Oliver was removing his Quidditch's gears when an Auror stormed into the locker, heavy breathing. He and his teammate were practicing for an upcoming, and though his apprehension for his mate stormed his thoughts throughout the game, Oliver delivered his best. The lion inside him growled and whined consistently, paws clawed through his mind which caused him headache and uneasiness.
"Anthony?" Oliver called out the name of the Auror, bemused at his presence. "What's the problem?"
"The Weasley have attacked St. Mungo!" Oliver dropped the guards. His teammates whispered, confusion mixed with curiosity dripped in their words. The lion roared, shaking the trees and scared the wind away. "And the Prewett! They're aiming for Percival -" Before Anthony finished, Oliver took his wand and apparated away.
He landed at an alleyway next to the hospital. The sky had yet colored in black, and the skies remained visible. The sun, though below the horizon, had its sunlight peeked into the street. Regularly, there would be rows of Muggle, walking and chatting and oblivious to the world next to them. Some laughed. Some cried. Most paid attention to themselves and not others. There would be the scent of hot coffee, of cakes and cookies flew through the street. Instead, Oliver saw an empty street and perpetuated silence. He entered the building, and an orchestra of spells and voices rang into his ears.
Wizards and witches threw spells at each other. Aurors, doctors and nurses hide behind chairs, tables, pillars as they responded to the attackers. Bright, ginger hairs that wizards and witches easily identified whose family they were. Oliver, his wand in hand, threw a Levicorpus at one of the attackers. The wizard dangling upside down, his wand dropped to the ground. He then casts a Protego in front of a nurse as she guided an elderly woman away from the lobby. He then threw a Bombarda and a Petrificus Totalus toward the other witch.
Every floor was similar to the lobby. Weasley and Prewett threw spells against Aurors and securities, doctors and nurses, patients that able to fight. Holes on the wall, door broken, bodies laid lifelessly on the floor and against the wall; fire and smoke everywhere, papers floated and cries and screams vanished under the sounds of spells flew through the air. Oliver vividly remembered the sight of his neighbor, the hall of Hogwarts as Death Eaters stormed and killed and hurt his family, friends, students and people whose crimes were something they never committed. Anger rose, hatred fueled his body. He threw spells after spells, punched and kicked those to close. His arms were painted in red, there was blood in his mouth but not his. As he turned around and casts a Protego, he saw some of the Weasley with holes in their chest, Prewett with their heads dangling on one side.
On the second floor, the third floor, everyone fought and protected themselves from the attackers. When he reached the fourth floor, the scream of his mate turned his attention to the hallway. A group of Weasley and Prewett surrounded Arthur and Molly Weasley, each of them sent spells toward the Aurors hiding behind doors and pillars. Arthur held Percy with force, while Molly chanted incantations. White light emitted from his mate's chest. Blood pours from his body; his fingers, his toes, his mouth. Percy writhed, screamed, his nail claws the floor and the light became brighter.
Something inside Oliver suddenly snapped. His limbs harden, he felt himself grew in size. His tanned skin, the result of days flying under the sun, cracked. Poured out was not blood, however, but barks. Twigs, branches, leaves grew out of his skin. He knelt, a hand rested against the floor as the boughs punctuated his shirt. His inside felt hollow, as if his organs had exited his body, leaving meat and bone. Buzzing noises echoed in his ears. The lion roared, yellow eyes shone amidst the darkness.
He screamed. He clawed his face, his arms, his body. He stretched, heard the crack of the wood. He stared at his mate. Blood pooled under his body, thin, fragile. Protect protect protect mate mate kill them kill tear them apart bleed them to death he needs us we need him you need him.
The lion lunged toward the group and shredded them. Gasps of terror and yell of disgusts vibrated, yet the lion heard nothing aside for the hyperventilation of a boy with curly ginger hair. Tears flowed down shallow cheeks, delicate and slender fingers grabbed its paws. The boy was a pathetic sight to see, the boy needs to be protected needs to laugh needs to smile needs to live. The boy looked at the lion, a pair of eyes colored like the sky of cloudless noon, unexceptional yet beautiful in its unexceptional. "... O ... Oliver ..."
Oliver regained his consciousness. A blanket covered his naked body. He looked around him, wondered where he was. White room. The scent of bleach. He noticed the Weasley's brothers and their mates asleep, sat on their chairs surrounded by his bed. Or the individual whose breath tickled him. Oliver looked down, a sigh of relief at the sight of his mate curled against where he had been. Where he should be. Relaxed expression donned on Percy's face, his hair cuts shorter. There were oils and ailments, bandages wrapped around his limbs and torso. He caressed his face, smiled at the whined came out.
"Sleep well?" Oliver turned and faced Bill Weasley. The man smiled at him. At them, probably. Fenrir leaned against the eldest Weasley, his eyes looked at them. "How long had you been in love with him?"
Oliver blushed, his eyes glanced down to Percy. He remembered when he had the feeling for the boy. It was not after they had won a Quidditch match, or when either of them came out of the shower shirtless. Percy never came to sleep with him, despite the nightmares that rampaged his friend's sleep, nor when he tutored Oliver. It was a day like every day. He and Percy had finished with their class and decided to rest near the Black Lake. He had heard Percy's laughs, since their first year. It was a delight to his ears. However, that day, their Third-years in the noon, Percy's laughter mesmerized Oliver. The sound was like the whistle his mother does every morning, the humming of his father when he read his newspaper. Percy's face, he realizes, was beautiful when his mate forgot about his responsibility as a son of the Weasley family. When Percy looked at him, blue eyes curiously examined him, Oliver knew his feeling for his friend.
He told Bill as he played with Percy's hair. Bill nodded his head, then closed his eyes and leaned against Fenrir. "You should go to sleep. My brothers have lots of questions for you."
Oliver laid down, his arms wrapped around his mate. Percy snuggled against his chest, smiled.
