springsmutfairy (springsmutfairy) wrote in hp_springsmut, @ 2008-03-01 22:50:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | fic, percy/george, slash |
Happy Springsmut, freckles42!
Author: aome
Recipient: freckles42
Title: These Fragments I Have Shored Against My Ruins
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): George/Percy, prior mention of F/G
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. The title and opening/closing quotes are from T.S. Eliot's The Waste Land. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Two brothers find healing in the aftermath of Fred's death.
Warnings: *points up* Weasleycest, angst
Word Count: ~7200
Author's Notes: There were quite a few segments of Eliot's poem that fit George and Percy's situation, but I couldn't manage to fit them all in. Read through it if you have a chance, though. freckles42, I did my best to include (and avoid) as many things from your list as possible; this didn't turn out quite like I'd planned, but I hope it's all right. Many thanks to L and M for their prompt and helpful beta services.
After the torchlight red on sweaty faces
After the frosty silence in the gardens
After the agony in stony places
The shouting and the crying
Prison and place and reverberation
Of thunder of spring over distant mountains
He who was living is now dead
We who were living are now dying
With a little patience
He went to work because there was nothing else to do. Because focusing on work was better than thinking about how he'd killed his own brother, right at the moment of their reconciliation. He worked harder than when he'd been a self-righteous prick, because the alternative was to go home and feel the reproach in his family's collective eyes. He could have stayed in his rented flat, he knew, but he felt he owed it to his parents to be under their roof again, the only restitution he could offer after taking one of their other sons away. He continued to avoid his father at the Ministry whenever possible, keeping odd hours and finding separate projects to work on, not out of hatred but because, again, he did not want to be reminded of the price they'd all paid for his ill-timed return.
But eventually the hour would grow late and his head heavy and, like it or not, Percy would carefully stow his quills, lock up his papers, and Floo home. Arriving late – and later than his father, if possible – ensured he would simply get a warmed bowlful of whatever his mother had made, to be eaten alone in the kitchen instead of surrounded by the solemn silence – or worse, the false joviality – of whichever other kith and kin had crowded the wooden table that evening. Once his nutritional needs were met he was free to squirrel himself away in his old bedroom until morning, at which point he'd eat as early as possible and escape back to his office again. No chance for his mother to hug him, eyes swimming, or for his father to pat him gamely on the back and say, yet again, "I'm glad you're here, son." He did not want to see Ginny or Ron or, even worse, George and the gaping hole where his ear should have been. He did not want to be reminded of the gaping hole he, Percy, had created in everyone's life.
One evening in August he stepped through the Burrow's kitchen fireplace and began to rummage around for whatever leftovers remained for his dinner. There seemed to be a lot of chicken soup, odd for such a warm night, and not much else.
"Percy, is that you?" called his mother from somewhere upstairs.
He closed his eyes a moment, then dutifully called back, "Yes, Mum."
Molly appeared on the landing, looking wearier than usual. "Oh, thank goodness. Would you mind Flooing over to George's shop and find out what's keeping him? I've been busy all day nursing your father through his dreadful Diricawl Flu and can't pop over, myself."
Percy nodded mentally; he did remember his father mentioning feeling unwell in the brief moment their paths had crossed last night. This also explained the large pot of soup in the middle of summer. Suppressing a sigh, he repeated, "Yes, Mum."
She smiled, and he fought the urge to turn away from that benediction he did not deserve. "Thank you, dear. I've tried fire-calling him but he isn't in view. And I can't leave your father just yet – he keeps disappearing every time he sneezes, so I need to make sure of his location at any given moment."
"I'll do it, Mum. Don't worry." Or not more than you normally do, anyway. He knew her anxiety for their well-being and safety had tripled – if that was possible – since Fred's death.
He had never been to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes before. At first he'd seen the twins' venture as irresponsible and frivolous, then he was avoiding his family entirely, and now, of course, it – like nearly everything else – reminded him of the price they'd all paid. But he owed his mother – he owed all of them – so if she needed him to go to the shop to check on George then he'd best do it quick, and get it over with.