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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
- 24
- 25
Percy was hired by the German Ministry for Magic almost immediately. Fortunately for him, his exploits as Mr Crouch’s assistant hadn’t made it across the Channel. He worked, as before, as an assistant to a high-level minister. What made it challenging was Percy’s low-level German-language skills. He studied for two hours every night and had even hired a tutor, with whom he met three times a week. He still didn’t feel like he was improving fast enough.
Percy was miserable. He was lonely, he didn’t understand the majority of what went on around him, and, most of all, he missed Oliver. Every night before he went to sleep, he talked to his button as if he were having an actual conversation with Oliver. He told Oliver about his day, his struggles adapting, and just how lonely he was. He wanted so badly to summon Oliver; he wanted to see him, to talk to him, to touch him. Had he made the right decision? Should he have stayed? Sometimes Percy wasn’t sure.
***
Oliver had been asked to help re-form Quidditch teams after the war. So many players had died or received career-ending injuries; it was a daunting task.
He had refused. He couldn’t imagine a world without Percy in it, and if he was going to find Percy, he couldn’t be focusing all of his energy on other things. He had to find Percy. He was so lonely. He hadn’t realised just how much Percy had improved his life until he’d disappeared. His bed was cold. His flat was empty. He didn’t know what to do with himself. So he threw himself into the search for Percy.
Oliver’s first task was to search the Ministry archives. Maybe there would be a long-lost Weasley relative, someone with whom Percy was close, that Percy might be staying with. Oliver spent three uninterrupted days going through boxes upon boxes of parchment. Oliver lamented the fact that he had never asked Percy more about his family. That would have made this task less Sisyphean.
On the fourth day, Oliver’s eyes were on fire. He had been skimming tonnes of rolls of parchment with very few breaks and little sleep. He’d found three possibilities: a great-aunt, a distant cousin, and a relative of Mrs. Weasley – a Prewett. His next task was to find their addresses. Oliver sighed. He would have to go through the new Minister for that.
Kingsley Shacklebolt had been appointed Minister not long after the final battle. It had been unanimous – it would be the most stable Minister, the best for rebuilding the government from the ground up. So far, just two weeks in, he had appointed new heads of most departments as well as hired about a dozen new Aurors. Oliver had heard that both Harry Potter and Ron Weasley had been hired as Aurors. He could understand Shacklebolt’s decision on Potter, but Weasley? Ron had always been below-standard. Oliver wouldn’t feel safe with Ron Weasley protecting him.
Oliver had heard that Professor McGonagall had been asked to head up the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, but that she had chosen to stay at Hogwarts. Oliver wasn’t surprised; he reckoned she would live out the rest of her days there. But so far, the outlook was good. Oliver had mostly high hopes. Rebuilding was obviously going to be very slow, and extremely tedious, but they had to do it right, or else they would end up in the same situation.
Pushing himself to a standing position, Oliver nearly toppled over. His legs were numb from sitting on them for so long. Again. He walked in circles, holding tightly to a shelf, until he was certain he could hold himself up.
He Apparated to the Minister’s office and waited for his secretary, a thin redhead who reminded Oliver of Percy. The young man had wavy hair and a smattering of freckles, but his nose was more rounded and he didn’t wear glasses.
“Can I help you?” the man said.
His voice was different, too, Oliver noticed. Where Percy’s was like a warm jumper on a chilly day, this man’s leaned towards an unpotted Mandrake. Oliver flinched.
“Is the Minister available?” Oliver asked.
The man scoffed. “Do you think you can just walk in and see the Minister?” he asked scornfully.
“As a matter of fact,” Oliver said sharply, “I do. I’m certain he will see me. We fought together at the Battle of Hogwarts.”
The man looked chastened, but didn’t move.
Oliver glared at him. “What are you waiting for?” he asked, irritated. “I can’t speak to him through the door.” Idiot, he added mentally.
Oliver’s tone seemed to motivate Percy-lite to summon the Minister. He stood, turned, and knocked on Shacklebolt’s door. The door opened and Oliver saw Kingsley’s kind face.
“Oliver!” Kingsley said warmly. “Please, come in. I hope Shane hasn’t kept you waiting.”
Oliver shot Shane a sidelong glance and shook his head. “No, of course not,” he replied. “I need to speak to you, Minister. It’s a matter of some importance. May I come in?”
“Yes, of course,” Kingsley replied, gesturing to his open office. He stood aside to allow Oliver entry. Oliver walked past and waited for him to shut the door.
The office was smaller than he’d expected. There was a medium-sized mahogany desk in the left corner facing the window overlooking the street; a single overstuffed armchair beside a small end table overloaded with leatherbound books; and several bookshelves nearly overflowing with books. Kingsley was clearly a well-read man, Oliver thought. Or at least he liked to keep up that appearance.
“Please, take a seat,” Kingsley said, gesturing to the armchair. Oliver obliged, sinking into the extremely comfortable, squishy chair.
“What can I do for you?” the Minister asked, settling into his desk chair.
“Well,” Oliver said, suddenly very nervous. What if Kingsley refused? What would he do then? He decided not to think about that, and instead focus on him accepting Oliver’s request. “Well,” Oliver restarted, “I’m sure you’ve heard...being good friends with the Weasleys...about Percy...and me...” Oliver realised he was floundering. “That we’re...”
“Yes, Oliver, Arthur mentioned it,” Kingsley said kindly, saving Oliver from further verbal embarrassment.
Thank Merlin, Oliver thought. It wasn’t that he was ashamed; far from it. He just wasn’t in the mood – or the mental state – to explain their relationship. He didn’t want to expend the energy or waste the time.
“Then,” Oliver continued, “Arthur must have told you...that...Percy has, erm, disappeared.” The weight in Oliver’s chest got heavier. He hadn’t ever said it out loud. Saying it made it real. Talking about it with other people meant that Percy was really gone. What if Oliver never found him? What if he was...dead? Oliver didn’t know what he would do if that was the case. Without Percy, Oliver would wither and die, like Devil’s Snare in the sun.
“He did mention that,” Kingsley said, a note of concern in his voice. “He didn’t say why.”
Oliver didn’t offer any explanation. Thinking about the afternoon still made him too angry. He still couldn’t believe that the Weasleys were so hateful.
“How can I help you?” Kingsley continued.
Oliver bit his lower lip. “Well,” he said for what felt like the dozenth time, “you can imagine that I’m terribly worried about Percy.” He paused, and Kingsley nodded. Oliver forged ahead. “Anyway, I’ve spent the last three days in the archives, looking for possible Weasley relatives, somewhere Percy could be hiding.” He paused, searching for a reaction on Kingsley’s face. “And I’ve found three.”
“So what can I do?”
“I need to know where they live.”
Kingsley frowned. He stroked the stubble on his chin. “Normally I would decline such a request,” he said slowly, “but I’m certain that Molly and Arthur also want their son back.” He paused. “If it were just about anyone else, I would be more reluctant to do this.” He looked Oliver in the eye. “But I want to make this clear: I’m only doing this because the Weasleys are close friends. I’m still rather reluctant to bend the rules, but Percy was – and would be – a terrific asset to the Ministry.”
Oliver felt his temper rising. Was that really all they thought Percy was good for? Percy was a human being. He wasn’t just a Ministry automaton. He had thoughts and feelings, too. He deserved to be thought of, and treated like, more than just a ‘terrific asset to the Ministry’.
Hold your tongue, he told himself. If you explode, he won’t help you. Smile and nod. Oliver jerked his head upwards in what could barely be considered a nod.
If Kingsley noticed Oliver’s tense expression, he didn’t mention it. “Who are you looking for?” he asked.
Oliver named the three people he had found in the archives.
“Trinity Prewett is dead,” Kingsley said immediately. “In the First Wizarding War.”
Oliver frowned. His pool of possibilities was getting smaller.
“But Muriel Weasley...” Kingsley trailed off, rolling his eyes. “It’s unlikely Percy would be there. Muriel is a piece of work. She’s Arthur’s aunt, and he can barely stand her.”
Oliver shrugged. “It’s worth a visit.”
“If you wish.” Kingsley summoned a thick book, a roll of parchment, and a quill. Flipping to a page in the middle, Kingsley copied an address on the parchment.
“And Bertrand Weasley?” Oliver prompted, as Kingsley looked poised to close the book.
“Ah, yes,” Kingsley replied slowly. “I don’t imagine he’ll be of much help.”
Oliver cocked his head, confused.
“You see,” Kingsley began, “Bertrand got hit with an improperly-cast Stunning Spell many years ago and it left him permanently Stunned. He’s now a fixture in St. Mungo’s.”
Oliver sighed. This didn’t look good at all.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help,” Kingsley said. He sounded truly apologetic. “If I had the resources, I would offer them to you. However, as you’ve seen, the Ministry is severely understaffed, and it will take quite a long time to get it back to pre-war levels.” He shrugged his shoulders as if to say But what can you do?
Oliver nodded. “I appreciate your help,” he said, turning to go.
“Good luck,” Kingsley said as Oliver left the office.
Oliver narrowed his eyes at Kingsley’s assistant as he walked past. Who was that Percy lookalike to stop him from finding his Percy?
As Oliver left the Ministry, he felt more depressed than when he had entered. He had come up to Kingsley’s office with three names and a fair amount of hope. He was leaving with one address and the slight chance that Percy might be at his great-aunt Muriel’s. Oliver sighed and frowned. Percy was really making this difficult.
He could at least owl me, Oliver thought. Tell me he’s okay. He worried about Percy every waking moment. Was he okay? Was he getting enough to eat? Was he even alive? The last question frightened him the most. What is he found Percy – but it was his corpse? Oliver shuddered. He couldn’t imagine such a horrible scenario.
He Apparated to Muriel Weasley’s house from the Atrium at the Ministry. He stood in front of her house, biting his lip, pondering what to say, when the door flew open.
“You! Boy! What are you doing in my garden!” There was a hunched old woman standing in the doorway, leaning on a gnarled cane, wand raised.
Startled, Oliver couldn’t think of a response.
“Boy!” the woman shouted again. “I’m talking to you! What are you doing in my garden? If you don’t answer me straightaway, I’ll summon the Aurors!”
Her response was so ridiculous, Oliver nearly laughed. But he held back; that wouldn’t help him at all.
“My name is Oliver Wood, Mrs. Weasley,” Oliver called. He kept his tone as friendly as possible. “Your grand-nephew, Percy, has gone missing, and I was wondering if he was staying here.”
Her face didn’t change. Or if it did, Oliver couldn’t tell.
“Percy?” she said with a cackle. “Good riddance. That boy has caused his parents more heartache than he’s worth. Wherever he is, it’s not here. We’re all better off without him.” She watched Oliver intently. “Why are you looking for him, anyway? Why do you care?
Oliver clenched his jaw tightly. Was she trying to wind him up? Because if she was, it was working. He heard Percy’s voice in his head, trying to calm him. She’s a bitter old bat, mind-Percy said soothingly. Don’t let her get to you. I’m out there somewhere. You’ll find me. I have faith in you.
“I care, Mrs. Weasley,” Oliver began in a clipped tone, “because - “ Should he tell her? He decided against it. Why should he share his – their – joy with such a bitter person? “Because he’s my friend,” Oliver finished. “Because I’m worried about him. He was very upset when he left, and I’m concerned he might have done something...irresponsible.”
Muriel looked Oliver up and down. She looked left and right, as though she was checking for neighbours, and then said, “Come a bit closer, boy. I don’t need the entire street to hear our conversation.”
Oliver took a few steps forward.
“That’s close enough!”
Oliver stopped. He was perhaps two metres away from where he had been, and still nearly five metres from the house. How this was better, Oliver didn’t know, but he didn’t want to get on her bad side in case she had any information.
“Boy,” Muriel said, staring him down, “I don’t know anything about Percy’s disappearance.” She paused. “But if I did, I wouldn’t tell you; Molly and Arthur deserve a break from that ungrateful, selfish brat.”
Oliver’s temper flared.
“You don’t know Percy at all,” he said angrily. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. Percy is kind, caring, and selfless. No one understands him!”
Muriel looked at him curiously.
“What you’re telling me,” Oliver said, his voice getting louder, “is that you would rather he died than tell me anything. You are a despicable woman.” He glared at her. “Utterly despicable. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Muriel didn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed as Oliver upbraided her. She stared him directly in the eye, as if she was challenging him.
“If he’s injured, or worse, dead, and I find out you withheld information that could have saved him, you’d better hope that I don’t find you,” Oliver threatened.
“Threatening a feeble old woman,” Muriel said sharply. “You’re quite the big man.”
Oliver didn’t respond. He was focusing on his own problems. Now he was back at square one. He had no information on Percy. He had no idea where to look. He might as well go home. He shot Muriel Weasley another nasty look and Disapparated.
- 24
- 25
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The Weight of Living