Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

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
- 18
- 19
- 20
On the morning of Oliver’s trial, Percy woke early. He had been told that he was to testify, though he had protested stridently.
“Mr Weasley,” the Minister had said, “you have been so very helpful to us. Now you must help us one last time.”
Percy had shaken his head. He had known what was coming: the Minister wanted him to incriminate Oliver. He couldn’t. Even though he thought he hated Oliver, that he wanted Oliver to suffer for how he had made Percy suffer, he couldn’t bring himself to hammer the final nail in Oliver’s coffin. He still loved Oliver, and he always would, no matter how much Oliver had hurt him.
“No,” Percy had heard himself say. “I won’t testify.”
“That’s quite bold of you, Weasley, but you will testify. It was not a request.”
Getting out of bed – not his own bed, of course; he was sleeping on a cot in his office – Percy felt weak. He had lost weight since he had started informing for the Minister, and that had only been two weeks ago. He hadn’t been eating, not really, and he had hardly been sleeping. As a result, he looked like a walking corpse. His eyes were sunken and his skin was paler than usual, marked with random blotches and fine lines. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and looked away. He looked like death warmed over, and he didn’t want to see it.
Percy wasn’t proud of what he had been doing. He was actually quite ashamed of himself. He had betrayed Oliver; he had betrayed his family; he had betrayed himself.
“Tell us about Oliver Wood,” the Minister had said. “Tell us why he might want to pass information to the Order of the Phoenix.”
Percy hadn’t known. He hadn’t known why Oliver might want to do such a thing. He had been just as surprised as the next person. He still laid awake most nights and cried.
“Tell us what you know about the Order of the Phoenix.”
Percy had shaken his head. He hadn’t known anything.
“Tell us, Weasley,” the Minister had threatened, “or you will receive the same sentence as Wood.”
Percy had decided it would be better to invent something. “As far as I know, sir,” he had begun, “they are a group dedicated to overthrowing the Ministry. During the First Wizarding War, they fought against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, as I am sure you are aware.” He had paused, trying to gauge his boss’s reaction. When none had come, he had continued. “After the defeat of You-Know-Who, they presumably went underground. I don’t know who the original members were, as I was just a child during the first war. I don’t know who the current members are, to be quite honest.”
The Minister had stared at Percy, perhaps trying to get him to give up more information that he didn’t have. Percy had held his gaze and remained silent.
As with most mornings, Percy drank his tea and ate his toast in silence. He sat at his desk and contemplated his testimony. How was he going to do this? How could he possibly testify against Oliver and still look at himself in the mirror? Percy had no idea.
A sharp knock came at his office door and he swallowed the last bit of his toast. “Come in!” he called.
“Weasley,” Yaxley said gruffly, obviously displeased to see Percy. There was no love lost between the two; Yaxley had been dressed down for his treatment of Percy on the night of his capture and Percy had reveled in Yaxley’s punishment. Not so secretly, either. Every time he had seen Yaxley after he had been punished, Percy had commented snarkily on his correction. It didn’t make him feel better, but it didn’t make him feel worse, either.
“Tell us about Undesireable Number 1,” the Minister had said, his quill poised to take notes.
Percy had closed his eyes. It had been so long since he had spoken to or even seen Harry; how was he supposed to know what he was doing?
“I have no idea what he’s doing,” Percy had said shortly. “Like I told Yaxley, I haven’t seen him since I was a student at Hogwarts.”
“That is a lie,” the Minister had replied quickly. “You were at the Tri-Wizard Tournament, in which he was a champion.”
“Oh, please,” Percy had snorted. “I was there on official business. Do you honestly think I would have spent time socialising?” He should have been more respectful to the Minister, he knew, but really, that line of questioning was just idiotic.
“Come with me,” Yaxley said in the same gruff voice, gesturing to the hallway. “Your testimony is required.”
Percy grimaced. He hoped Oliver wouldn’t be present. He didn’t want to look at Oliver while he testified against him. He didn’t want to see the heartbreak and the pain on his lover’s face. He didn’t think he could handle it. He could hardly handle day-to-day living; how could he handle seeing Oliver’s heart break?
He followed Yaxley to Courtroom 10, where he was relieved to see Oliver absent. Hopefully he would only be testifying to the Wizengamot.
Momentarily the door opened and Oliver was led into the courtroom. Percy deflated. Oliver’s hands were bound and he looked as though he had been tortured mercilessly. His face was covered in purple and green bruises; his left eye was so swollen that it couldn’t even fully open. It looked as though his nose had been broken, healed, and then broken again in the few weeks he had been incarcerated. Percy saw hints of scabs healing on Oliver’s wrists; had he tried to …? No, he told himself. No, Oliver wouldn’t do that. Not even in the worst of circumstances.
Percy watched out of the corner of his eye as Oliver was bound to his chair. He couldn’t look directly at Oliver or he was certain he would wail in agony. It felt like his heart was about to burst through his ribcage and explode. He couldn’t bear seeing Oliver like this.
The Minister called the hearing to order and Percy stared at the floor. He sneaked glances at Oliver every few minutes, and every time, he wished he hadn’t. Oliver looked more and more defeated with every sentence. Percy knew this was Oliver’s death sentence. How was he going to fix this? Could he fix it at all?
This is all my fault, he thought. I have to come up with a solution, and it has to be fast.
Percy was so lost in his thoughts that he hardly heard the Minister announce his name.
“Mr Weasley,” the Minister repeated.
Percy shook himself out of his thoughts and walked to the witness chair. He avoided looking at Oliver, whose gaze he could feel. As he testified, he felt more and more ashamed of himself. Shame from giving information to the Ministry; shame from testifying against Oliver; and especially shame from being so selfish that his actions had gotten Oliver captured. He heard his voice shake as he explained their relationship – though he tried to keep the details to a minimum; no one needed to know the ins and outs of their affairs – and what had happened on the night they were captured. He also tried to withhold as much information as possible regarding that incident, but the Minister insisted. Even though he was there, Percy thought, irritated. He wanted to speak as little as necessary. He didn’t want to incriminate Oliver.
When he was dismissed, Percy stole a glance at Oliver, who looked utterly broken and demoralised. If there had been any part of Percy’s heart still intact, now it was lying on the floor in pieces. As he walked out of the courtroom, he caught Oliver’s eye. The unbelievable sadness in his face almost broke Percy. He couldn’t relay to Oliver in one glance how ashamed he was of his behaviour; how much he wished he could apologise; how much he wanted to run over to Oliver and hold him, caress his bruised cheek and heal his injuries; how much he just wanted to tell Oliver he loved him. So he looked away.
***
Later in the afternoon, Percy was in his makeshift prison: his office. It’s better than where Oliver is, I’m sure, he thought shamefully. He was looking over transcripts from previous hearings when Yaxley came through his door.
“Weasley,” Yaxley said, as if Percy didn’t know his own name.
“Yaxley,” Percy replied shortly.
“Oliver Wood has been sentenced.”
Percy didn’t require further explanation. He forced his face to stay neutral – a Herculean task – and nodded briefly. “Thank you for the update. Will there be anything else?”
“Minister thought you might like a minute with your bum buddy,” Yaxley said nastily, almost giggling at Percy’s obvious discomfort at his statement. “So he sent me to tell you – you get a half hour to tell ‘im goodbye before he gets the Kiss.” Pause. “Can’t go now though; he’s not yet in his cell.”
Percy glared at Yaxley. “And when might he be returned to his cell?”
“Dunno,” Yaxley replied, clearly enjoying making Percy squirm. “Give it an hour or so and then head to the detention centre.”
“Thank you, Yaxley,” Percy said stiffly. “You may go.” He waved Yaxley out the door and shut it behind his colleague.
Oliver is going to be given the Dementor’s Kiss! Percy thought, petrified. How am I going to save him?
He sat at his desk again and closed his eyes. The detention centre was run by people who were – in Percy’s mind – not very bright. He could probably pull a fast one on them if he was quick and got Oliver out of the building and out of the country in under five minutes.
Apparition is only blocked from my office, right? Percy wondered. He decided to try it. He walked out of his office, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, and as soon as he was out the door, successfully Apparated to the canteen. A small smile crossed his face as his plan started to fall into place.
***
Oliver was led back to his cell by the nondescript witch, and as she slammed the door, she said, “You know, I was a big fan of Puddlemere United. I was at the match where you debuted for the first team. You were a great Quidditch player. Shame this is happening to you.” Oliver thought he heard genuine regret in her voice. He slumped against the cold stone wall and buried his face in his hands. So this was it. This was how his life was going to end. Alone, in a freezing cell, betrayed by the only person he had ever really loved.
Moments later, Oliver heard brisk footsteps coming toward his cell. It wasn’t mealtime yet, and he wasn’t scheduled to be transferred until tomorrow. Was a new prisoner coming in? Was he going to be tortured again? That usually only happened in the morning, he reminded himself, and looked through the bars of his cell, waiting to see the source of the footsteps.
He didn’t have to wait long. The long, gangly legs of his lover appeared around the corner, followed by the emaciated torso and pale face. Though he felt terribly betrayed, Oliver couldn’t stop his heart from skipping a beat at the sight of Percy. Has he come to apologise? Oliver thought hopefully, or to rub it in that I’m going to be given the Dementor’s Kiss?
Percy stopped in front of Oliver’s cell and looked around nervously. “We don’t have much time,” he said quietly. “They think I’m here to say goodbye – I was – I mean – that was my original – you know – that was why I was going to come – but I couldn’t...I couldn’t let that horrible thing happen to you.” He paused and looked down at his feet, a flush creeping up his cheeks. “Especially when it’s all my fault.”
“Your fault?” Oliver asked, a little too loudly.
“Keep it down!” Percy said anxiously. “Don’t draw attention to us! And yes, my fault. I’ll explain later.” He pointed his wand at the lock on the cell door and opened it easily and silently. He was thankful for his hours upon hours of studying; they were paying off in spades. He gestured to Oliver to come with him, but Oliver stood, unmoving, against the back wall of his cell.
“Why are you doing this?” Oliver asked. “Why are you saving me when I said those things to you?” Those things I didn’t mean, he thought regretfully.
“I’ll tell you later,” Percy said. “We don’t have time now. They’ll notice I’m gone, and then they’ll figure out I’ve gone to break you out of your cell.” He gestured to Oliver to come with him. “Move with a purpose, please. I promise, I’ll tell you once we get where we’re going.” He held out his hand. “Come on. Take my hand. We’re going Side-Along.”
Oliver moved away from the wall and took Percy’s hand. It had been too long – but five minutes would be too long, really – since he had touched Percy. His skin was delicate and soft, unlike Oliver’s own rough, callused hands. He wove their fingers together and closed his eyes. He didn’t care where they were, as long as they were together. A second later, Oliver felt the familiar unpleasant feeling of Apparition, and then they were in a field.
“Where are we?” he asked Percy, looking around.
“Wales,” Percy answered, casting camouflaging spells. “Outside Cardiff.” Once he was satisfied that they were properly camouflaged, he pulled a tent out of the duffel – Oliver’s Puddlemere United duffel; he had confiscated it and its contents from the Minister’s office before going down to break Oliver out – and set it up quickly. “Get in,” he ordered Oliver. “And be quiet.”
Oliver dutifully climbed into the tent and sat on one of the camp beds inside. He watched as Percy made tea. Percy couldn’t do anything without a cup of tea in his hand, Oliver remembered, smiling.
“Here,” Percy said, handing Oliver a cup and sitting across from him. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” Percy felt his breathing begin to hitch and his eyes begin to water. Finish your apology, he ordered himself. “I have been a terrible partner,” he continued. “Partners don’t snitch on each other. Partners don’t testify against each other. Partners rescue each other.” He looked away, feeling embarrassed. He didn’t even know if Oliver wanted to be his partner. After all, he had said he didn’t love Percy.
“But let me tell you,” Percy continued, “why I did what I did. I didn’t do anything to hurt you. I would never do that.” He paused, considering his next words carefully. “I love you too much – still – to ever hurt you. I don’t ask that you reciprocate.” But it would be nice, he thought. “When we were captured,” he began, “I was taken to the Minister’s office. I had to explain what had happened and tell him how you had ended up in my flat.”
Oliver nodded, his face emotionless.
“He offered me a deal: snitch and get a lighter sentence, or be executed for treason immediately.” Percy paused. “I...I’m not as strong as you. I’m not a martyr. So I chose the first option.” He blushed, ashamed. “But,” he continued, “I tried to give the Minister as much misinformation as possible. When I didn’t know something – which was often – I made up the most natural-sounding lie possible. Hopefully it ruined their ‘Muggle-hunts’.” Percy made a face. “I tried to get out of testifying. I refused. But the Minister forced me.” He looked at Oliver apologetically. “I wish I hadn’t done any of this. I wish I was a stronger person and had chosen the second option.”
“I don’t,” said Oliver. “If you had, then you wouldn’t be sitting here across from me.” He gave Percy a sad half-smile.
“You’re not angry with me?” Percy asked, surprised.
“Of course I am, you prat,” Oliver said, rolling his eyes. “You gave the Minister information on me and who knows what else!” Percy flushed a deep maroon. “But I’d be angrier if you were dead. C’mere, you.” Oliver patted the spot next to him, motioning for Percy to sit beside him, which he did. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I was horrible to you.” He set his tea on the floor in favor of placing both of his hands on either side of Percy’s thin face. “I said those things to protect you. I wanted the Death Eaters to think that you weren’t involved in my escape and to leave you alone.” He paused, trying to gauge Percy’s reaction. When none came, he continued. “I never stopped loving you. I never will.”
Percy felt his face go hot. That had not been the reaction he had expected. He had expected anger, frustration, resentment...but not love. No one ever loved him after he made a mess of things.
Oliver laughed. “Don’t be so surprised,” he said. “You’re not hard to love.” He leaned in and kissed Percy’s forehead. His skin was cold. It made Oliver shiver.
Yes I am, Percy thought obstinately, though he didn’t say it. He knew better than to argue with Oliver. It had never ended well. “Finish your tea before it goes cold,” he said, handing Oliver his mug. It felt awkward because it was awkward; Percy couldn’t think of anything to say or do that wasn’t overly formal. He didn’t feel quite comfortable in the tent with Oliver, not just because they were most likely being hunted. He had said a lot of things to the Minister about Oliver that he shouldn’t have, and he was mortified.
“Percy,” Oliver said, “snap out of it.”
“Sorry,” Percy said, looking into his mug.
“What is wrong with you?” Oliver asked.
“I...nothing,” Percy lied. He didn’t want to talk about it. Not now. He didn’t want to overburden Oliver. “Finish your tea,” he said again, “and I’ll make some dinner.” He stood up and crossed the floor to the small table. There were a few cans of vegetables, soup, and chili in the duffel bag. Percy stared at the cans for longer than was necessary before deciding upon chili. With a wave of his wand, the chili was in a pot, perfectly heated. He pulled two bowls from a cupboard and split the chili. He handed one to Oliver and sat down. “Enjoy.”
Oliver ate as though he hadn’t eaten in days. Maybe he hasn’t, Percy thought. Maybe they haven’t been feeding him. He took a few bites of his chili and found he wasn’t very hungry. He silently offered it to Oliver, who took it without question.
“I’m going to bed,” Percy said suddenly. He didn’t want to talk anymore. He didn’t want to feel horrible anymore. He just wanted to sleep.
- 18
- 19
- 20
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The Weight of Living