandly.

I very unsubtly move as far away from his as I can at the moment, which is not far enough.

"No, Marcus, no," I choke around the lump forming in my throat.

He has a hungry look now, but he stays where he is.

Where's my wand? I'll need it to fend him off.

I pat down my person, not finding any bulge that might pass for a wand.

"You don't have it; we left in too much of a rush," he supplies dryly. "Dumbledore has it in his office, it's been there since before you were bound."

Before I was bound? I've gone that long without a wand? When did he – when we left, he brushed up against me.

"Besides, a wand isn't going to keep me from getting near you." He smirks.

Right. That.

"So, why did you ask? You knew I would refuse."

He pushes himself off the wall and saunters in my direction.

Cornered.

"Because it would be rude of me not to," he purrs.

Cornered. I am very, very cornered.

He's going to attack.

I press myself as far against the wall as I can without becoming one with the wall.

Small. Very small, then I can pass him.

"I promise you'll do this on you own free will."

It takes me awhile to comprehend what he said.

That's the disgusting part: my own free will, indeed.

"You had the choice the first time." He's still advancing.

I want to be far a-

There is a small clatter and a swoosh and Marcus is huge, looming over me. The puzzled expression on his face is classic.

I snap my beak.

O…K… I have a beak.

Ha! I'm a – whatever I turned into, I don't have a mirror, but I have wings.

I can fly away from him!

I dart past him, settling on top of the broken doorframe.

Marcus leans back with a wry look on his face as he twirls my glasses between his thumb and forefi-

Oh.

I can't transform back without exposing myself.

"Not only are you nearsighted, but your foresight is severely lacking." A conceited grin spreads across his face.

I can't believe how unbelievably stupid that was – I didn't even want to transform –

The Jewel.

"Now, what do you say you come back down, return to your human body, and I'll tell you all about the meeting you… missed. All for a simple, little, chaste kiss," he patronizes.

No, I don't say that.

I say that he'll play mind games and get his way. I'm sure it was his fault I missed the meeting in the first place. After all, it was after I looked at –

It really was his fault!

He sent the vision, with its side effects and then made me space out –

"A minor oversight on my part," his voice cuts through my thoughts. "I meant to alleviate the symptoms, but I ended up doing more than that.

"Now get down here so I can tell you about it. I refuse to cramp my neck… Or you can stay up there and just happen to lose concentration…"

He wouldn't dare.

"Don't put it past me, Weasley," he warns. "I feel like a loony conversing with a Snidget."

Ouch.

"Shame I was a Chaser, not a Seeker," he tsks.

The feeling of being small slips away and I am in my body again.

Marcus smirks.

Prat.

And then gravity takes over and I land in a tangle of limbs.

"Well," Marcus says breathlessly, "I can't say that's how I expected it, but… "

I scramble off him and make a mad dash for my robes, hastily yanking them on.

"Aw!" Marcus puts as I gingerly pluck my glasses from his hand, fully dress, albeit haphazardly. "I was enjoying the view."

I flush hard. Good thing I'm clothed so Marcus isn't witness to the Weasley Full-Body Blush.

"Full-Body, eh?" he muses. "I'd like the see that sometime."

"Marcus, please stop toying – flirting – whatever you're doing with me and tell me what I should know," I growl to cover my embarrassment.

He sighs and sits down against the wall again. I sit against the opposite wall.

"Where to begin…?" He taps a forefinger against his chin pensively.

"George." He seems to be the root of everything as far as I can see. Which isn't really that far.

"No, not George: William Weasley."

"Bill?"

"Yes, Bill," he repeats impatiently.

"Bill," I echo.

"Yes, bloody Bill," he snaps. "Do you want to know or not? I seem to think not because you are the one always getting me off track."

"I'm not the one! If – "

"Yes! Who the hell else? Now stuff it and let me finish what I've started."

The double meaning to those words is not of comfort.

"Around four months ago Dumbledore received an owl from Egypt, from you brother. It was along the lines of 'something big is happening – a magical disturbance – a magical plague.'"

"What do you mean by 'magical plague'?" I don't like the sound of it. Mr. Binns never spoke of anything like that.

"By that I mean that it depleted witches and wizards of their magical abilities, leaving them Squibs and therefore susceptible to the Dark Lord. No doubt you can deduce its origin."

Bill! I hope he's not a –

"Squib? No. That is where your other brother comes into play."

George couldn't have been hit with the plague – he doesn't have enough power to help Bill – And they told me he was mind raped.

"He wasn't mind raped," Marcus assures. Assures! He just contradicted all I've been told! Ron said that –

"Your other brother was not allowed to know all of the information – for his safety or some such rubbish. Now stop thinking and let me continue," he reprimands.

"Stop thinking?" I repeat incredulously. "That's like saying stop breathing. Why don't you just tune me out?" I snap.

He smiles ruefully, "As wonderful as that theory is, it's just that, just a theory. I have to live with the voices in my head."

That sounds disturbingly like me, only animals guard their thoughts more closely than humans. They know something's out there, we don't. I just didn't until now…

"Hypothesis," I state, vacantly. He raises his eyebrows. "If it hasn't been proven it's a hypothesis."

"If you're finished with the technicalities…"

"Sorry." For thinking.

Marcus lifts a wry eyebrow. "Now, George – who wasn't mind raped – somehow got a hold of that letter, and he wanted to help Bill, as is natural for your clan.

"He and his twin researched ways to transfer magic. And George tried it out. However, being vastly under trained for that particular field, it didn't go smoothly. His power was strong enough to eventually get through to Bill, so he no longer a Squib. But. George is suffering from backlash, as well as sustaining Bill's magic."

"Oh, that's it?" I sneer.

"No, that's not it," he mocks. "That's just the beginning." He smiles cruelly. He must be bipolar. I swear it.

I wait for him to continue. I wait for a good chunk of time for him to continue.

He's just staring off into nothing, a vacant look taking over his face.

George risked his life for Bill. Fred helped him. I doubt they would do the same for me.

Marcus groans. "Oh, please, stop feeling sorry for yourself and focus on the war. God knows we've had enough of it."

God? He's from a… Muggle family?

"Contrary to popular belief, I am not from a Death Eater household, nor a troll family," he spits.

I want to say that I've never thought so, but I try not to lie.

Marcus snorts.

I still want to know about George and Bill… and Charlie and Fred and Ron – It's odd to see him turning into the thing he hated most: myself. And then there's Ginny. I still haven't gotten a clear story on her.

"Ask them yourself, twat, unless you're too frightened to do so. Don't ask me – " I didn't. " – or yourself."

"I'm not frightened," I shout before thinking. "They just don't like me," I continue quietly. Hate me, more like.

"You're making excuses, not doing something to change that." He sounds soft.

Ew! Soft Marcus. Paradox. He's all bones, not soft at all.

I hate my thoughts.

I flush.

"As entertaining as your thought process is, I'm going to have to teach you something to guard your thoughts," Marcus decides. "Not until after, will I explain all else."

I lean back against the wall and resign myself.

"Unless you want Death Eaters to read and rape your mind. I'm not the only one, you know." One what?

"Is that a requirement for being scum under You-Know-Who?" I snort.

"No," he says, insulted – as much as he can be insulted. "And for God's sake, his name is Voldemort."

I flinch.

"It's just a name," he exasperated. "He's not going to appear if you say it."

I look at him reproachfully.

"Or, if it makes you feel better, call him Tom Riddle. He's just a man." A powerful man.

Tom Riddle… He-Who – Voldemort –

"Good boy," he smirks.

I frown disapprovingly at him.

Tom Riddle – Snake. Sweet Merlin, he's an Animagi Mage!

"How will I be able to guard my thoughts?" I demand hastily.

"It's part spell, part will power," he explains. "Only another person can cast the spell. You wouldn't want to go around pointing a wand at yourself, now would you? The spell establishes the shield, you keep it going."

I nod slowly; I need to start trusting him sometime.

"Smart boy. Stand up."

I do so.

"Will you still be able to read stray thoughts?" I suddenly want to know.

"Only what you want me to hear. It's a kind of frequency. Just think of me and what information you want me to know and I'll hear you, no matter the distance."

He's that powerful?

Wait – I wanted to talk to him in my mind; I must be mad.

He mutters something under his breath and points his wand at me.

I screw my eyes shut waiting for the pain.

There is no pain, though, just a slight pressure in my sinuses. I sneeze and it's gone, well, most of it.

"Did it work?" I ask tentatively.

"Yes," he sighs contently. "Blissful silence."

"I guess so," I concluded wryly.

"You have no idea, Weasley, no idea." At least he's happy.

"Can you still broadcast things into my mind? You were able to do so, right?"

"Yes and yes."

He is powerful.

"Now, about your explanations – why am I in hiding if I'm a weapon?" Not a soldier, an inanimate object manipulated by soldiers.

"Because you're the secret weapon. Where would we be if you died so early on? Not only that, but you have been sleeping for the past few days."

"That would be your own damn fault," I mutter begrudgingly.

"And," he continues, "If I let go of your mind you will be unable to control your Jewel."

My Jewel.

"Where is it?"

"My, aren't you demanding today?" He throws me a lazy grin.

"Marcus," I warn. Where is it?! I shout in my head.

He yelps, clasping his head in his hands. He has really large hands.

Ack! Not thinking about that.

"Not so hard, Weasley. I can hear you just fine," he sulks, rubbing his temples.

"So answer," I grunt impatiently.

"There," he states, poking me in the sternum.

"It's in me?" I squeak.

"Where did you expect it to be?" he asks dumbfounded by my ignorance.

I don't know, so I don't answer.

"Now that you know how to keep your thoughts to yourself, how would you like the truth?" He raises his eyebrows.

"You mean before that wasn't – " He's been leading me in circles. Prat.

"Close your mouth," he chortles languidly. "You look like a fish." I snap my mouth shut with an audible click.

"Now, Bill really did suffer down in Egypt. He wasn't, however, a Squib: he was dead." My eyes bug out.

"Dead?" I squeak, unable to do anything else other than gape.

"George really did snatch the letter," he barrels on, "and George really did do an energy transfer of not just magical properties, but life properties. He had to borrow some life energy from Fred - which is why he's suffering.

"Bill has be rived and is residing in the bowels of the school. Much like our current situation.

"Charlie is desperately trying to train young dragons to obey soldiers. Ron is being trained as a strategist." All that chess - makes sense. "And the girl – The girl is helping in anyway she can, which means right now, she's assisting Pomfrey with the dead and the wounded."

I stare at him, slack-jawed.

It's too much at once. I need to sit down.

Ok, I'm already sitting down; then I need a headache potion.

"Whoa." Marcus regards me with mild shock. "Get a grip, you're opening floodgates. Grab a hold of your emotions." He then continues muttering about how reapplying the charm is very, very, unbelievably painful.

Childishly, I shove all of my emotions at him: shock, betrayal, helplessness, loss, lov–

Yes, very childish.

He smiles slyly. He's going to make some snide remark. "At least you can admit it."

And there it is.

Act cool, no blushing, no sputtering.

"What do you mean?" I sound more suspicious than calm and the blush is there, betraying me.

"That you need your family, more than a building that stood for adulthood. That your dreams are just that. That you need something concrete. That you need people. Family. Friends. A possible lover." His eyes bore intensely into mine.

He understands. He hit me over the head with the news of my family so that he could make me understand.

"Don't you ever get lonely, Percy?"

Percy? When was the last time you were held?

"No, I don't." My voice trembles slightly. Maybe he won't catch it.

"You're a terrible liar," he scoffs.

"And pray tell, Marcus, what would you ever do with that information?" I sniff. My eldest brother was resurrected and he's harping about me telling half-truths.

"Look, Percy, just because you've graduated doesn't mean that you're an adult, doesn't mean that you have to take on something that you don't want just to prove you can. Don't you think that's right immature?"

I glare at him as he smiles lightly at me.

Suspicion.

"I don't believe any of what you told me about my family," I state.

"You aren't entitled to believe me, after all, I've given you two stories." He smirks, this time it does reach his eyes. "Which one do you believe?"

"Neither," I clip. "Neither," I repeat, more for myself than for him. I want to believe neither.

"One of them you will find is so close to the truth it's painful."

"I still don't believe you," I reply, starting to become angry.

"Then don't."

"Alright then."

"Alright."

Silence.

"Which is the truth?" I blurt.

"You're incorrigible," Marcus shakes his head. "Just wait and have your precious Dumbledore explain it to you."

"Please, Marcus. This is my family. I don't think I have – have the patience to wait."

"You've waited a year." Ouch. "I don't see how a few more days could possibly hurt."

"Days? I will be stuck here – with you – for days?" I snap back into my common sense. "Please."

He rolls his eyes. "The first bit about Bill was true. And the twins. The second was true about the rest," he relents.

I don't know if I should believe him or not. He's just playing with me.

"Why was I not informed? Ron told me himself what happened to George," I challenge. Logic. Think with logic.

"That's the story he was fed."

"Enough. Please stop."

He watches me bemusedly, with ill directed humour.

"Tired, are we?" he taunts.

"Yes, we are," I reply. "I think that I – "

Marcus clasps a large hand over my mouth.

Then I feel it.

Blue. Like the midnight sky.

Death hounds.

I turn panicked eyes to his.

With his free hand he brings a finger to his lips indicating silence and mouths a very slow 'later', his tongue dabbing the aforementioned digit with the silent pronunciation of 'l'.

It gets to me more than it should, helping me forget about the death hounds. In a bad way.

Should I ask the hounds to leave? I immediately realize my folly: Marcus would have whispered 'later' in my mind if it were safe to do so.

It's been too long since the last war to remember, but not long enough to forget.

His dark eyes blaze and his nostrils flare, but he nods sharply after much thought.

I smile around his hand and reach out to the death hounds.

Death hounds are not the most trustful of creatures and enjoy more than anything a good kill, even if it involves tracking prey over many moons. However they are not very dominant beasts, so I need only to prove that I am more powerful than they. They live not on the flesh, but on the fear and dread, much like dementors with despair. However, there are many different types of fear, from the knot in one's stomach the night before finals to the I'm-going-to-die-in-an-abandoned-pisshole-with-someone-that-can-read-my-mind. Well, our situation could be worse.

I bid you farewell, I great.

We tear you into shreds, one snarls into my mind.

Don't be overly confident, I return coolly.

Sickly human, even one with Folkspeak, is not matching for our mights, another one boasts.

I rapidly scan my memory for anything to prove my dominance.

And the only thing I can remember is seventh year where Marcus tried to control my mind. They don't need to know about that last bit, just the part about me on top of him… fully aroused… wanting to swallow his entire essence whole.

I send that.

Soon after, the blue disappears completely from my mind and I heave a heavy sigh, removing Marcus' hand.

"They're gone," I say. Mean to say really, however it came out as an incoherent yip.

"Percy?" Marcus squints at me.

I narrow my eyes, awaiting a scalding remark, drawing myself up to my full height of – Marcus' knee?

He clears his throat. "As I was saying, it seems to me that you are in need of self-discipline."

Oh dear. Please say that I didn't transform.

With an inaudible pop of my bones, I return to human form. Giving Marcus a full frontal view. With Full-Body Blush.

"Not bad," he whistles appreciatively as I scramble for my robes. Again.

*~*

"So you're Daine?" he asked hesitantly.

"Goddess," the brunette whispered, "Alanna was right."

"Right about what?" He cocked his head to the side with interest.

"You have Folkspeak," she stated frankly.

"Y-Yes," he stuttered, "I believe that's what you call it."

"My father was a God, where did yours come from?" she asked eagerly.

"I – I don't know," he frowned.

"Daine," Alanna chastised. "Not so much, there's still much he doesn't understand."

"She's just cranky because I'm having an affair with my teacher," she whispered loudly around her hand.

Percy decided that he liked her: she was alive. However, the thought of having an affair with Professor McGonogall was enough to turn him green.

"How old are you?" Daine asked quickly. "I'm sixteen."

Charlie had a portrait of a sixteen-year-old girl in his room. Did his parents know?

"Um…" he stammered.

"It's ok, Percy, she's just nosey."

"Are you two always like this when you get together?" He raised an eyebrow.

"That's cool!" Daine shouted. "Do it again!"

"Yes, we are," Alanna confirmed.

Percy backed up slowly, wondering, where exactly his Folkspeak came from.

*~*

Marcus is looking at me exhaustedly, but excitedly.

"We've won," he whispers, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

"Won? The battle?"

He nods confidently.

"We still have Hogsmeade?" I press.

"Bleeding Christ!" he explodes. "Of course we did! We can finally leave this pisshole – unless you'd like to stay?"

I'm on my feet instantly and instantly stumble back down, thanks to a cramp in my calf.

Marcus snorts as I massage it out: thank Merlin he doesn't offer to do so himself.

Great, now I can get back to the Ministry to help put it back together.

~*~*~

Blah! The next update may take a while because of school and all that, but Olly is in the next chapter so that should make it all better. I hope.

Thank you to my reviewers. You guys are the best.

Lil'kittie: Thank you very much. I hope this chapter gave you a look into lives around Percy as well as some more insight on Marcus. Oh, and Percy will get some lovin' soon. (If my story doesn't stray from my outline.)

Obijan: Thanks. As for Marcus being three-dimensional… This fic started as a Ron/Draco but I didn't like it and switched the characters around, so Marcus is modeled after Draco. Sorta.

Kimagure: I love you. I think that says everything right there.