Percy Weasley (sentimentalist) wrote in disorderic, @ 2017-09-12 23:11:00 |
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Entry tags: | oliver wood, percy weasley |
WHO: Percy Weasley and Oliver Wood
WHEN: #tb to Bill's wedding and the fall of the Ministry
WHERE: Percy's flat
SUMMARY: Aftermath.
WARNINGS: Implied violence and stuff. Also angst? Anyway.
The chaos after finding out what happened at the Ministry could have made Oliver stumble, if he hadn't been good at thinking on his feet under pressure. It should have, he thought once he was at Percy’s. How often did things like that happen? It was one thing to face down a speeding Bludger, but it was something else to figure out how he was going to flee from Death Eaters. He did it, though. Barely. It wasn't until he got to the first safe space he thought of - Percy’s flat - that he allowed himself a moment to sort out what had just happened. What did it mean for all of them if the Ministry had fallen? What was next? How many people got hurt? Was Percy okay? His hands shook as he took off his coat and hung it up. Magdalena was sniffing around his feet, eager for attention. How long was he going to have to wait? He knew Percy wouldn't mind that he let himself in -- they'd had that conversation long ago -- but he was too worked up to sleep at first, and he didn't have a change of clothes with him anyway. He paced the flat. He made tea, and lost his taste for it. He paced some more. It turned out that standing there surrounded by all of Percy’s belongings, Oliver felt trapped for the first time. Everything was a reminder of who wasn't there at the moment, and every minute that passed felt like it stretched on and on. Lost, he sat down heavily on the sofa and coaxed Magdalena over (which wasn't difficult). It wasn't much longer before the adrenaline wore off, and he fell asleep with the lights on, Percy’s dog curled up against his side. Hours passed. Hours which filled Percival Ignatius Weasley with fear and dread; fear for his own life, and dread for what his beloved Ministry of Magic would become. He had been roundly beaten. He had been questioned. And under this scrutiny, he did not break. He was asked to return tomorrow morning at 9:00 AM to fill his regular post for the new Minister. With that in mind, Percy limped home. When he felt the familiar safety of his wards encircle him, welcoming him, he visibly wilted and loosened his tie. That was usually about the time Magdalena came to yip at his ankles and ask to be let out. But as she was not present, there was only one other person in the whole world who it could possibly be. Oliver. And of course, on the sofa, there he lay. News must have got to him, wherever he was. And Percy fell to his knees, gently cupping the side of his face. His voice was cracked and spent. “Oliver, wake up.” Percy vaguely wondered if there was anything worth waking to. He hadn't expected to fall asleep, so it took a few seconds for Oliver to remember where he was and register who was there. For a few seconds, his heart raced again -- and then he looked up and saw Percy there. Oliver didn't say anything at first. He let the relief wash over him and he slipped off the sofa in a rush to put his arms around Percy and hold on tight. If the wedding had been frightening, he could only imagine what it'd been like for Percy. “Are you --” Oliver stopped himself. Of course Percy wasn't okay. He frowned and pulled back. “Are you hurt? We heard…” He didn't even know what to say. “I'm sorry.” Percy caught himself leaning into Oliver, allowing his body to sink into that warm and solid frame, preparing himself for the eventual onslaught of nerves that would come from understanding precisely what he would do to keep it safe. He pulled back from Oliver, letting his hands slide from his cheeks to his shoulders, and down his forearms. “It’s done,” he said quietly. “And it’s going to get much worse, I’m afraid. You-Know-Who has all his favorites stacking the deck.” His Ministry had fallen over like a house made of straw. It made him miss civilized discourse. It made him miss Rufus bloody Scrimgeour. And instead of saying so, he stood and sighed. But he wrapped back round to something Oliver said with a frown. “You heard?” The hows and whys of it all were still a mess in Oliver’s head. One minute, everyone had been celebrating. The next, there were rumblings in the crowd and panicked voices as guests started to scatter. “Just…” He shrugged his shoulders. “Not much. Enough to know something was wrong, and I knew you'd know.” Percy was always in the thick of everything to do with the Ministry. Seeing the look on Percy’s face had been all the confirmation he needed. “They came to the wedding.” Percy tried to process that and having effectively failed at it, let his arms wrap around his own body. It was Albus Dumbledore who put his family in harm’s way with aggrandizing statements and subtle manipulations. Secrets in secrets that they were only glad to keep. His eyes remained downcast. “They’re okay, aren’t they?” Oliver wished he knew the answer to Percy’s question. He’d left quickly, everyone had or at least had tried to, and it wouldn’t have been safe to go back to the Burrow until they knew the coast was clear. If it would ever be safe again. He stood up and sighed heavily, regretfully. “I don’t know,” he answered. He wished he could offer Percy something, but he couldn’t lie. “I hope so. It was a mess.” It was the most frightening thing he’d ever experienced, and he’d only had enough wits about him to get out. Even though Percy’s body language was closed off and distant, Oliver wasn’t about to let him deal with it all alone. He reached out and brushed some of Percy’s hair off his forehead. He didn’t want to offer platitudes and say they would all be okay. It would ring false, anyway. Nothing was going to be okay. “What are you doing to do?” His question could have referred to Percy’s job or his family, or both. Oliver wasn’t even really sure. The gentle pressure from Oliver’s fingertips caused his arms to unfurl. He nodded and let a palm cup carefully around his cheek. From somewhere behind them both, Magdalena, without the full attention of them both, whined. “I’m glad you did, Oliver. You did the right thing by getting out and coming here.” He winced when he attempted to smile crookedly. “I have to believe that Mum, Dad, my brothers and my sister are safe. Trust me, we would know if they weren’t. They got away, I’m sure of it. And I’m going to go to work tomorrow. There really isn’t anything else to do.” A pause. “You should stay here tonight, though.” “Of course.” He didn't often stay the night -- not here, anyway -- but it felt like the right thing for the moment, considering what they'd been through and how they didn't know what the morning would bring. Oliver wasn't sure he could have forced himself to leave after hearing that Percy planned to go back to work, truthfully. His stomach felt like an ice cube had been dropped into it just at the thought of Percy being stuck there. If Percy failed to show, it'd look suspicious, but… Oliver took a deep, shaky breath. Percy would be going into the hornet’s nest, over and over, day after day. How was he going to manage that? “You're the bravest person I know. You know that, right?” If he was brave, he would Owl his mother or at least send Bill a hext. Instead, he pulled Oliver over to the sofa and sat down hard, letting the little bulldog arrange herself neatly in his lap. Thoughtfully, he brought his wand out of his sleeve and gave a few taps to his face. Quick little Healing spells the likes of which he learned from watching Oliver at practice with his twin brothers. Everything was hard and interconnected and deadly now. “It isn’t their Ministry. It’s ours. And I’m scared to death but I don’t really know what else to do.” From where Oliver was sitting, he wasn’t so sure that it was their Ministry anymore. He knew why Percy said it, and he wanted to believe that it was true, that it was still theirs deep down and they could take it back, but -- He thought about Cedric and felt cold all over again. There had to be something they could do. “Do you want me to do that?” he asked quietly. “Where else…?” He couldn’t bear to finish his question, but if Percy was hurt, he wanted to know. Before he could stop himself to let Oliver take care of him, he’d already turned his wand toward his nose and uttered a tentative “Episkey!” That was met with a cracking of cartilage and a groan from Percy as he leaned forward on the couch and let his hand cover his nose entirely. He leaned back against the sofa cushions. “Just make it go away. Please.” It could have meant his injuries or the new Ministry, or both, but Oliver could really only help him with the former. Since he had no idea how to make the Death Eaters go away, he decided to focus on the problems he could handle. “C’mon, love. Don’t muck up your pretty face.” Oliver leaned forward and put a hand on Percy’s wand hand, to keep him from doing anything else. Merlin knew what might go wrong in his current mental state. “You’ve been through enough tonight. Let’s get you to bed. Well, first we’ve gotta get you out of this.” Oliver tugged at Percy’s shirt. He wanted to get rid of his own robes and throw them in the fire, truthfully. If he never saw this outfit again, Oliver would be happy. “And let me bring out some of my tricks from healing old Quidditch injuries. Okay?” Percy smiled crookedly and tried to unsquint his eyes, but let Oliver handle him. His wand went into his pocket while he wriggled out of his shirt with as few winces as possible and turned with curiosity toward the mirror. There was an ugly, fist-sized bruise on his ribs. Among others. He tried not to think of what Bill or his family was doing now, running for their lives, or worse. He focused on Oliver and nodded. “Okay. Tell me what to do.” A pause. “You can wear my stuff if you want.” Nevermind Oliver was twice as broad. He snorted. “Enlarging charms.” “I was gonna say…” Oliver chuckled. “Pretty sure I’d rip any of your shirts.” What he was going to sleep in - or not sleep in, really - wasn’t on the forefront of his mind, though. It was something lighter to talk about than how Percy looked, but Oliver’s focus was on Percy’s torso. He reached out and pressed a palm lightly to Percy’s ribs. “Does it hurt to breathe?” If he had a broken rib, that’d be a little more challenging. Not too bad , though. Oliver had suffered many a broken rib before. “Are you feeling dizzy? Light-headed?” Percy wasn’t the best at being in the moment. And he wasn’t the best at showing weakness. His ribs - bruised, not broken - procured a wince at Oliver’s touch, as well as a sharp inhale. “That’s just you,” he said a little breathlessly, backing toward the bedroom. A lone attempt at humour. Without the anxiety of the last several hours to give him energy, he was hitting the wall hard. “None of the above. Very, very sore. That’s a Yaxley-sized fist.” “Should’ve seen me earlier,” Oliver countered, flashing Percy a sly grin. “You really missed out.” It felt -- well, almost wrong to joke when so much was going wrong, but the world felt so heavy that Oliver didn’t know what else to do to make things feel normal again. He wished that he had his potions and salves here with him, instead of at his own flat. He wished there was more he could do. They could tend to Percy’s physical pain, but the heartache that Oliver knew he must be feeling… Oliver couldn’t fix that. Oliver leaned in and kissed Percy gently. “I’m glad you came home.” He snorted. I can imagine it. That was almost easy to think of, easier to consider the lurid green flash of light that engulfed Rufus Scrimgeour and the hours of questioning afterward. He didn’t imagine that his experience was the worst of them and that thought - that thought would be the one that trailed after him for days. “Can we … ?” He was too tired, too sick with dread to say anything else. He kissed Oliver back, thumb briefly swiping over his lower lip, before he landed hard on the bed. “Your wish is my command.” That came out sounding a lot more stupid than he’d intended, but it was too late to take it back. And, Oliver supposed, if it cheered Percy up even a little, he’d do it again. He was too tired and, frankly, too keen to crawl into bed to care about the state of his own clothes, so he left those in a pile on the floor. The remaining lights shut off with a flick of his wand. During the wedding, Oliver had imagined a very different evening for both of them. He’d been angry at Percy for not putting his own pride aside for Bill’s sake, but that all faded as he watched Bill and Fleur. He didn’t want to fight anymore; he just desperately wished they could have been there together. He’d imagined going to bed for entirely different reasons. Oliver pulled a blanket over both of them and, very cautiously, scooted as close as he could without hurting Percy more. He didn’t know what the morning would have in store for either of them, but at least they could have this night. Despite the pain in his ribs, Percy pulled Oliver’s arm to drape over his shoulder. He wanted him there, wanted the surety and safety and the warmth of this night. Because who the hell knew what was coming in the morning. The one thing was certain, however. With enough gumption, he might be able to outlast them. And in so doing, there might be a piece of their government left to salvage. He was soon asleep. |