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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
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Saturday came much faster than Percy had hoped it would. It dawned grey and depressing, the weather matching his mood.
“I don’t want to go anymore,” he mumbled to no-one in particular. “I can’t; I’m not strong enough.”
“Mmmmph?” came Oliver’s reply from underneath his pillow.
“I don’t want to go anymore,” Percy said again, pulling the pillow off Oliver’s head and tossing it aside. The way Oliver looked was almost comical. His hair, which needed a trim (though Percy secretly liked it a bit shaggy; it was much easier to hold onto when Oliver was fucking him. And besides, it made him look rogueish, which made Percy’s heart beat faster), stuck out every which way. There were lines from the folds of the sheet on his cheek, and his eyes were encrusted with sleep. Percy couldn’t help but let a small chuckle escape.
“Mmmmph...” Oliver groaned. “S’not funny. ‘m tired.” He yawned theatrically as if to prove his point.
“Yes, yes, I can see that,” Percy said with an overdramatic eye roll. “But you’ve got to wake up. Today’s the...” He couldn’t bring himself to say it. If he said it, that meant there was absolutely no change of Fred coming back, and he wasn’t ready for that. He din’t know if he could handle the day.
Oliver sobered. In his tired state, he had forgotten. He wasn’t sure what to expect. Would Percy break down again? Almost definitely, he thought. But how would the rest of the Weasleys react to Percy’s – and his, for that matter – presence? Well, Oliver thought hopefully, they invited him. They wouldn’t have invited him if he wasn’t welcome. But Oliver wasn’t so sure. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would be cordial, at least, but Percy’s siblings...that was what Oliver was worried about. He didn’t know if Percy could shoulder any more blame.
“Now, what were you saying?” he asked Percy.
Percy hesitated.
“Come on,” Oliver said. “I know you said something.” He rested his hand on Percy’s shoulder.
“I don’t want to go anymore,” Percy said reluctantly. “I...I can’t.” He looked at his lap, ashamed.
“Percy Weasley, you are going to this funeral,” Oliver said firmly. “He was – is – your brother. You must go. Your family – at least your parents – expect you to be there.” He rubbed Percy’s shoulder comfortingly. He couldn’t imagine the pain Percy was feeling. He wanted to be able to blink his eyes and take all of it away.
“You’re right,” Percy said, “but it’s still...” He trailed off and waved with his right hand. Whatever that meant, Oliver didn’t know. He didn’t ask; he didn’t want Percy to start the day off worked up.
“I know,” Oliver replied, though he obviously didn’t. “But I’ll be with you the whole time. I won’t leave your side.” He kissed Percy’s cheek chastely.
Percy shivered. How did he get so lucky? He drew in a deep breath. “Okay,” he said slowly, after several minutes of thought. “I reckon...I reckon we’d ought to get ready, then.”
***
When they’d both showered and dressed, there was only half an hour until the funeral.
“I suppose we’d better...” Percy said awkwardly.
Oliver nodded. “You first – it’s your family.”
Percy grimaced. Oliver was right, but he didn’t want to go first. “Hurry,” Percy begged.
The desperation in Percy’s eyes pulled at Oliver’s heartstrings. He wished he could carry some of Percy’s emotional load. Oliver nodded once more. “I’ll go right after you, promise,” he said with a tight smile. He squeezed Percy’s hand, and then Percy was gone with a sharp pop!. Oliver took a deep breath. What a nightmare today was going to be.
I promised, he reminded himself, and Apparated to the Burrow.
***
Percy stood at the end of the lane, looking at his childhood home apprehensively. He breathed in deeply and let it out slowly. The Burrow looked much smaller than he remembered it.
Oliver appeared next to him then and interlaced their fingers. “Ready?” he asked.
“As I’ll ever be,” Percy said nervously. That was to say, not at all.
They walked up the lane – shorter than Percy recalled, or maybe it was just nerves – and Oliver knocked purposefully on the door, which had a single piece of black cloth draped over the frame. Percy felt tears welling up in his eyes – again – and he blinked them back. He wasn’t going to cry. At least not yet, he told himself. Not before the funeral has started.
At that moment, the door swung open. Ginny stood in the doorway.
“What are you doing here?” she spat for the second time that week.
Percy found himself at a loss for words. Fortunately, Oliver took over.
“He was – we were – invited,” Oliver said shortly. He didn’t have the patience for Ginny’s attitude. Percy already blamed himself; he didn’t need blame piled on him by anyone else. “Are you going to let us in, or will we have to stand on the porch all afternoon?”
Ginny looked taken aback, but she moved aside. Oliver pulled Percy, who had hesitated on the steps, through the door. Once inside, Percy shot Oliver a grateful look.
“Thank you,” he said quietly. “I just...I can’t.”
Oliver squeezed Percy’s hand. “I know,” he replied. “I’ll do everything I can to make this easier for you.”
Percy attempted a half-smile. It looked pathetic.
“Is that Percy I hear?” came a voice from the kitchen. His mother. Percy’s ‘smile’ turned to a grimace. “Percy!” she exclaimed, hurrying down the hallway. She stopped short when she saw Oliver. She tried to mask the combination of surprise and annoyance in her eyes, but both Percy and Oliver saw it. “And Oliver! So...good...to see you, dear.”
Wonderful, Oliver thought bitterly. She’s already judging us.
“Mrs. Weasley,” Oliver said. He didn’t extend his hand. He didn’t smile. He could only be minimally cordial after what Percy had told him.
“I’m so glad you came, Percy,” Molly said. “Truly. No matter what was said – or wasn’t said – we’re family. You’re always welcome here.” She looked apologetic. Oliver didn’t believe her, not for a second. If she could blame Percy for Fred’s death in the moment, she could lie about forgiving him. He kept his face neutral.
Percy didn’t respond. He didn’t know what to say. ‘Of course’? ‘It’s the least I could do’? Neither felt right. He settled for a short nod. He felt Oliver squeeze his hand again. It gave him a small measure of comfort.
“Let me make you some tea,” Molly offered. “Come into the kitchen with me. Your brothers are already here.”
Percy’s heart sunk. He was certain George didn’t want him here. He could imagine the reactions of the rest of his siblings as well. Anger, hatred, disgust – and he deserved every ounce of it. He drew in a sharp breath and steeled himself for the torrent of abuse he would surely receive.
Percy saw his entire family sitting around the kitchen table. Fred’s chair had been left purposely empty. When he and Oliver entered the kitchen, his siblings’ eyes bore through him. Percy wanted to turn around and go home, but his feet were rooted to the spot.
“Get out,” George snarled viciously.
“George...” Molly warned.
“No, Mum,” George snapped. “He’s not welcome here.”
Percy felt the flush rising in his cheeks and anger boiling in his chest. This time, he thought, he would defend himself.
“I already blame myself,” Percy retorted angrily. “I don’t need any of you to blame me, too.” He paused, taking in his siblings’ reactions. “I have nightmares. I can’t even save him in my dreams. I’m a failure even when I’m asleep.” His anger was slowly being tempered by melancholy. He deserved their anger and frustration, but he was going to fight for his place in his family.
George drew his wand. His eyes were flashing with rage. “If you don’t get out,” George threatened, “I’ll kill you.” Pause. A collective gasp rose from the table. “Don’t think I won’t. You killed Fred.” A loud sob escaped his lips. Arthur put his arm around George’s shoulders.
“Come on, Georgie,” Arthur said gently. “Let’s leave Percy be. You need a rest.”
“No!” George shouted. “I do not need a fucking rest! He deserves to suffer the way I’m suffering!” A malicious grin spread across his face. “Or maybe,” he said slowly, “I should do Oliver in? Maybe that would help you understand.”
Percy instinctively stepped in front of Oliver. “No,” he said. “Not Oliver. Do anything you want to me, but he’s done nothing wrong. He doesn’t deserve this.”
Neither do you, Oliver thought sadly. You’re beating yourself up for something you can’t change. Oliver gently pushed Percy out of the way. “I can defend myself, love,” he whispered. “But I appreciate the effort.” He took Percy’s hand once more.
“Percy has tried to apologise to you ungrateful bastards dozens of times, and what does he get in return?” Oliver said angrily, picking up steam. “Fucking nothing. More anger. Hatred. Abuse for something he couldn’t control.” He glared at the pale faces staring back at him. “You’re all being unbelievably selfish. Percy is harder on himself than anyone else ever could be. Don’t you think he’s been beating himself up ever since it happened?” Now the only person still looking at him was George, who still had an angry look on his face. Oliver frowned at him. He knew George well. Nothing would change his mind; he had to come to the realisation he was wrong on his own.
“I can’t forgive him,” George said angrily. “I can’t be in the same room with him.” He pursed his lips. “Percy, I fucking loathe you. You’ve been awful to mum and dad, and now you’re responsible for Fred...Fred’s...” Even George couldn’t say it. “If I have to look at you for one more minute, I’m going to kill you.”
Percy felt sick to his stomach. This was much worse than he’d expected it to be. He had expected to be shouted at. He hadn’t expected his life to be threatened. He dropped Oliver’s hand. “Fine,” he said meekly. “I’ll go. You won’t have to worry about me ever again.” With a sharp crack, Percy Disapparated. Oliver didn’t even have a chance to try to talk him out of it, much less say goodbye. He suddenly felt very empty. He glared accusingly at the Weasley family, all of whom were now avoiding his gaze.
“Look what you’ve done!” Oliver roared, furious. “Are you proud of yourselves? It took a lot of convincing to even get him to come here. Now you’ve shamed him to the point that he’ll likely never come back.” Oliver was absolutely fuming. Percy was already falling apart. His siblings seemed intent on breaking him.
No-one answered, so Oliver ploughed ahead. “I will hold each of you personally responsible for whatever happens to Percy after today.” He made sure to lock eyes with each Weasley before continuing. “And I will retaliate appropriately.” Oliver set his mouth in a thin line. He would protect Percy if it killed him, Merlin be damned. He would kill for him. He didn’t care. “Have I made myself abundantly clear?”
The kitchen was as silent as a Potions lesson. Oliver tried again. “Have. I. Made. Myself. Abundantly. Clear?” he repeated, exaggerating the spaces between the words to increase the Weasleys’ seemingly poor comprehension skills.
Finally Charlie, who had been Oliver’s idol, spoke.
“Yes, Oliver, you’ve made yourself quite clear,” he said, his voice low. His tone was a mix of frustrated, angry, sad, and disappointed. “But...”
“There is no but,” Oliver growled. “You’ve pushed your brother so close to the breaking point; I don’t know if he’ll ever recover. I hope you can find it in your bitter, angry hearts to feel some shame for what you’ve done to him.” He shook his head. “I just can’t believe you would do this to your own brother. You deserve whatever you get.”
With that, Oliver Disapparated back to Percy’s London flat. He was extremely disappointed to find it empty.
Where could he be? Oliver worried. The only other place he could think of was his own flat, so he Apparated there immediately.
No Percy. No sign that he had been there, either. Terror was beginning to mount in Oliver’s chest. Where was Percy?
***
Percy appeared in a small alley paved with cobblestones. He had been there once, three years ago, on an errand for Mr. Crouch. It was the only place he ould think of where nobody would recognise or bother him. He looked at the street sign.
Good, he thought. He felt exactly the opposite. There was a weight in the pit of his stomach. He felt uncomfortably short of breath. His skin felt simultaneously hot and clammy.
A dirty, ragged, bearded man pushed past him.
“Excuse you!” Percy said crossly.
“Bitte?” the man replied, confused.
He had forgot already. No English. He shook his head and waved the man away. This would either be the greatest decision of his life, or the worst.
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The Weight of Living