disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the original characters involved. All I own is Neil and Alex.
unedited.
the journal
chapter 12
The next morning Percy was shocked to hear that not only Oliver, but Alex as well would be coming to the Burrow. He hadn't seen or spoken to either of them since they parted after Neil died, and even though that was just the other day it felt like a lifetime ago.
He spent his morning with his family, preparing the house to appear muggle when his friends arrived, and he also prepared himself for a long day of festivities. He loved his friends—he really did—but he could get so drained so easily sometimes, especially when his family was in the equation. He hoped one day he'd be less wary of communication with his family, but recovery was slow, and Percy could accept that.
When his friends did arrive, Oliver was carrying a large box, and Alex a small one. They were greeted warmly by his family, who immediately herded the trio into the living room, bombarding them with questions about school and—in his father's case—muggle objects. Percy hoped Alex didn't catch on to the oddities his family displayed daily. What slid in the wizarding world wouldn't always mesh with the muggle lifestyle.
At first, Alex looked uncomfortable with the long string of questions, but by dinnertime he slowly relaxed and Percy watched his friend drift into his family's routine far easier than he always had. It made him feel kind of sad. Isolated, really. But then Oliver nudged his side and urged him into the conversation, and Percy realized just because others fit in with his family too—maybe even better than he did—it didn't mean they didn't care for him.
Some kind of feeble warmth spread across his chest, wove its way through the winding canals of veins and the fluttering beats of his heart. It was tenuous, but it was enough. And Percy found himself feeling happier than he had in a while.
the journal
As the night passed, Percy and his friends retreated into his bedroom, listening to the muggle wireless on his bed to pass the time while the boxes on his desk cast long shadows across his floor.
Oliver finally stood, and pulled both the boxes over to the bed, excitement painting his features.
"You should open your gifts, Perce. We all chipped in—me, Alex and… and Neil." His Scottish accent was thick, both with excitement and mourning, an odd combination that Percy, strangely enough, understood.
They had him open the large box first, and he slowly, cautiously pealed the short lines of tape away from blue wrapping paper, careful not to tear the paper or its paint. When he opened the box itself, he found an old typewriter staring up at him, keys gleaming in the faint light of his bedroom, freshly dusted and beautiful. Ink replacements and paper lay in the box as well, and Percy smiled as he held them in his hand.
"We… We planned to get those a while ago," Alex began. "It was Neil's idea. He knew you want to be a writer and decided that since all the best writers had typewriters, you should too. Because you deserve it."
The second box held a new lighter and a fresh pack of cigarettes, and Percy laughed, thinking his friends knew him and his habits too well. Beneath the box though, laid a picture of the four of them. He didn't remember it being taken, but there they were, frozen in time in Alex's backyard.
Muggle photos, he realized, he were far more beautiful than any wizarding picture he'd ever seen. Wizarding photos captured a scene, muggle photos captured a moment. And even though he didn't quite remember what had happened that day, or the snap of the camera shutters, he could still look back in it, and realize what a lovely moment it must have been.
Percy felt tears well in his eyes, and he sniffled slightly. He almost felt undeserving of such genuine friendships, but tonight, he decided, it didn't matter. Because his friends were there, and that was enough.
the journal
Oliver and Percy snuck out of the house at 1:10, and made it to their destination exactly at 1:30. Alex had left hours before, but before he did, he asked his friends to meet him at the park near the village, where they had spent many nights before, for one last gathering. To honor the end of summer and the life of their friend.
Percy sparked up one of his new cigarettes while they walked through the grass. It glowed orange at the end, hissing and crackling with each drag as tiny sparks wafted off the end of the paper and towards the ground. The warm burn was welcome in the cool summer air, and Percy savored his smoke as long as he could, until the cigarette was but a roach spitting heat at his fingertips.
The trio sat silently in the cold crass for a long time, feeling it crunch beneath them with each shift of position.
Silently, Alex pulled a marker, four candles, paper bags and a matchbook from his backpack and explained his intent of utilizing the luminaria. They each wrote their name on it in the black marker, and Percy was careful not to let his dominant left hand drag and smear the ink.
Individually, they lit their candles one on by one, placing them in the paper bag, making sure they didn't light it on fire. When Neil's was the only one remaining, Oliver struck the match to life, and all three of them held onto it briefly, watching its flame dance in the darkness and lick burns across its own home. Percy watched his friends' faces through the waves of heat curling from the small inferno.
Very slowly, the trio lowered the match to the candle wick, holding it until the wick itself caught fire and then blew it out together. Percy gently placed the candle in its new home, and the three stood back, staring at the four bags glow with yellow lights that slowly turned orange at the end of their tendrils.
They were typically used on Christmas Eve, but tonight they had a different meaning. Tonight they honored rapport, fallen friends and life.
Tonight they honored them.
Alex.
Oliver.
Percy.
Neil.
Percy pulled the arms of his Weasley jumper tighter as a cold breeze rattled the branches of trees and their ornamental leaves. His friends each placed an arm around his shoulders, and he followed suit, feeling the warmth of their skin against his, and the warmth of their support ten times greater.
He didn't feel so cold anymore. Right now, his friends and family were enough. And he hoped one day they always would be.
the journal
After the candles had burned so low, and were so drowned in their own melted wax that they could barely see through the darkness, the trio parted ways.
Part of Percy wanted to leave the paper bags there, still burning, so that early morning people who went to the park would see them, and would know they existed, even if just for a moment. But even then, the candles would burn out, and someone would throw the bags away to avoid litter. So instead, Percy crouched low in front of them, blowing out the candles and pulling them from the bag. He folded the paper bags, lightly crisped by the heat of the flame, and tucked them under his arm. Maybe other people would forget and discard their existence and the night they shared, and all the other nights before that, but Percy wouldn't.
He and Oliver walked back to the Burrow slowly, and laid down beside each other in his small bed at 3:47 A.M. Oliver fell asleep immediately, deep, low snores rumbling from his lungs with each breathe.
Percy, however, pulled himself from the warm cocoon of covers and over to where his new typewriter sat on his desk. After rolling a sheet of paper in the way Alex taught him, he laid his hands on the keys.
He wrote his brief greeting to his late friend.
And then he typed.