Percy Weasley (sentimentalist) wrote in disorderic, @ 2018-05-14 14:01:00 |
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Entry tags: | layla fairbourne, percy weasley |
WHO: Layla and Percy
WHEN: Now seems a relevant time as any!
WHERE: Layla's ... house-prison-thing.
SUMMARY: Percy plucks up the courage to talk to Layla.
WARNINGS: N/A
It took Percy some time to see Layla. He’d been selfish, sure. But trying to feel out what felt like a career-ending retreat into going ‘off the grid’ along with Violet’s complex betrayal and the general and diffuse fear surrounding the activities with the Order made him turn inward. That was, until Percy was reminded that he owed it to Layla’s faithfulness to approach her. And so he did. With three slim little books underneath his arm, he knocked before entering Layla’s abode. “Hey there.” Layla didn’t leave her room too much. There was nowhere to go, really, as she was trapped in the house itself. Not that she could complain, and she knew it. This, again, was the life she chose. Or the surrender she’d chosen at least. Had one asked Layla who the first person there to see her would be she’d have guessed Percy, hands down, ready to use her knowledge to counter the Death Eater propaganda. But he hadn’t, until now. “Hey,” she greeted, eyes instantly drawn to what Percy had with him. That, of course, brought a little smile to her face despite the circumstances. It’s what she’d joked about with Oliver, at any rate. “Welcome.” She gestured with an arm to her mostly empty room, and then got up to slip into the chair at the table. “How are you?” Gently, Percy laid the books in front of Layla and slipped into the chair opposite her. He’d spent so much time tip-toeing around Death Eaters in the Ministry that sitting here with Layla didn’t make him nervous. It was the exact opposite, in fact. The adrenaline made him feel more like himself than he had in days. But he ignored her initial question. How he was wasn’t relevant. “I brought you three books - they’re by Locke, Rousseau and Wollstonecraft. The fourth book is a journal. It’s time to get your thoughts out in the world, Layla.” Taking cursory glances at the titles of each of the books — about what Layla would expect from Percy Weasley — she put them into a pile on her side of the table before focusing on the most important piece here. “I have a lot of those,” she said evenly, trying to force down the flop her stomach had done. No one would be happy with these particular thoughts or stories even if they did help counter some of the Death Eater propaganda. But for that fact alone they were necessary. “I’ll get on it quickly,” Layla promised after glancing at the notebook and then back up at Percy himself. “You should have some usable things to smack them with soon. We’ll start with some of the big public events — the Puddlemere-Magpies match and such. Let them know no one is safe even attending wizarding pastimes.” “I know they’re good thoughts.” And a thought that had come to his mind within the past days; if Layla continued to prove herself useful, she might be treated with leniency in the post-war Government. If they all got that far. He waited a beat. “I was also thinking about what you told Katie -- you confirmed a suspicion I’d had for a really long time. That, namely, Yaxley has Thicknesse under Imperius.” Percy’s thoughts regarding the strength of character required to fight the Imperius notwithstanding, he sat back. “I was thinking of leaking that information.” “I don’t know if they’re good thoughts,” Layla admitted, “I mean, the subject matter is pretty terrible, but it can at least paint the picture of it accurately. No one is safe, they’re — I mean you don’t really know until you’re in. It’s darker than most people suspect.” Her cheeks flushed for a few moments. “You should, if you want to. I’m not telling you these things to keep them hidden. If for some reason people think they’re supporting a legitimate Minister, well. Yeah.” “It was definitely darker than expected?” he asked gently. Layla didn’t need to hear about his own fears with regards to Yaxley’s ability to make Craig Wood pay for anything they did. “Do you want to tell me anything about it?” Layla really didn’t want to delve into this, but Percy had asked given what she’d said. “It’s competitive as well,” she said after a few moments of mulling over where to even start. “You think you’re all on the same team, the same side, but it’s not quite like that. You are for a lot, but you’re competing for the Inner Circle’s or the Dark Lord’s favour, and they turn on you the instant you mess up. It’s a whole status and whatever circus. They’re good at pressuring you and picking at your obvious weakspots.” She drummed her fingertips on the cover of the journal in front of her. “And it’s just… soulless. Beyond what people think. The casual pressing to murder someone for the slightest disagreement or because they don’t like them, the pressing others to do that. They say what their goals are, but it’s beyond that. They target and destroy everyone, basically. As brutally as they can.” Percy paled at this description, his heart hammering lightly against his ribcage as he considered the weight of that which Layla had labored under and the hearts of those attempting to steal their government and their way of life away. His brow furrowed. “But inciting everyone to murder doesn’t necessarily preserve wizarding culture.” “Maybe it was less insane the first time around, I don’t know. Probably not. I mean, they do believe in purism and such, but yet also… do things like want to attack Quidditch matches because some players spoke out against them.” She looked helpless for a moment. “It’s brutal and nonsensical. You can’t try to understand it logically other than suppression of anyone who says otherwise.” “ … I think Purists should hear that, though. At the heart of it, their shield - their Death Eaters - really have little to do with preserving Magical Heritage beyond what they see as valuable. They’d spend their own blood if that meant what … You-Know-Who wanted or what have you.” He took a deep breath and placed his palms on the table. “For what it’s worth, I’m really glad you made the choice you did. I know it’s taken me way too long to be sitting here. But I’m really glad.” “Everyone’s expendable, and so is everything, if he says so,” Layla agreed with a sigh. “Or if it routs out enough of his detractors or whatever the claim may be.” Lord Voldemort was not beneficial to purists when you looked deeper than surface level. Layla looked uncomfortable. She was glad she made the choice she did too, but it still felt wrong to receive praise for it. Mostly, she simply felt far too guilty. “Thanks. I guess, I don’t know, I feel awkward hearing that. Not that I don’t agree, but yeah.” Percy still wasn’t sure she made the good choice; but the right one, absolutely. And he was committed to seeing fair trials for people like Layla who turned at the right time. But in the meantime, it counted what she could do for them. He nodded. Silent assent. “I’ll hoot about Yaxley.” “Good. Take the fucker down,” Layla said, bitterly. He was one of the worst in her mind. “I’ll get to work on my narrative,” she added, glancing down at the notebook. She picked up a pen, and scrawled a title at the top. Why Death Eaters Don’t Care About You. Percy pushed his hair off his forehead and sat back, letting his eyes wander the spartan room. He hoped they won; he hoped all of this heartache had its payout. He hoped and he hoped. His eyes met the title at the top and he smiled. “All right. I should leave you to it.” “It’ll need copyediting. And probably a better title.” Layla grimaced, good-naturedly at least. “Thanks for stopping by.” She gave Percy a small smile, as much as the whole situation warranted, and then nodded — “The ginge looks good on you, by the way.” “I’ll help. Promise not to be too Percy about it,” he replied gently and then as soon as she mentioned his hair, managed to blush a shade more scarlet than his hair. “Thanks. It’s amazing what happens when you get to be your authentic self.” Layla could only slowly nod at that point. Giving in to what she felt she wanted hadn’t worked out too well for her, as evidenced. Some more than others, she wanted to say, but instead she just nodded a second time, and then looked back down at her notebook, words already forming in her mind. |