(or, Things You Can Tell by Analysing Their Deaths)
a percy/crouch tragedy
> ~
So, you kissed him. You never stopped to ask yourself why, you just knew you enjoyed it. But, he didn't. And that should've made you stop. But, you didn't. Maybe you paid for your actions by your own neglected son. But maybe Bartemius killed you because. you. are. you. And you can never
change.
But then, you don't really want to. You would never consider taking back the
reality
you loved him; that thought was oblivious to you. You enjoyed it; you're not going to lie even if he did and spat the taste of you from his mouth. Things never did change between you two, and you are thankful for that. He still strived to impress you and idolized you with every thought. And you still called him Weatherby. It was a game, that's what you told him. And if he
obeyed
he'd go far. But how far would he want to go for what you expected of him? Maybe it was
ultimately
his striving for perfection, and you were selfish.
Couldn't
have the father so you took the next best thing. The third eldest, Arthur's pride and joy that followed in
his
footsteps. Things will be all right, this is our little secret, no one has to know. No one. But he never believed the words from your mouth, he wasn't really the blind
prat
everyone
stereotyped him to be. But not you, you knew he was different from the moment you laid eyes on him. Perfect. Beautiful. And under you. What more could you want? You knew exactly what else you wanted. And you got it. But then he went and told that Quidditch Player, that Slytherin. Maybe you were
relieved
but in the end, you lost. But you lost more than the young man that you loved, you paid with your life. And you told yourself your son murdered you because of that questionable
consent
from your Weasley. But you lied, like you usually do. You know why Bartemius killed you. You just felt better to believe it was because of how you treated
your
assistant.
And you look into your offspring's eyes and beg for your life.
Because Percy
never
begged
for his.