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The Weight of Living	By : percyplusoliver Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Percy/Oliver Views: 4738 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: This can also be found at AO3. I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters. I am not making any money from this story. I just do this for kicks :) Note: This begins around HBP-era

Chapter List
- 14
- 15
- 16
Every day was a painful struggle for Percy. He kept the ragged button in his right trouser pocket, fingering it as often as he could without being obvious. He wanted Oliver to know he was thinking of him, that at least one person worried about him and cared about his safety. Most days his own button flashed purple, which softened the edges of Percy’s pain. There had been a few days, though, when it had been red or blue, and Percy had worried. What had Oliver been angry or sad about? What was he doing? Was he injured? Did he need help? Where was he? Percy felt helpless. He wished he knew something – anything – about Oliver, especially his location. Percy wanted to see Oliver so badly. He had connected the two buttons in case of emergencies, but he hadn’t given in to temptation and checked Oliver’s location. It could be tortured out of me, was his reasoning. I’ll only check it if he needs me.
Percy’s work was suffering as a result of his pain. Since his work was suffering, so were dozens of Muggle-born witches and wizards. He tried to make himself care, but he found that he couldn’t. He only worried – endlessly – about Oliver. The Ministry was crumbling from within, he knew, so the hearings wouldn’t continue for much longer. He had observed extremely strange behaviour from the Minister – he believed Thicknesse to be under the Imperius Curse, and therefore under the control of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Many of the other people in the Minister’s office were acting strangely, leading Percy to believe that they had either been Imperiused or they were Death Eaters. But what could he do? Nothing, he thought bitterly. I can’t even focus long enough to properly complete a file.
So he did his job half-heartedly, day in and day out, as the Ministry crumbled around him. Muggle-borns were sent to Azkaban; half-bloods and anyone who couldn’t prove their lineage either went on the run or were imprisoned; and anyone who had ever had any contact with Harry Potter was being put on trial. Percy was surprised he hadn’t been called to Courtroom Ten yet, as his youngest brother was practically joined at the hip with Harry Potter.
My youngest brother, to whom I haven’t spoken in three years, he thought miserably. Percy was now well and truly alone.
***
Oliver had lost weight. The clothes he had brought with him now hung off his comparatively skeletal frame. His muscles were shriveling from lack of exercise. He had dark circles under his eyes and his face was drawn due to lack of good sleep. It had been two months since he had left Percy in his London flat. Every day Oliver held the tatty old button in his right fist and thought of Percy. He hoped Percy saw it, that he felt it. Just touching the button made him feel connected to Percy; made him feel that Percy cared about him. Sometimes tears would come to his eyes as he held it, thinking of all the time they had lost. He tried not to be sad; he didn’t want Percy to worry about him, but sometimes he couldn’t help himself. He was lonely. He missed his parents. He missed Quidditch. Most of all, he missed Percy. He missed his milky-white freckled skin; his fine, wavy ginger hair; his slightly nervous way of speaking. He missed Percy’s kisses; his touches; his hot breath on Oliver’s skin.
Stop torturing yourself, Oliver ordered himself. Focus on your surroundings.
For the last several days Oliver had been in the Cotswolds. It was easy for him to move around, and there was an abundance of fall apples and various vegetables at nearly every farm he passed. He took what he needed and moved on. He didn’t feel guilty at all; the season was coming to an end and much of the produce would probably go to waste if he didn’t eat it. And I’m hungry, he thought. He never slept in the same place two nights in a row, which had probably helped him avoid detection. But it was time for him to move on; he had heard rumblings of Snatchers in the area, and he wasn’t keen on getting caught. After gathering his things from his makeshift campsite, Oliver Disapparated and arrived seconds later in the North York Moors, where his parents had taken him camping as a child.
Oliver had hated camping. It had taken him away from flying in the back garden when he was younger, and practising Quidditch when he had gotten older. However, his parents had insisted on “family time”, and so Oliver had gone along grudgingly. He hadn’t been allowed to fly while there, because Muggles might have seen, and that would have been unacceptable. But now, seeing the familiar campsites, Oliver felt a twinge of melancholy. His parents didn’t know where he was – assuming they were still alive, he thought bitterly – and although he had always complained about going, he had eventually ended up mostly enjoying the camping trips. He had had fun with his parents spending a week away from the city, even though he couldn’t fly or practise Quidditch.
Oliver sighed. He hadn’t expected his life to come to this, running from Death Eaters and Snatchers. But it was better than being in Azkaban, he knew, and he had Percy to thank for that. He touched the button in his pocket. It comforted him to know that it was there. That Percy was there, thinking of him.
***
At Christmas, Percy sent his mother a letter. It wasn’t much, he knew, but he was lonely. He had no one, which hadn’t bothered him before, but now, knowing that Oliver could die any day, he actually wanted to reconcile with his family. He had been a prat, this he was sure of; he would understand if they didn’t want to see him again. He apologised for his behaviour – though not in so many words; Percy didn’t think a letter was the best place for an apology – and asked for forgiveness, though only from his mother. He didn’t expect a response.
Not an hour later, though, there was an owl tapping at his kitchen window. He opened the window, the owl flew in, and dropped a letter on the kitchen counter. It was addressed to him in his mother’s curly handwriting. Percy suddenly felt nervous. He waved the owl away and opened the letter.
Percy,
the letter began.
You’ve no idea how happy I am to hear from you. I’ve missed you – your father and I have missed you – so very much.
Percy saw tear stains on the parchment. He took a deep breath and continued reading.
Please, Percy, join us for Christmas lunch. Your father and I would love to see you.
Notice she didn’t mention anything about my siblings, Percy thought bitterly.
We’ll save a spot for you at the table. We always do.
All my love,
Mum
Percy re-folded the letter and sat at his kitchen table, resting his chin on his right palm. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to go to Christmas lunch; sure, he wanted to see his parents – did he, though? Or was he just giving in to his loneliness? - but his siblings...that was another story. They had always been mercilessly cruel to him. Perfect Percy. Bighead Boy. Transfiguring his Prefect badge to read “Pinhead” or “Prissy”, depending on their moods. He wasn’t ready to forgive them, and he was certain they felt the same way. However much he would prefer not to be alone at Christmas, Percy declined his mother’s offer.
Instead of going to the Burrow for Christmas, Percy ordered Indian takeaway. The same takeaway Oliver had ordered for him on the night they had fought. He ordered his usual chicken tikka – not too spicy, of course – and took it home to wallow in his misery.
***
Winter passed slowly. The cold days were bad, but the wet days were the worst. Oliver hated being wet. His clothes clung to his shrunken frame and he shivered for hours, even after he had performed a drying charm. He wasn’t getting enough to eat – the weather was too cold for anything to grow, and he was, as he had recently found out, terrible at fishing and hunting. On several occasions, he had stolen from village shops, but that made him feel horribly guilty, so he only did that when he couldn’t stand the hunger anymore.
When would he be able to go home? Oliver was miserable. He was lonely, cold, exhausted, and hungry all the time. Why did he agree to run away again? This was terrible. This is worse than losing to Slytherin, he thought. This is the worst feeling in the world. He was sure that Percy’s button was glowing blue all the time now, because he was depressed almost constantly. England was dismal in winter. It wasn’t much better in spring, Oliver knew, but at least there would be food.
He travelled to Dedham Vale at the beginning of March and camped on the coast, near Manningtree. It was drier and slightly warmer there; Oliver wondered why he hadn’t come here sooner. As he looked for a place to set up camp, he sought out heavily wooded areas with thick underbrush and possible wild fruit bushes. He wasn’t very successful; there were few trees and much of the brush had died during the winter. He would have to camouflage his tent, something he hated doing, because he wasn’t very good at it. If Percy were here, Oliver often thought, he could… He could what? Oliver never had a specific answer to this question; it always changed depending on his situation. Today’s answer was ‘he could camouflage my tent and keep me warm’.
Oliver missed Percy’s warmth. He missed Percy’s touch, his kisses, his voice...everything about him. On nights when he felt particularly despondent, he would set his button on the pillow beside him and talk to it as if it were Percy. He would tell it about his day, his weeks, his months; what he had seen and done since they had last seen each other; and, of course, how much he missed Percy. Some nights he talked to it until he fell asleep; others until he went hoarse with tears. Every night, however, he ended his conversation with “I love you more than you will ever know, and more than I could ever say.”
- 14
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- 16
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The Weight of Living