SLASH FIC: Fire and Death 2/? [Harry Potter]
Title: Fire and Death
Author: Feygan
Completion Date: WIP
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: FR 15
Pairings: Percy/Oliver, Fred/George, Hermione/Ron
Warning: violence, language, disturbing imagery
LiveJournal: http://feygan.livejournal.com
Home: http://www.darkgesture.com/fanfiction.htm
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CHAPTER TWO
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The hard shell that had grown over Percy suddenly cracked and fell away, the zig-zagged shaped edges oddly smooth, gleaming with an eerie shine.
At Dumbledore's order, the Great Hall had been cleared out since they had been unable to move Percy. The only ones left were Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, Snape, Madam Pompfrey, and the guilty-faced Weasley twins. The rest of the staff had accompanied the students, though Hooch had managed to get a promise out of McGonagall that she'd be fully informed of whatever went on. Flitwick had looked like he was going to faint, so it was a relief to just have him out of the way, and keeping students out of trouble gave him the sense that he was being useful.
"What happened to him?" Fred demanded, his voice cracking. His eyes were about three times their size and he was unashamedly clutching George's hand.
When Percy had fallen from his chair he had been dressed in a neatly pressed dark blue robe and his hair had been freshly clipped the week before. Now he was dressed in ragged old trousers and a matching long sleeved shirt that might once have been black, but had been worn thin and grey by time and use. His feet were bare and dirty, perfect pink soles shining through the dirt. He was filthy and his hair fell around his shoulders in a tousled mess that wasn't quite a single tangle.
"I've never seen him so dirty," George whispered.
Snape dared to once again reach out his hand. This time there was no flash of pain and burning flesh. He laid his hand on Percy's forehead, carefully swiping back the hair so he could press his palm flat against the boy's skin. "He's a little warm, but I don't sense anything wrong with him other than the fact that he is suddenly filthy and has abnormally long hair for Mr. Weasley."
Percy suddenly moaned, a strange guttural sound that was almost feral in its intensity. His eyelids twitched and lifted to reveal eyes that blazed. There was very little sanity in them.
With a suddenness no one was expecting, he rolled and was on his feet, his knees a little bent and his fingers curled into claws, ready to attack anyone that got too close.
* * *
He didn't know what spell the Enemy had worked, but he was prepared for anything. The moment before his eyes snapped open, he had instinctively gathered power around him in a crackle of energy beneath his skin. All he needed was a target to lash out at.
"Percy?"
He looked at the one that had spoken, the cruel illusion wearing the face of one of his dead brothers. His lips drew back from his teeth in a snarl of rage. The Enemy dared to bring up such a view?
"I'll crush you," he growled, his voice raspy from disuse. He glared at the figure that looked remarkably like Fred, then dragged his eyes over the others, all of those he had loved and watched die. "This is going too far. I will kill you."
"Please Percy, what's happening? Why are you dressed like that? What happened to you?" George asked, taking a step toward him. It was a mistake.
Without hesitation, Percy struck out with a Killing Curse. A blast of blue laced white lightning was sent crackling through the air, burning from the tips of his fingers. The air rippled and wove around the power of the Curse and there were split shadows of something else half-seen between the passage of the lightning, a glimpse at some hell world none of them ever wanted to see for real.
The only thing that saved George was his quick backpedal. He had never seen such a look of rage on Percy's face, and his instinctive step back and stumbling over his own feet saved his life. Even sprawled out on the floor with a bruised tailbone was better than letting that whatever hit him. He could feel the death on that spell and was only glad to still be alive.
"I am tired of playing your game!" Percy screamed. His face went red with rage and his hair prickled with static electricity, rising above his head in glistening, blood-hued strands. His hands clenched into tight fists and he glared at them all. "Let's finish this!"
It was with horror that they watched as his eyes turned solid black and his feet rose up off the floor. He hovered three feet in the air with blue-white bolts of electricity snapping the air around him. As the power pulled tighter around him, his flesh whitened to a velvet ivory and his shoulder length hair fell to frame his face, flattening out into perfect, untangled locks. He was more beautiful than he had ever been, but it was a terrible, killing beauty. There was no mercy in him.
He had fought for all of the years of his second life, and for years before that. He had killed the allies of his enemy and some of his own people that had been wrapped so tightly in pain that death was the only mercy left to them. He had stood silent and unmoved by the deaths of all of his friends, his family, everyone he had ever known or could know. He had stood with silent eyes as the human race was extinguished and only he was left behind. He did not think of the Enemy as being human, and soon he would die anyway.
This last cruelty was one trick too many. He could not take anymore, would not take anymore.
"I am the God of Fire and Death," he said, his voice ringing throughout the hall with a terrible clarity, echoing off the high ceilings. "I am the Scythe of Heaven, born to bring down ruin on my enemies. I am the Weapon. As the last Holder of the Key, I trigger my own vengeance. I end this now."
The building began to rumble and the floor rippled with visible waves. Fred and George grabbed and leaned against each other to stay upright, while the others stumbled and fell to their knees, their faces wincing with pain and fear. They didn't know what Percy was going to do, but they knew it was bad.
For himself, Percy was tired of all the hiding and games. He was tired of always having to play by the rules the Enemy had set. It was his turn to do what he wanted, his turn to cause pain.
Within him had been built a gateway to great power. It was like flipping a switch to let the power flood into him until that was all there was. He had been empty for so long, ever since he had woken naked on that table, paralyzed and afraid of what was going to happen. He had been empty, but when he opened himself to it, he could fill himself with more power than any human body ever should have been able to hold.
In death he had been remade into something inhuman. He was the Weapon.
Power crackled over his skin and he could feel the living energy that flowed through the earth, feeding him. He was strong enough to destroy the world. It was a beautiful feeling.
For decades he had allowed the Enemy to taunt and torment him. Without anyone to give him the order to just destroy the Enemy, he had been forced to endure his presence. But things were different now.
To take on the face of Percy's brothers and create simulicra of his friends, that was a step beyond what could be allowed. It was time to show the Enemy what it meant to deal with a Weapon for the Good.
"I will kill you, Voldemort," he hissed, his voice ringing through the sudden stillness. There was very little sanity left in it. All he could see was his Enemy, all he could feel was his hate.
"Holy shit!" Fred whispered, clutching his twin tighter. They had been born together, and now they were going to die together, at the hand of their older brother.
The solid black of Percy's eyes swirled with the light of a thousand stars. Words began whispering from his lips, gaining volume with each passing second until they reverberated off the high ceilings of the Great Hall. His voice rang out clear, but the words he spoke were somehow garbled, ugly sounding and fearful. Those listening had to cover their ears as the terrible words tried to drill their way into their brains. To listen to what Percy said in the hopes of attaining understanding was to seek insanity... to decipher the words would be to give up on everything that came before, because only the words would be left.
The ground shook and the lights flickered and dimmed. Deadly power filled the room.
Finally, it was all going to be over. Percy would defeat the Enemy and finally be able to rest. Either that or he would lose and would have his final peace at last. He could only hope to never have to open his eyes again, to finally be able to let this nightmare existence go.
But as the power thrummed through him and he began the long, dark spell, there was a voice in his head screaming "Wait a minute! Something's not right. Think about this!" It was an oddly familiar voice, though he couldn't stand to put a name to it. The pain was still too fresh, even after all these years.
Standing on the precipice of total destruction, Percy paused and pulled back.
He stepped down out of the air, letting his feet touch the solid ground. With gliding footsteps, he approached the cowering group. His nostrils flared as he smelled the air and his fingers felt the reality of their flesh when he reached out and prodded George's side. "You're not an illusion," he said, his voice cracking a little with the strain of normal speech. It had been so long since he had faced a normal human--the Enemy didn't count.
"Of course I'm not a bloody illusion," George rasped out. He had been so scared, and now Percy was acting just like the prat he'd always been. "What the bloody hell's happened to you, Percy? One little spell and five minutes later you're trying to kill everybody. What's going on?"
"I don't know," Percy's voice wavered, the blackness slipping from his eyes as he spoke. "Is this real? Am I dreaming again? Is this some new attack? Are you really my brother George?"
"Of course I'm your brother George, who else am I supposed to be?" George shouted. "You scared the bloody piss out of me Percy! What's going on?"
"I don't know anymore," Percy whispered, stepping back, turning away. His shoulders shook, but no tears would fall. Even the ability to grieve had been taken away from him. He was the Weapon, and weapons don't cry, not even when they're hurting so bad inside that it's like an open wound being rubbed raw by reality. Bad things happen and crying won't make them any better, that's what he'd been told, what he'd learned through all the pain and blood.
"What did you do to me?" he asked. "How did I get here?"
"What are you talking about?" Fred demanded. He was starting to get angry. Percy had scared the hell out of him. "You've been here the whole time!"
"But..." Percy raised his hand to his mouth, gnawing on his knuckles. "I was in the Ruins. I felt the magic touch me and I got sucked in. None of this can be real, it can't be. This is just some spell, a trick to fool me, to make me lower my defenses. I won't be fooled. I can't be fooled. I want it so much... but I can't!"
"Stop that right now, Mr. Weasley!" Snape stomped forward, ripping Percy's hand away from his mouth. "Look at that, you're bleeding now."
Percy glanced down at his hand disinterestedly. He watched as the silver sparkles shimmered across his skin and the wounds healed themselves instantly. "Pain doesn't last," he whispered. "Nothing lasts. This is just a dream. I'll wake up, and none of this is real. It's never real."
He wrapped his arms around himself and backed away from them all. He looked like he was going to fade away at any moment. He was just going to disappear and none of them were ever going to see him again.
Not even knowing he was going to do it, George leapt forward and grabbed Percy by the shoulders, jerking him close against him, chest to chest. He pressed his forehead against his older brother's and stared into Percy's eyes from barely an inch away.
It had been a long time since they'd been this close, not since he was a little boy and Percy had become his priggish older brother. He hadn't seen Percy's eyes from this close in what felt like forever. He had never noticed the gray flecks in Percy's hazel eyes before; it was something strange and new.
"This is the real world, Percy," he rasped. "I don't know what's going on with you, and frankly, I don't fucking care. You're my brother, I'm your brother, and this isn't some fucking dream you're having. I don't know where all the weird powers are coming from with you, but I am standing right here and I am not moving a foot until you realize that I am George Weasley, your brother, and you are Percival Weasley, my brother. Do you understand me, Percy? Do you?"
Percy just looked at him. "It feels so real, and I want it to be so much. But... it's never been real before. You all left me alone. If I make this real, will you just leave me again? I don't want to be by myself." He sounded like a child, and it was painful to hear. Percy wasn't supposed to sound like that, not ever.
"You're not," George said. "We're right here with you, and we're not going to leave you, not ever."
Percy made a breathy sound and threw himself against George, wrapping his arms tight around him, burying his face against George's neck. "Never leave, never leave, never leave, never..." he just kept repeating as George held him, eventually striking up the courage to stroke his older brother's back in comforting waves.
"It's all right now, Percy. It's all, all right."
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TBC...
Author: Feygan
Completion Date: WIP
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: FR 15
Pairings: Percy/Oliver, Fred/George, Hermione/Ron
Warning: violence, language, disturbing imagery
LiveJournal: http://feygan.livejournal.com
Home: http://www.darkgesture.com/fanfiction.htm
.
.
CHAPTER TWO
.
The hard shell that had grown over Percy suddenly cracked and fell away, the zig-zagged shaped edges oddly smooth, gleaming with an eerie shine.
At Dumbledore's order, the Great Hall had been cleared out since they had been unable to move Percy. The only ones left were Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, Snape, Madam Pompfrey, and the guilty-faced Weasley twins. The rest of the staff had accompanied the students, though Hooch had managed to get a promise out of McGonagall that she'd be fully informed of whatever went on. Flitwick had looked like he was going to faint, so it was a relief to just have him out of the way, and keeping students out of trouble gave him the sense that he was being useful.
"What happened to him?" Fred demanded, his voice cracking. His eyes were about three times their size and he was unashamedly clutching George's hand.
When Percy had fallen from his chair he had been dressed in a neatly pressed dark blue robe and his hair had been freshly clipped the week before. Now he was dressed in ragged old trousers and a matching long sleeved shirt that might once have been black, but had been worn thin and grey by time and use. His feet were bare and dirty, perfect pink soles shining through the dirt. He was filthy and his hair fell around his shoulders in a tousled mess that wasn't quite a single tangle.
"I've never seen him so dirty," George whispered.
Snape dared to once again reach out his hand. This time there was no flash of pain and burning flesh. He laid his hand on Percy's forehead, carefully swiping back the hair so he could press his palm flat against the boy's skin. "He's a little warm, but I don't sense anything wrong with him other than the fact that he is suddenly filthy and has abnormally long hair for Mr. Weasley."
Percy suddenly moaned, a strange guttural sound that was almost feral in its intensity. His eyelids twitched and lifted to reveal eyes that blazed. There was very little sanity in them.
With a suddenness no one was expecting, he rolled and was on his feet, his knees a little bent and his fingers curled into claws, ready to attack anyone that got too close.
* * *
He didn't know what spell the Enemy had worked, but he was prepared for anything. The moment before his eyes snapped open, he had instinctively gathered power around him in a crackle of energy beneath his skin. All he needed was a target to lash out at.
"Percy?"
He looked at the one that had spoken, the cruel illusion wearing the face of one of his dead brothers. His lips drew back from his teeth in a snarl of rage. The Enemy dared to bring up such a view?
"I'll crush you," he growled, his voice raspy from disuse. He glared at the figure that looked remarkably like Fred, then dragged his eyes over the others, all of those he had loved and watched die. "This is going too far. I will kill you."
"Please Percy, what's happening? Why are you dressed like that? What happened to you?" George asked, taking a step toward him. It was a mistake.
Without hesitation, Percy struck out with a Killing Curse. A blast of blue laced white lightning was sent crackling through the air, burning from the tips of his fingers. The air rippled and wove around the power of the Curse and there were split shadows of something else half-seen between the passage of the lightning, a glimpse at some hell world none of them ever wanted to see for real.
The only thing that saved George was his quick backpedal. He had never seen such a look of rage on Percy's face, and his instinctive step back and stumbling over his own feet saved his life. Even sprawled out on the floor with a bruised tailbone was better than letting that whatever hit him. He could feel the death on that spell and was only glad to still be alive.
"I am tired of playing your game!" Percy screamed. His face went red with rage and his hair prickled with static electricity, rising above his head in glistening, blood-hued strands. His hands clenched into tight fists and he glared at them all. "Let's finish this!"
It was with horror that they watched as his eyes turned solid black and his feet rose up off the floor. He hovered three feet in the air with blue-white bolts of electricity snapping the air around him. As the power pulled tighter around him, his flesh whitened to a velvet ivory and his shoulder length hair fell to frame his face, flattening out into perfect, untangled locks. He was more beautiful than he had ever been, but it was a terrible, killing beauty. There was no mercy in him.
He had fought for all of the years of his second life, and for years before that. He had killed the allies of his enemy and some of his own people that had been wrapped so tightly in pain that death was the only mercy left to them. He had stood silent and unmoved by the deaths of all of his friends, his family, everyone he had ever known or could know. He had stood with silent eyes as the human race was extinguished and only he was left behind. He did not think of the Enemy as being human, and soon he would die anyway.
This last cruelty was one trick too many. He could not take anymore, would not take anymore.
"I am the God of Fire and Death," he said, his voice ringing throughout the hall with a terrible clarity, echoing off the high ceilings. "I am the Scythe of Heaven, born to bring down ruin on my enemies. I am the Weapon. As the last Holder of the Key, I trigger my own vengeance. I end this now."
The building began to rumble and the floor rippled with visible waves. Fred and George grabbed and leaned against each other to stay upright, while the others stumbled and fell to their knees, their faces wincing with pain and fear. They didn't know what Percy was going to do, but they knew it was bad.
For himself, Percy was tired of all the hiding and games. He was tired of always having to play by the rules the Enemy had set. It was his turn to do what he wanted, his turn to cause pain.
Within him had been built a gateway to great power. It was like flipping a switch to let the power flood into him until that was all there was. He had been empty for so long, ever since he had woken naked on that table, paralyzed and afraid of what was going to happen. He had been empty, but when he opened himself to it, he could fill himself with more power than any human body ever should have been able to hold.
In death he had been remade into something inhuman. He was the Weapon.
Power crackled over his skin and he could feel the living energy that flowed through the earth, feeding him. He was strong enough to destroy the world. It was a beautiful feeling.
For decades he had allowed the Enemy to taunt and torment him. Without anyone to give him the order to just destroy the Enemy, he had been forced to endure his presence. But things were different now.
To take on the face of Percy's brothers and create simulicra of his friends, that was a step beyond what could be allowed. It was time to show the Enemy what it meant to deal with a Weapon for the Good.
"I will kill you, Voldemort," he hissed, his voice ringing through the sudden stillness. There was very little sanity left in it. All he could see was his Enemy, all he could feel was his hate.
"Holy shit!" Fred whispered, clutching his twin tighter. They had been born together, and now they were going to die together, at the hand of their older brother.
The solid black of Percy's eyes swirled with the light of a thousand stars. Words began whispering from his lips, gaining volume with each passing second until they reverberated off the high ceilings of the Great Hall. His voice rang out clear, but the words he spoke were somehow garbled, ugly sounding and fearful. Those listening had to cover their ears as the terrible words tried to drill their way into their brains. To listen to what Percy said in the hopes of attaining understanding was to seek insanity... to decipher the words would be to give up on everything that came before, because only the words would be left.
The ground shook and the lights flickered and dimmed. Deadly power filled the room.
Finally, it was all going to be over. Percy would defeat the Enemy and finally be able to rest. Either that or he would lose and would have his final peace at last. He could only hope to never have to open his eyes again, to finally be able to let this nightmare existence go.
But as the power thrummed through him and he began the long, dark spell, there was a voice in his head screaming "Wait a minute! Something's not right. Think about this!" It was an oddly familiar voice, though he couldn't stand to put a name to it. The pain was still too fresh, even after all these years.
Standing on the precipice of total destruction, Percy paused and pulled back.
He stepped down out of the air, letting his feet touch the solid ground. With gliding footsteps, he approached the cowering group. His nostrils flared as he smelled the air and his fingers felt the reality of their flesh when he reached out and prodded George's side. "You're not an illusion," he said, his voice cracking a little with the strain of normal speech. It had been so long since he had faced a normal human--the Enemy didn't count.
"Of course I'm not a bloody illusion," George rasped out. He had been so scared, and now Percy was acting just like the prat he'd always been. "What the bloody hell's happened to you, Percy? One little spell and five minutes later you're trying to kill everybody. What's going on?"
"I don't know," Percy's voice wavered, the blackness slipping from his eyes as he spoke. "Is this real? Am I dreaming again? Is this some new attack? Are you really my brother George?"
"Of course I'm your brother George, who else am I supposed to be?" George shouted. "You scared the bloody piss out of me Percy! What's going on?"
"I don't know anymore," Percy whispered, stepping back, turning away. His shoulders shook, but no tears would fall. Even the ability to grieve had been taken away from him. He was the Weapon, and weapons don't cry, not even when they're hurting so bad inside that it's like an open wound being rubbed raw by reality. Bad things happen and crying won't make them any better, that's what he'd been told, what he'd learned through all the pain and blood.
"What did you do to me?" he asked. "How did I get here?"
"What are you talking about?" Fred demanded. He was starting to get angry. Percy had scared the hell out of him. "You've been here the whole time!"
"But..." Percy raised his hand to his mouth, gnawing on his knuckles. "I was in the Ruins. I felt the magic touch me and I got sucked in. None of this can be real, it can't be. This is just some spell, a trick to fool me, to make me lower my defenses. I won't be fooled. I can't be fooled. I want it so much... but I can't!"
"Stop that right now, Mr. Weasley!" Snape stomped forward, ripping Percy's hand away from his mouth. "Look at that, you're bleeding now."
Percy glanced down at his hand disinterestedly. He watched as the silver sparkles shimmered across his skin and the wounds healed themselves instantly. "Pain doesn't last," he whispered. "Nothing lasts. This is just a dream. I'll wake up, and none of this is real. It's never real."
He wrapped his arms around himself and backed away from them all. He looked like he was going to fade away at any moment. He was just going to disappear and none of them were ever going to see him again.
Not even knowing he was going to do it, George leapt forward and grabbed Percy by the shoulders, jerking him close against him, chest to chest. He pressed his forehead against his older brother's and stared into Percy's eyes from barely an inch away.
It had been a long time since they'd been this close, not since he was a little boy and Percy had become his priggish older brother. He hadn't seen Percy's eyes from this close in what felt like forever. He had never noticed the gray flecks in Percy's hazel eyes before; it was something strange and new.
"This is the real world, Percy," he rasped. "I don't know what's going on with you, and frankly, I don't fucking care. You're my brother, I'm your brother, and this isn't some fucking dream you're having. I don't know where all the weird powers are coming from with you, but I am standing right here and I am not moving a foot until you realize that I am George Weasley, your brother, and you are Percival Weasley, my brother. Do you understand me, Percy? Do you?"
Percy just looked at him. "It feels so real, and I want it to be so much. But... it's never been real before. You all left me alone. If I make this real, will you just leave me again? I don't want to be by myself." He sounded like a child, and it was painful to hear. Percy wasn't supposed to sound like that, not ever.
"You're not," George said. "We're right here with you, and we're not going to leave you, not ever."
Percy made a breathy sound and threw himself against George, wrapping his arms tight around him, burying his face against George's neck. "Never leave, never leave, never leave, never..." he just kept repeating as George held him, eventually striking up the courage to stroke his older brother's back in comforting waves.
"It's all right now, Percy. It's all, all right."
.
TBC...