Challenge #15, Misery Guts Worry Warts, seaborne, G
Title: Misery Guts Worry Warts
Author: seaborne
Rating: G
Character/Pairing: Percy, reference to Percy/Penelope.
Genre: Angst
Warnings: Thoroughly depressing.
Word Count: 497
“It’ll have to be filled in, of course,” the dark-haired man says firmly, looking to Percy not for approval but for confirmation that the red-haired man has heard any of what he has said.
Dazed, Percy nods. He isn’t quite certain what he’s doing there, or how he has fallen from Assistant to the Minister for Magic to - no, he has no idea what job title he currently holds. The Ministry have taken to shuffling him around departments weekly, keeping him on only out of loyalty to his father.
He looks older than his age now. The only remnant of the schoolboy Percy is his red-hair, which contrast sharply with his pale, near-grey complexion. His eyes no longer burn with a thirst for knowledge, for success, but are duller and glassier. His clothes are clean and pressed, Penelope makes sure of that, but his robes show wear from continued alterations as his weight continues to fall. One corner of his shirt collar pokes resolutely out over the top of his robes but he makes no effort to correct it.
Realising that the other man seems to expect further response, Percy moves towards the tunnel, patting the sides as if assessing its structure. “Have your men ready, Oliver,” he says slowly, and it is clear he cares little about the matter in hand. “I’ll investigate further.”
He moves wearily down through the tunnel, aware that his robes are dragging through the puddles but refusing to pick them up. Further inside the tunnel he realises he cannot see and half-heartedly raises his wand to illuminate his way. His muttered ‘lumos’ produces a gentle, flickering light which reveals something of his surroundings, though he hardly cares enough to look. The uneven tunnel floor is littered with droppings - owl, Percy assumes, knowing the lengths the birds go to in order to deliver their post - and there are vague impressions in the ground, footprints mostly, but also the circular imprint of a cane.
For a moment, memories flicker in the depths of his mind and his eyes brighten with curiosity, but this is soon quashed by the heaviness which has taken over his mind and soul recently, reminding him constantly of his failures and mistakes. His thoughts forgotten as quickly as they came, he takes two steps forward, stepping clumsily through puddles and prints, with no further consideration of the secrets such evidence may have told. Two more steps, slow and lazy, his robes caught underfoot and muddied but he does not care. Penelope will care. When he arrives home, she will scold him gently, taking the muddied clothes from him and cleaning them. She worries about him but he doesn’t notice. He barely notices anything now.
Further along the tunnel, someone is listening carefully, wand ready for conflict. Percy doesn’t notice. Tired of the dull, dark surroundings, he turns and leaves. A nod to the dark-haired man ensures the tunnel will be filled in tomorrow and its inhabitants will remain hidden, its secrets untold.
Élo the Snake.
Author: seaborne
Rating: G
Character/Pairing: Percy, reference to Percy/Penelope.
Genre: Angst
Warnings: Thoroughly depressing.
Word Count: 497
“It’ll have to be filled in, of course,” the dark-haired man says firmly, looking to Percy not for approval but for confirmation that the red-haired man has heard any of what he has said.
Dazed, Percy nods. He isn’t quite certain what he’s doing there, or how he has fallen from Assistant to the Minister for Magic to - no, he has no idea what job title he currently holds. The Ministry have taken to shuffling him around departments weekly, keeping him on only out of loyalty to his father.
He looks older than his age now. The only remnant of the schoolboy Percy is his red-hair, which contrast sharply with his pale, near-grey complexion. His eyes no longer burn with a thirst for knowledge, for success, but are duller and glassier. His clothes are clean and pressed, Penelope makes sure of that, but his robes show wear from continued alterations as his weight continues to fall. One corner of his shirt collar pokes resolutely out over the top of his robes but he makes no effort to correct it.
Realising that the other man seems to expect further response, Percy moves towards the tunnel, patting the sides as if assessing its structure. “Have your men ready, Oliver,” he says slowly, and it is clear he cares little about the matter in hand. “I’ll investigate further.”
He moves wearily down through the tunnel, aware that his robes are dragging through the puddles but refusing to pick them up. Further inside the tunnel he realises he cannot see and half-heartedly raises his wand to illuminate his way. His muttered ‘lumos’ produces a gentle, flickering light which reveals something of his surroundings, though he hardly cares enough to look. The uneven tunnel floor is littered with droppings - owl, Percy assumes, knowing the lengths the birds go to in order to deliver their post - and there are vague impressions in the ground, footprints mostly, but also the circular imprint of a cane.
For a moment, memories flicker in the depths of his mind and his eyes brighten with curiosity, but this is soon quashed by the heaviness which has taken over his mind and soul recently, reminding him constantly of his failures and mistakes. His thoughts forgotten as quickly as they came, he takes two steps forward, stepping clumsily through puddles and prints, with no further consideration of the secrets such evidence may have told. Two more steps, slow and lazy, his robes caught underfoot and muddied but he does not care. Penelope will care. When he arrives home, she will scold him gently, taking the muddied clothes from him and cleaning them. She worries about him but he doesn’t notice. He barely notices anything now.
Further along the tunnel, someone is listening carefully, wand ready for conflict. Percy doesn’t notice. Tired of the dull, dark surroundings, he turns and leaves. A nod to the dark-haired man ensures the tunnel will be filled in tomorrow and its inhabitants will remain hidden, its secrets untold.
Élo the Snake.