Percy Weasley (sentimentalist) wrote in disorderic, @ 2018-05-30 23:33:00 |
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Entry tags: | oliver wood, percy weasley |
WHO: Oliver Wood & Percy Weasley
WHEN: Backdated to the day after the battle.
WHERE: St. Mungo's & their home.
SUMMARY: The boys settle into the idea of what victory means.
WARNINGS: N/A
Percy stared dumbly at his phone; Kingsley Shacklebolt’s naming as the interim Minister felt right. He knew the man to be forthright and as a member of the Order, one who keenly understood the tension between justice and rebellion. He also knew that, historically, they did better with Aurors and war heroes. And while he responded with trembling hands, he couldn’t tell if it was for the exhaustion, the sadness for his brother and his father, the grief of Craig’s loss, or some bolt of anxiety for his own place in all this mess. He’d delivered Clay and the ex-Minister to the DMLE. But had taken up post on one of those infinitely uncomfortable plastic hospital waiting room chairs where he sat dirty and rumpled. And waiting. Waiting for the next axe to fall or the next star to align. He squeezed the bridge of his nose hard as he could, willing himself to stay awake. The helplessness Oliver had felt before was nothing compared to how he felt walking the corridors of St. Mungo’s, waiting for news on the people they loved, waiting for his mother and sister to come back home. He’d left Percy in search of tea -- or coffee, he wasn’t particular -- and when he came back, he finally got a better look at his husband. He put one of the cups down on the floor beside an empty chair, and then reached out to touch Percy gently on the shoulder. “Hey, babe,” he said quietly. “I brought some tea.” Percy looked up and instead of responding or taking his tea, he left his phone in his lap and wound both hands around Oliver’s neck to press a kiss to his lips. It was a slow, tired and a little more than beseeching, but Percy didn’t necessarily care. When he broke for air, he released Oliver and smiled. Finally: “Thanks love.” Oliver smiled weakly into the kiss, and when Percy pulled back, he stayed close, leaning his forehead against his husband’s. A part of him didn’t want the moment to end, but a hallway at the hospital wasn’t exactly the place to get that wrapped up in each other. “How are you feeling? Is there any news?” “Great,” he said automatically, flashing a tired smile. No cause to burden anyone - particularly Oliver - but as he settled toward the seat next to him, he leaned hard against him and wrapped his fingertips in the short soft hairs at the nape of Oliver’s neck. “Nothing. Fred’s unconscious and Dad …” his shoulder lifted. Then, his brow creased in concern. “Are your Mum and sister home?” He knew Percy’s answer wasn’t the truth, but he didn’t question it. It wasn’t the time. Oliver’s gaze shifted briefly away from Percy and up the hallway and back again. He wished there was more he could do for Fred and for Arthur, and for the rest of the family. His chest tightened a little when Percy asked about his mother and sister, and he nodded. “On their way.” Oliver wasn’t sure he would be able to face either of them after what he’d done, but they wanted to come home now that the war was over. They still needed to put his father to rest properly. “I’m -- I’m not sure what it’ll be like.” Leaning down, Percy grabbed the cup from the floor and took a sip. With the caffeine bright on his tongue, he considered Oliver’s fears. He knew he still felt the responsibility of Craig’s death, even though Yaxley himself was now dead too. And as much as Percy wanted to wipe that guilt from Oliver, he knew it wouldn’t be possible. “They’re going to be glad you’re safe. And together, you can all …” he swallowed. “You can all honour Craig.” Oliver hoped Percy was right. He wanted so badly to believe that Percy was right, but he was so afraid. “We can,” he murmured in agreement. “You included.” Because Percy was part of the family, too, and his father had always loved Percy. Even before his father knew that he and Percy were seeing each other, his father had loved Percy. “He loved you too. He --” He would have been so happy, Oliver thought, to know they had each other and had gotten married, but now he never would. “He loved you too.” Percy squeezed Oliver’s shoulder and pressed his lips to his temple. Even in the midst of his own struggle, he could sense and pour himself into his beloved’s perspective. And he wanted to support him with every little piece of strength he had within him. “Every single part of him was good, Olly. And I see it reflected in you. I loved him. He is Dad. We will all be there.” And as if Percy knew what Oliver was thinking (so often, after all these years, they did), he leaned close to whisper. “In some way I think he knows. I think he approves. We may not hear him say it, but we’ll look for the signs.” Tears welled up in Oliver’s eyes then, and his chin trembled as he tried to keep it all in. He blinked furiously a few times and nodded his head imperceptibly. It hurt to think about what his father wasn’t there to see, what he’d never be able to see. It hurt to think that Oliver had risked everything and lost so much just before it was all over. “Okay.” Oliver nodded again, trying to insert more confidence into it. “We’ll look.” And maybe, in the meantime, they’d see a sign that Percy’s family was all going to be okay, too. “Maybe we should go home,” he added after a moment, “get some sleep. Shower, maybe.” He smirked and playfully wrinkled his nose. “Someone else can sit vigil.” “ … yeah,” he agreed, knowing that he was only going to get more ripe from here. With Oliver’s family coming home, Evie to settle and the flat to re-open, he felt that new anxiety of being hospitable pull at him. Even when his desire to sit and hold ground until Fred and Arthur woke remained intact. But he wasn’t doing any good to anyone where he was. “Mum or George will be close. They can text us with news.” Because Fred and Arthur would survive. He’d very well will it so. He smirked. “How bad do I smell?” “No worse than me after a match,” Oliver teased. Percy didn’t need to know the truth. They did need a break, however. Even Percy, who’d been watching over him for days and taking care of him. That was Oliver’s concern: that neither of them were really taking care of themselves, and that they hadn’t in days. He could feel the exhaustion seeping into his bones. “But you like me after a match,” he added, elbowing Percy gently in the side, “so maybe it’s not bad after all.” It felt naughty to stand up, smooth the wrinkles from his trousers and lead his husband to a small room meant for Apparition and travel by Floo. He nodded solemnly and raised his wand, Apparating to their still-dark flat. The dogs and Evie, at the cottage yet, hadn’t been to their home since before they went into hiding. The blinds were opened with a bounce from Percy’s wand and the dust knocked off the surfaces of their sitting room with another. He turned then, and began to fill two glasses with water. Oliver had expected Percy to take him back to the cottage, so he was surprised to end up in their flat. He stood still in the hallway, watching Percy. It was strange to be back. The flat had been home -- their first home together -- and now he didn’t know what to think. He inhaled deeply, and then exhaled just as slowly. “It’s so quiet here.” Their pre-war home. He turned and offered the glass of water to Oliver. “I thought it’d be nice. Get a shower, sleep in our bed, be in the quiet for just a moment.” Though he took the glass from Percy, Oliver didn’t drink from it. He nodded in recognition of what his husband had said, but he didn’t make any moves to do any of that. Instead, he let the quiet of the flat wash over him, and felt the heaviness of everything that had happened sink in. The chaos at St. Mungo’s kept him from really processing everything -- his father, the battle -- but now he had nothing but time, and his chin wavered slightly as Oliver tried to maintain his composure. “We were so close,” he whispered. “I didn’t - if I’d just waited, maybe -” His father would still be there with them, released alongside all of the other Azkaban prisoners. “Your voice was heard and it brought people to a better understanding of what we were going through,” he murmured, resting his palm against Oliver’s elbow. “You did well and he would be proud of your initiative.” A pause. “ … but we were close. So close it’s unfair and unjust. The universe owes you Craig.” Oliver knew that was all true. He knew his father would be proud, if he knew. He knew that it was important to get the word out, and that he couldn’t have possibly known exactly what they’d do or when it would all be over. But it was so deeply unfair, and Oliver didn’t like how conflicted he was. He was supposed to celebrate the end of the war, but he couldn’t find it in him to be happy about anything, even though he knew he should be. “I’m going to,” he started, glancing towards the hallway that led to their bedroom. “Sleep it off.” Percy nodded. Oliver needed to sleep and feel himself fully at rest. “Sleep. I’ll keep vigil in the living room, all right?” “No, will you --” Oliver’s voice broke off, like he was afraid to ask for what he really wanted. That was ridiculous, though, he thought. This was Percy. Husband, love of his life, best friend since early on at Hogwarts. “Come with me?” It was all too easy to tuck Oliver into his arms and lead him back through the house where they could be together. Quietly, he walked into the bedroom and turned the bed down, freshening the sheets with a flick of his wand. “Sit down on the bed, Olly. I’ll get your shoes, ok?” “Percy, honestly.” Oliver chuckled and pushed Percy away gently. “I’m not helpless or injured. I can take my shoes off myself. Go shower. I’m not going to fall apart in the next ten minutes.” Percy snorted. “Okay, okay …” Stepping back, he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it at a clothes hamper. In the wake of the battle, he hadn’t expected anything to be right. But the fragility of humanity still clung to him. He thought of Fred, his Dad. He thought of Craig. And he purposed it within himself to hurry through his shower to he could assure himself that Oliver was really there. While Percy left, Oliver turned to put the glass of water on his nightstand, and then he kicked off his shoes, tossed his own clothes in the hamper since he couldn’t remember how long he’d been wearing them, and bent down to help the dogs up onto the bed. He still felt the weight of everything that had happened sitting on his shoulders, and the mountain in front of him still felt so enormous that he didn’t know how he’d ever climb it. But as their dogs settled in and he listened to the shower, Oliver was so incredibly grateful that they’d both made it. So much of their lives had changed irreparably, but at least they were still there. |