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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
- 17
- 18
- 19
Oliver’s days were long. He sat in that dank, cold cell, day in and day out, waiting for his hearing. Every morning he was awakened by the Cruciatus curse, in attempts to get information. At first he had cried out in shock and agony. Now he was silent, knowing he deserved it.
He hadn’t heard anything about Percy since his arrival in the cell; not that his captors would have told him. His muscles ached. His whole body cried out in pain; he couldn’t move without being in excruciating agony. So he sat on the cold stone floor, all day, every day, thinking about Percy. He wondered what the Death Eaters had done to Percy. He wondered what Percy was doing at every minute of every day. He wondered how Percy was coping with the horrible way they had left each other. When Oliver thought about what he had said, he felt ice flow through his veins. It had been for the best, he knew, but it still made him feel like shit.
Recalling the agony in Percy’s eyes broke his heart over and over. He hated that he had had to lie. He had ruined the best thing that had ever happened to him – except Quidditch – and now all he had was memories. At night, when he couldn’t sleep, he replayed their capture in his mind, wondering if he could have done anything differently. In his heart he knew he had done the right thing, but it still felt wretched.
One morning he woke up to the sound of muffled voices. He heard his name at random intervals. He strained to hear the conversations, but only caught bits and pieces.
“...Wood...extortion...”
“...Ministry employee...passing information...”
“...protected...defended...”
Oliver leaned closer to the door of his cell. Protected? Who protected whom? Who defended whom? The voices faded, and then there was a single booming voice.
“Wood!” a deep voice barked. Oliver started from his daydream. “Stand up! You’re to come to Courtroom Ten!”
Fuck, Oliver thought. I am definitely fucked now. He obeyed the command wordlessly and went to the bars of his cell, waiting to be released. His hands were bound once more and a nondescript witch appeared in front of the door, staring him down. She opened the cell and Oliver shuffled out, following her mutely. His fate was to be decided in the coming minutes, and he found that he wasn’t frightened. He was only sad. Sad that his life had come to this; sad that he was most likely on his way to Azkaban; but especially sad that he hadn’t been able to tell Percy he loved him one last time.
He entered the courtroom and saw the entire Wizengamot seated before him. Oliver’s heart jumped into his throat. Was this normal? he wondered. Why would the entire Wizengamot be trying his case? He hadn’t really done anything that terrible...okay, he had said he had extorted a Ministry employee for information that he would later pass on to the Order of the Phoenix. That was pretty bad, at least in the eyes of the current administration. Oliver sighed and looked around the courtroom. There were no familiar faces...wait. Was that...could it be...yes, it was! He saw that beautiful ginger hair in the corner of the courtroom and he forced himself to look away. He couldn’t compromise Percy’s safety.
Assuming he is safe, Oliver thought grimly. He stole a glance at his ex-lover and saw that he had large dark circles under his eyes and he was so pale, he was almost translucent. Percy had lost a significant amount of weight; weight he could ill afford to lose. He looked skeletal.
Why is he here?, Oliver wondered. He didn’t look as though he was there in an official capacity...fuck. That meant he was testifying against Oliver. That meant, Oliver thought, that Percy had believed his lies and was now likely supporting the Ministry. At least he doesn't seem to have an inkling of the truth, Oliver thought. Which was...? What was the truth? Oliver wasn’t sure anymore. He had been repeating the lie for so long that he had almost convinced himself it was true. He only knew that he had to keep telling the lie he had told on the night they had been discovered. Aside from that, nothing was certain anymore.
“Be seated,” said a booming voice from in front of Oliver. He felt himself being pushed into a stiff-backed wooden chair and his wrists being bound to the armrests. Seconds later, his ankles were bound to the legs of the chair. It wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable, but he couldn’t sit like this for an extended period of time.
Then he felt the Dementors.
He shivered violently. All of the unpleasant experiences he had ever had came flooding back. Every time Gryffindor had lost (especially to Slytherin). Seeing his grandfather wither and die. He could hear the death rattle of his grandfather’s last breath in his mind. But that wasn’t the worst. The worst memory, and by far the most painful, was Percy. Seeing himself break Percy’s heart over and over was like a dull knife repeatedly piercing his abdomen; his insides twisted, his lungs contracted, and his muscles seized. Nothing – not even being hit in the head by a Bludger – had been this painful. Oliver wished he had learnt to produce a Patronus, or even to do wandless magic, but what use would either of them be now in his current state? He couldn’t focus on anything but the pain he had caused Percy.
‘This is your fault,’ he heard Percy say. ‘If you had let me do the talking, we wouldn’t be in this mess.’
No! He thought. I had to do it! To save you!
‘You always have to play the hero,’ mind-Percy scolded. ‘You’re so selfish. That’s why we’ll never be together – you only think of yourself. You can’t take anyone else’s needs into consideration.’
No! That’s not true!
“Mr Wood!”
Oliver shook out of his trauma-induced reverie and looked in the direction of the voice. It was coming from the Minister for Magic. Since when did the Minister take part in these hearings, Oliver wondered.
“Sir?”
“Mr Wood,” the Minister repeated. “You have been brought here on the following charges: attempting to evade capture; extorting a Ministry employee; association with Undesirable Number 1; and questionable lineage.” He paused, glancing across the courtroom. “Do you understand the charges levelled against you?”
Oliver nodded once.
“I would like to call my first witness.” The Minister looked toward the door, which opened silently. The Death Eater who had escorted Oliver to his detention cell appeared. Oliver was only certain it was the same one because of his withered left arm, which hung uselessly at his side. “Simmons,” the Minister continued. “Please tell the court what you saw on the night that Mr Wood was detained.”
Simmons limped to the front of the courtroom, glaring at Oliver as he did so. You think you’re better than me? Oliver thought angrily. I’m just as much a wizard as you are, you racist fuck.
“We was out mindin’ our own bidniss,” began Simmons, “when Mr Yaxley called us – that is, Jones and me – inter ‘is office. Boys, ‘e says, boys, we found us a trai’or.” Simmons rubbed his hands together almost gleefully, recalling the evening. “So ‘e says, boys, we got to go to central London and catch us some Mudbloods.” He paused and looked at the Minister. “When we got to the flat, we knocked. We ain’t savages.”
Oliver almost laughed. Not savages? They knocked and kicked the door right in.
“When there was no answer, we went ri’ in. Could’ve been dangerous, y’know, but we gots to protect the purebloods.” Simmons looked inordinately pleased with himself. “We found th’ Mudblood here - “ he gestured to Oliver “ - in bed - “ he made a disgusted face “ - wiv ‘at one there.” He gestured to Percy, who was almost magenta. “Buncha fairies, ‘f y’ask me.”
“We didn’t, but go on,” the Minister said, a look of deep disdain crossing his face.
Simmons coloured and shifted in his seat. “As I were sayin’, we found th’ Mudblood wiv ‘at one there.”
“Mr Weasley?” the Minister asked.
“Yeh,” affirmed Simmons. “Wiv ‘im.”
The Minister looked towards the stenographer, who nodded. “Continue, Simmons.”
“Anyway, Mr Yaxley tol’ ‘em why we were there, and ‘e tol’ me to take tha’ one - “ he jerked his head in Oliver’s direction “ - to a cell. So I did,” he finished lamely.
“Simmons,” the Minister said, with a very put-upon sigh, “the Wizengamot are not interested in what you did. We are interested in what the accused did.”
Simmons looked at the floor. “Oh,” he said. “Right. Well, when Mr Yaxley tol’ ‘em why we were there, tha’ one started talkin’.” He narrowed his eyes at Oliver. “Sayin’ that it was all ‘is fault, that he’d been lyin’ to th’ other one, that he’d never loved th’ other one, buncha pansy shite like that.” He looked disgusted.
The Minister didn’t seem to be satisfied. “Do you recall exactly what the accused said, Simmons?”
“No, I don’t,” Simmons said, looking a bit frightened, as if he would be struck dead for not being able to answer the question.
This time the Minister certainly wasn’t satisfied, but there was nothing he could do. “Thank you, Simmons. You may go,” he said dismissively.
Simmons stood and limped back out, giving Oliver a nasty look as he did so.
“My second witness,” the Minister said, “is Mr Percy Weasley. Mr Weasley, please be seated.”
Percy walked slowly to the chair in the middle of the room, looking as if he might fall at any second. The colour that had been in his cheeks when Simmons was testifying had gone; now he was chalk-white. He sat cautiously, as if the chair might collapse under his now-emaciated frame.
“Mr Weasley,” the Minister repeated. “Please tell the Wizengamot about your relationship to the accused.”
There was the colour in Percy’s cheeks. He immediately turned brick-red as he opened his mouth to take a breath.
“Well,” he mumbled, “Ol – the accused – and I...you see...it was like this...”
Oliver stared at Percy. He wasn’t going to say it. Oliver didn’t blame him, not really, but it still made him sad.
“We were...dating,” Percy muttered, barely audible.
“Pardon?”
“Dating,” he repeated, only slightly louder than the first time.
“You and the accused were dating?” the Minister repeated loudly, almost cruelly, with a glint in his eyes that Oliver didn’t trust.
Percy nodded once affirmatively.
“I see.” Beat. “Continue, Mr Weasley.”
“So we were...close,” Percy continued. “Or so I thought.” He paused, shooting Oliver a pained look. Oliver saw the anguish in his eyes – still, he thought – and he wanted to run to Percy, tell him that it was all a lie; that he did it to save him, and to please, please, please forgive him.
“On the night of the...” he paused. “When the accused...when we were...detained, we had been asleep. Simmons provided a mostly-accurate description. We were asleep - “ Percy neglected to mention what had exhausted them, which was probably a wise decision “ - when we heard a loud pounding on the front door. I reckon it was thirty seconds later that the door was kicked in. Your deputy, Yaxley, and his two thugs clattered through my flat, disregarding my privacy and my belongings.” Percy tried to look threatening, but he only succeeded in looking slightly constipated. Oliver had to bite his lip to suppress his laughter.
“Yes, Mr Weasley, I am aware,” the Minister replied, sounding very irritated, as if he had heard this complaint a dozen times. “I have seen your multiple reimbursement requests.”
Looking a bit vindicated, Percy continued. “Yaxley asked why Ol – the accused – was in my flat, and how it had been possible for him to disappear on the eve of his hearing.” He flushed a light pink. Here comes the hard part, Oliver thought, and looked away. He didn’t want to see Percy as he retold Oliver’s lie.
“Ol – the accused – informed Yaxley that he had been lying to me and using me for information, which he had then passed on to the Order of the Phoenix,” Percy said, his voice wavering. “This was also news to me.” He paused and took a shaky breath. “He said he had used me; that he only used me for information; that he only cared about his own safety.” Oliver noticed that he had left out the part where Oliver had said he had never loved him. Oliver wished he could forget that, too. “Then Yaxley told Simmons to take Oli – the accused – to the detention centre. After that, Yaxley questioned me. I was to be detained for associating with a wanted criminal as well as with Undesirable Number 1.”
The Minister nodded, indicating that he should go on.
“You know the rest, sir,” Percy said, an air of irritation in his voice. “I was taken to Yaxley’s office, where you arrived moments later.”
“Please repeat what happened for the court, Mr Weasley.”
“I was taken to the Ministry to inform you of my crimes. Once there, I was informed that if I provided the Ministry with information, my sentence would be lighter than if I did not.” Percy looked down at his feet, seemingly ashamed.
Oliver was shocked. They had blackmailed Percy for information? He wanted to be outraged, but found that he couldn’t. They would stop at nothing to “purify” the wizarding world, it seemed. Oliver tried to catch Percy’s eye, but was unsuccessful. He continued looking in Percy’s direction, hoping to connect with him.
“Please continue.”
Percy wrung his hands in his lap. “I agreed,” he almost whispered. He looked humiliated. And rightly so, Oliver thought, indignant. He had thought Percy had more of a spine than that.
“Thank you, Mr Weasley,” the Minister said, looking quite pleased with himself. “You may step down.”
As Percy left the courtroom, Oliver tried once more to meet his gaze. He finally succeeded and gave him a pleading look. One that tried to convey all of the emotions he had felt for the last few days, to tell Percy how much he loved him; how sorry he was; and how much he had missed him. Percy’s face hardened and he looked away. That was it, Oliver thought. I’ve lost him for good.
“Mr Wood,” the Minister said, turning his attention to Oliver. “We are here to discuss your sentence.” He looked toward the Wizengamot. “Aside from him extorting a Ministry official for information, he is of impure blood status and disappeared before his first hearing regarding his lineage.” A few members of the Wizengamot glared at Oliver. Still more gave him sad looks, as if they wished they could do something to help him.
“If found guilty, your wand will be destroyed; you will be sentenced to Azkaban; and you will be given the Dementor’s Kiss. Do you understand?”
Oliver felt sick to his stomach. How could everything have gone so terribly wrong in such a short period of time?
“Do you understand, Mr Wood?” the Minister repeated, sounding annoyed.
Oliver nodded.
“Good. Now, by a show of hands, based on testimony today, who believes that Mr Wood is guilty?”
Hands went up slowly. Oliver counted. Ten...twelve...sixteen...nineteen...twenty-three...twenty-four… One more and he was convicted. It looked as though movement had stopped, and the Minister looked extremely irritated. But seconds later, two more Wizengamot members raised their placards. Twenty-six. Oliver had been convicted. His stomach sunk.
“You will be returned to your cell for the evening, Mr Wood,” the Minister began, “and then tomorrow you shall be transferred to Azkaban.” He nodded to the Wizengamot. “Thank you for your service. You are dismissed.”
The nondescript witch who had led Oliver into the courtroom returned, and she removed the bindings from Oliver’s wrists and legs. With her wand digging into Oliver’s back, she led him back to his cell. Once he was in, she slammed the door and left him alone.
Alone. Now he was truly, achingly alone. And he would die alone. He found he couldn’t muster any tears, though this was as broken as he had ever been.
- 17
- 18
- 19
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The Weight of Living