Resolve 1/1-Complete
Title: Resolve
Summary: "As we walk, embracing a weakness that knows no defeat."
Warnings: Unbeta'ed. Powerful!Percy. Powerful!Oliver.
Enjoy.
As we walk, embracing a weakness that knows no defeat.
Resolve.
A crumpled, stained and faded photograph of his family waved and smiled at him as he held the picture as gently as he could in his calloused hands, stained with blood and littered with scars. This was why he fought. For their sake. Why he had left his comfortable position at the ministry and had followed Dumbledore into the folds of the Order of the Phoenix. There, he’d been trained by Moody, Kingsley and even Snape, honing his skills to perfection.
He stood at the very edge of camp, overlooking the valleys as they rose and fell before disappearing into a line of trees that bordered the surrounding forest. Smoke from his cigarette rose into the dark, cloudless sky, folding and entwining in on itself in ghostly arms as it disappeared with the traveling wind. Blowing out another cloud of toxic-gray smoke, he dropped the burning stick, crushing it beneath the heel of his boot, until there lay only ashes.
Turning, he walked back to camp, his heart getting heavier in his chest with every step, the photograph of his family lay heavy in his pocket.
War was coming.
X.
The ground trembled beneath their feet as another explosion spit dust and bodies into the blood-soaked sky. He gulped in the dusty air, his lungs desperate for oxygen as Percy rolled, dodged and threw his own devastating spells that never once missed their mark.
Gleaming, white skulls with hollowed eyes stood stark against the night, like an army of reapers, stealing lives with a careless flick of their wand. Explosions roared overhead like terrible monsters from your most terrifying nightmares. Only this time, there was no mother to run to, no comforting arms that could banish them, no light strong enough to scare them back into the shadows.
It was real. And there was no waking up from this nightmare.
Spells raced overhead, blasting enemies and splintering bone and tearing through muscle. Magic crackled like lightning, splitting the air as it arced and ruptured. Bodies fell. Red hair and lightning-blue eyes flashed through the darkness, slicing the shadows apart until they gave way to unyielding light…
But still, bodies fell-like rain.
X.
A victory gained through the death of others was a hollow one. Oftentimes, the aftermath was by far more devastating than the battle. Percy saw his soldiers bury, comrades, brothers-in-arms, friends and even lovers. Dry eyes could not been seen through the blur of their tears.
He was battered and a shadow lay solemnly behind his stoic gaze. He stood apart from the mourning soldiers, instead taking it upon himself to watch over them from afar, much like he had done with siblings (always there, but apart from them).
Tearing his gaze away from the simple graves with nameless headstones, he turned towards the horizon where a storm built in the distance, slowly crawling towards the shimmering sun that hung proudly and without regard in the sapphire sky.
XXX
They had relocated back to base near the Forbidden Forest that bordered Hogwarts. Tents had been set up and fires flickered in the face of the dying sun as it sank back into the mountains, allowing the clouds to swallow the sky, blocking the twinkling stars and the smiling moon.
Whispers spread like a rampant disease as he passed through the ranks, striding towards the largest tent, settled in the heart of camp. Pulling back the curtain, he was relieved to see familiar faces and not agents of the ministry with scowls on their lips, running through their faces like ugly scars.
“Its good to see you in one piece General Weasley,” Kingsley said, his deep voice resonating in his chest like a friendly growl, extending a hand.
“Well, I have proven to be rather hard to kill,” He answered dryly, taking the offered hand. “We managed to push them back into Barkley Valley. The last report I received told me that they were preparing to head west to regroup near the mouth of Bailey River.”
“Regroup with who?” The rough, blunt voice could belong to no other than Mad-Eye Moody. Percy didn’t bother to turn to address him; the Aurora could see him regardless.
“We believe that their meeting Bellatrix Lestrange and her squadron. Where they’re going from there is unknown to us,” He replied evenly, any emotional inflection absent from his voice.
Moody made a thoughtful sound in the back of his throat before walking out without a glance behind him. Percy’s felt his mouth quirk despite his control; the man’s eccentric behavior was really quite amusing. He heard Kingsley release an exasperated sigh, but more from amusement than any frustration over his actions.
For the next few hours he gave Kingsley his report and helped him with strategic movements and advancements of their troops into any territory controlled by the Death Eaters. Diagon Alley luckily had not been taken and was constantly guarded by Auroras and the Order alike to keep it that way, least it would fall into darkness. Voldemort couldn’t-wouldn’t be allowed to gain such a strong foothold.
When he was finally allowed to retire the clouds had strangled the sky, choking the stars and fading moon in its stronghold. Thunder grumbled in the faraway distance; the storm would reach them before dawn.
X.
Nostalgia is such a strange feeling, he thought, looking down at Hogwarts. It made him feel quite old, despite that he was only twenty. His siblings went there, were safe within its protected borders. Well, for the most part, he corrected with wry smirk. Harry Potter always managed to find trouble, inevitably dragging his little brother along for the ride.
Percy had wanted to resent the boy for putting his youngest brother in danger every year, but he couldn’t find the heart to despite the trouble the boy always found himself in. His lips twitched at the thought, he wondered what adventure they would find this year.
A shadow crossed his face as he realized they only had one more year of clemency before they would be forced, obligated to join this war that was quickly contaminating the world in their pureblooded madness. The thought sent a fissure of fear down his spine, it was bad enough the twins and his older brothers had joined the war effort.
“Yo,” The disruption in the wind broke his thoughts, but the distraction was a welcome one.
“Oliver,” He returned, a shadow of a smile flickered on his face as he turned to face his old school mate. “You’re early. I hadn’t expected you until midday tomorrow.”
Oliver’s face lifted into that endearingly, familiar smile that breathed confidence and life; how Oliver retained such bright spirits Percy had never figured out, but he was glad his friend hadn’t lost it. “We got a reprieve,” He said lightly.
Percy made a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat, returning his gaze to the looming structure of Hogwarts, its towers reaching towards the heavens as if it could pluck the stars from the sky like one did flowers from the earth.
Oliver released a low whistle, “Boy does this place bring back memories.”
That was putting it lightly. Looking at Hogwarts made Percy realize how much he had changed and how the future he thought he would’ve had had been lost to this war, thrown and scattered to the four winds.
While the ministry no longer appealed to him, he liked to dream of a future where he would know what he would doing everyday that would hopefully be non-life threatening.
Where he wouldn’t have to hear the crash of spells that echoed like thunder and see the blank eyes that stared at him accusingly from the dead men he had failed to save, where he wouldn’t have to write letter after letter explaining that someone was never coming home.
It was a nice dream.
As if sensing his thoughts, (which Oliver had an uncanny ability to do exactly that) he pulled him into a half-embrace, his arm around his shoulders. “We’ll make it Perce,” He whispered in his ear, as if he were afraid of breaking the calm that had settled in the air. Day-by-day, we’ll get through it. Day-by-day.
He leaned into Oliver’s broad chest, his body heat sinking into his frozen limbs, “Yeah.”
Twist exhausted doubt into confidence.
X.
New orders had come in; he and Oliver would take their squadrons and push the Death Eaters back that were getting too close Highmon Ridge, if they crossed it, they were only a day’s march from Hogsmeade. Kingsley had also brought in fresh recruits straight from the academy. They were young with innocence and duty shining in their bright eyes.
It made Percy sick to look at them, knowing that look would die forever once blood had stained their hands and dead bodies-friend and enemy alike were laying around them like trash. He turned away from them, allowing Oliver to lead them in their first uncertain steps into hell.
XXX
They had camped on the ridge, but it was bare of any tents and the shadows stretched ominously through the encampment in lieu of any fires hungry light. They couldn’t afford to be seen; stealth was the key, especially concerning this leader. Notorious for viciously killing anyone that got on his bad side regardless of which side they fought for. He was the sole reason people feared and hated werewolves, treated them like lepers that deserved to go hungry and without a warm place to sleep and to call home.
Greyback thrived in the darkness of night, with the full moon strung up, illuminating the inky blackness with her cold, silver light, basking in the tortured howls of these cursed beasts that had long, lost their humanity to her cold beauty. Kingsley had informed him that even without the full moon, Greyback was more beast than man, guided by his baser instincts rather than reasoning and intellect. Percy hoped it would be the werewolf’s Achilles’s heal.
He brushed his thoughts aside with practiced ease as he heard the grass crunch under the weight of familiar footsteps. The energetic, welcoming leader Oliver had played for the new recruits was gone now, his warm eyes had hardened in preparation for the blood bath sure to come.
Resolve shined from behind his earth-brown eyes.
“What’s the plan, Perce?” His loyalty and faith in Percy’s strength and intelligence were unquestionable and the redhead felt honored to have it.
“They are two main groups: Greyback will most likely seek to flank us while Yaxley will charge in with a frontal assault,” He explained, “If my assumptions are correct, the best duelists will be with Yaxley while
Greyback will be leading his pack. Werewolves, despite it not being a full moon are more resistant to kinder spells,” It was a plea to Oliver to remind the new recruits that mercy had no place here. “I will seek out Greyback and fight him one-on-one; I suggest you do the same with Yaxley. That way, our soldiers will not be overwhelmed by the two leader’s power. Hopefully, this will at least save some lives.”
A part of Oliver wanted to object. Greyback was merciless and represented savagery in its most basic form, but Percy was powerful, he reminded himself sharply. He could outthink nearly anyone, save Snape, Moody and Dumbledore and of course Percy had that; an ability he had hidden away, only using it when he no longer had any options left.
XXX
The stars gleamed coldly overhead, indifferent to the conflict that was beginning light-years away from them.
As always, Percy’s assumptions had proven correct and Oliver found himself facing Yaxley; he had shattered the bleach-bone mask and it lay in fragmented pieces at the Death Eater’s feet.
“Heh,” A malicious smile cut across the Death Eater’s lips like a fresh wound, “you picked the wrong opponent, brat.”
Oliver said nothing, feeling his magic collecting beneath his very flesh, waiting for his command to be unleashed.
He waited.
“Not going to say anything, huh?” Yaxley teased, “How cold.” Lifting his wand, Oliver could see the spell emptying itself from his mouth.
He didn’t have the time nor the patience to drag this fight on any longer than necessary.
Wordlessly, his magic erupted with foreign flick of his wand and the sky seemed to open up, turning a toxic-green as a tornado dropped from the heavens, its vortex pulling in everything Oliver willed it to. He saw the fear coloring Yaxley’s dark eyes as the tornado screeched and roared, pulling the Death Eater towards its unforgiving maws.
Oliver saw Yaxley cover up his fear with a scowl, bracing against the violent gales as he screamed out every curse, hex and counter curse at both him and his tornado in hopes of dissolving the vicious wind.
Every spell was easily consumed by his tornado, the rattling roar of the wind pounding in their ears as it twisted closer, unsympathetic to Yaxley’s increasingly desperate attempts to destroy the force of nature Oliver had summoned.
Dropping to his knees, his hands dug into the soft soil in a futile effort to remain grounded as he was tugged towards the great vortex.
“Mercy,” Yaxley screamed his pride and allegiance forgotten in the face of inescapable death, “please! I’ll do anything!” His face crumpled in terror as cowardly tears carved paths down his cheeks, cutting through the dirt and grime.
Oliver’s face was pulled into a sharp frown, (how he wished he could yield to Yaxley’s pleads, to take him in for information, but they weren’t taking prisoners) but still there was nothing he could say. I’m sorry, but I cannot afford to show you mercy.
With a sharp, unapologetic twist of his wand the tornado consumed him, swallowing his screams and pleas for mercy as it shattered his bones and tore his flesh before Oliver released his wind ability, letting the sky take it back.
The body dropped, no longer in any recognizable form. Wind could really do terrible things.
The resounding silence was deafening.
XXX
Sharp gasps escaped the werewolf’s scarred mouth as he tried to take in oxygen like one would water. From a distance, cold, lightning-blue eyes stared down at him distastefully, his wand held almost lazily in his hand.
Percy waited for the beast’s next move; spells running through his mind at hyper speed. A cigarette was clinched between his teeth, the cancerous smoke warming his lungs.
Feral, golden eyes stared defiantly into his and Greyback charged, teeth bared and sharpened claws outstretched, hungry for blood.
Narrowing his eyes, he brought his wand up above his head and slashed it down, releasing a wave of searing flames, breaking through the night as it reached Greyback. Golden eyes widened minutely in surprise as the blast struck him, the flames making Greyback howl in pain as they burned their way into his flesh like a cruel brand.
He collapsed in the grass, curling protectively around his chest, struggling to draw breath into his battered lungs. Fuck, who, no-what the hell is this kid? He’d fought many, many people, but none had ever defeated him so effortlessly (not even the Dark Lord).
Like he knows what I’m going to do before I fucking I do it. He raised his head painfully as he heard steady, unhurried footsteps approach him and Greyback could practically smell the kid’s resolve.
“Heh,” He grinned despite his defeat. A worthy opponent… one deserving the honor of defeating me. This kid was going to go far; he knew it and his instincts had never once led him astray. His grin widened, his fangs gleaming in the wan moonlight.
There was no mercy in those eyes.
“Anything you want to say, Greyback?”
“Heh,” His eyes were alight with a feeling he couldn’t name, “just one thing kid,” He pushed himself to his feet, moving faster than human eyes could follow, satisfied to see surprise flicker over his face like a shadow and outstretching his clawed hand drew a jagged scar across the boy’s right cheek before collapsing at the redhead’s feet before a spell could be uttered. Even now, those blue eyes were cold, but something shined behind them. He gave him one last feral grin, “Well done…kid.”
Pride flashed through his chest as the kid’s eyes widened, blood still running down his cheek and neck like crimson rivers. His cigarette had nearly burned out, hanging limply in his mouth as the smoke swirled menacingly in the heavy-laden air.
As he felt his life fading from him and as his world darkened he recognized the feeling that had lodged itself in his heart. A soft, almost kind smile swept over his face. Ah, that’s right. It was… hope.
XXX
The light of the moon spilled over the world like a blanket, comforting instead of cold. The moon stared down at the world and embraced it.
No matter what happens, do not stop. Do not retreat. Do not look back. Keep moving forward.
No matter what happens.
X.
Bodies lay strewn carelessly over the field, the Death Eaters had retreated and the rising sun was slowly chasing away the heavy shadows of the night. Dawn had come.
And death.
He wasn’t aware of the passing of time or that his wound had scabbed over, leaving bloody trails painted down his neck and chest. He had stayed with the now cold body of Greyback and had gently shut his golden eyes.
Why? He wasn’t prone to acts of kindness towards his enemy, not even towards his allies. He was cold, rationale; he preferred distance so he wouldn’t get emotionally attached to anyone because worrying about someone else’s safety was heart-stopping and he refused to leave himself vulnerable.
The one exception being Oliver, but he knew the former Quidditch player could hold his own and he trusted his friend to come back to him alive. He returned his gaze to Greyback, who in death looked more peaceful than he ever had in life.
“Well done… kid.”
Those words haunted him. Greyback had almost-no, he did sound proud. But why? Shouldn’t he have been angry that he’d been cut down? Scared that he was going to die? Percy shook his head. No, Greyback wouldn’t have been someone who feared death. The look in those eyes had told him that much. Greyback had always been a fighter, maybe not always a soldier, but he’d been born a fighter and he had always been aware of the fate of those who were overwhelmed by those more powerful than themselves.
They were devoured.
“Well done, kid.”
A shallow smile touched Percy’s lips briefly, his fingers grazing over his fresh wound that would soon become a scar. “Yeah,” He replied softly. He didn’t know why he spoke or what he was answering, but a weight had been lifted from his heart. He traced the scar with his fingers.
It was enough.
XXX
Oliver found Percy sitting next to a fresh, unmarked grave hours later and he knew it didn’t belong to anyone on their side. Even when he noticed the fresh wound he remained silent, the only sound that passed between them was the grass rustling as he sat down beside his friend, the sun behind them, for now finding comfort in the shadows shrouding their faces.
Minutes, perhaps even hours had past and the silence between them spoke more than words could ever say. Slowly, Oliver saw the mask of ice and stoicism crumble and break; Percy’s face was pinched, his lips drawn and his shoulders sagged, crumpling beneath the weight he insisted on carrying by himself.
To Oliver he looked partially shattered, like a clock that had been crushed by time but stubbornly insisted on ticking. In this brief moment of weakness Oliver saw an unbreakable strength in those trembling shoulders and that wounded expression.
And in that one small moment, Oliver found him heart-wrenchingly beautiful.
If asked, they wouldn’t know which one moved first, but it didn’t matter. Shy, bruised and chapped lips brushed against each other like a soft whisper of breath. Lips gave way and tongues brushed against each other, sending sparks of warmth and pleasure down their spines.
Oliver pressed forward, grabbing Percy’s shoulders, pulling him closer; he could taste the blood that had dried on his lips, the dry taste of dust that tickled his throat and the salty taste of the tears he wasn’t shedding.
Under the gentle, warming embrace of the sun they kissed. And it was beautiful.
They knew hope again.
X.
We didn’t really know anything back then, did we?
A peaceful façade had fallen over the Borrow, its glowing lights warm and welcome against the falling sun.
A standard, military-issued bag was slung over his shoulder as he headed towards home; his fresh scar was a stark contrast of rose-red against his pale skin. For reasons he couldn’t fathom, Dumbledore had forced him to take leave for three days.
“To regain strength,” He had said, with his usual twinkling eyes. Percy had a feeling there was a deeper context underlying those simple words.
Oliver had remained in the field, leading a team to a rural outpost to gather reconnaissance. There was lull in the battle; the Death Eaters retreating back into the bitter shadows after Percy and Oliver had crushed their two leaders and simultaneously losing the werewolf’s support. It had seemed that Greyback had been the only thing that had brought together the alliance between their forces.
Pushing the memories aside, he covered the distance in a few, short strides, only to pause at the old, battered door. He felt out of place here, like a snake trying to slither back into old skin; he felt too old and world-weary, carrying too many lines on his young face to fit back in with his loud, loving, overly-emotional family.
It was after all, easier to protect and even love from a distance, but the heavy weight of the photograph in his breast pocket was a constant reminded of what he was fighting for.
The war had taken everything from him-everything, but this.
He opened the door.
The bright light made his eyes ache, he had grown to used to the long shadows that were always one step behind him, waiting to swallow him whole. The warmth sinking pleasantly into his bones felt foreign and he itched to be back outside where the bitter weather matched the state of his battered soul.
He was out of place, unable to shed the merciless soldier and unable to return to the son and brother he had been in years past.
How was he supposed to act?
“Percy!”
He grunted as he barely caught his little sister who had flown into his arms like one of Oliver’s wind attacks, leaving him momentarily breathless. Ginny’s eyes shined and he felt the dark weight in his heart lift at the remaining innocence in his baby sister, untouched by the horrors of war (and she would remain that way if he had any say); a bright smile split her lips.
“Guys, Percy’s home!” She called back into the sitting room.
He forced his hardened expression to soften as he gazed fondly at his baby sister who meant more to him than she would ever know.
“Hello Ginny,” He said quietly, not used to speaking unless necessary, save for bellowing orders across ravaged fields.
In a brief moment of time, he realized he ached for Oliver’s quiet company and his self-assured confidence despite what situation he found himself in.
As he followed Ginny into the sitting room and greeted the rest of his family with as much softness as he could muster, he desperately wished for Oliver’s presence at his side, to help him navigate through these uncomfortable familial waters he was forced to swim.
He knew his siblings thought him too cold for comfort and perhaps he was, but war destroyed those who were soft of heart and he had too much to live for to allow himself to fall.
He had not yet managed to separate the soldier from the brother and son, perhaps their was no distinction or maybe he had lost the line that had separated those two halves in the river of blood and the ever-rising body count of those killed in action.
Weakness had no place in war.
XXX
After dinner he had escaped the choking atmosphere inside the Burrow, preferring the clear and sharp air that nipped at his lungs and froze his fingertips until he could barely feel them. The only warmth he was offered was from the cigarette glowing somberly between his fingertips. The acrid smoke warming his frozen lungs before he expelled it back into the winter air, watching the ghostly limbs branch out and eventually fade with the cutting breeze.
The soft sound of sand shifting underfoot brought his hand to his wand before he remembered that he was safe, away from the battlefield. He looked at the shadowed outline of his older brother from the corner of his eye, his long hair indentifying him as Bill.
“You know, mom would kill you if she found you smoking,” He began casually.
He breathed out another cloud of smoke, watching Bill wrinkle his nose at the pungent smell before it disappeared into the night. “Then it would be best if we kept this between ourselves. It’d be a pain to quit now, after all I just bought this pack. It’d be a waste of money,” He said dryly, tossing a smirk over his shoulder, the open space and clean air calming his nerves.
An honest if not sad laugh spilled from his brother’s lips. “I suppose so. I’ll keep your secret, just know that I now have at least a month’s worth of blackmail on you,” He said lightheartedly, drawing closer to him, bumping his shoulder with Percy’s.
Percy’s lips drew back into an amused smile, “Duly noted.” Casual words uttered between two brothers, falling comfortably between them as they fell into silence.
He pretended to ignore Bill’s inquisitive gaze as they seemed to search for answers to questions Bill didn’t dare ask, out of respect or awkwardness Percy wasn’t sure. The cigarette burned between his lips, a small point of light from within the thick shadows that embraced them.
Bill’s mouth opened soundlessly several times, searching for words he didn’t have or didn’t have enough to courage to say. A frustrated sigh emptied loudly into the air, his mouth opening once more and the words finally came: “Did it hurt?” Bill bit his lip, that wasn’t what he had wanted to ask.
“Hm?” Percy raised an eyebrow, silently asking him to elaborate.
“On your cheek-the scar, did it hurt?” The words tumbled ungracefully from his lips and he blushed at the stupid question, of course it had hurt, the wound had been deep enough to scar for Merlin’s sake.
“Oh,” Percy sounded surprised, his hand reaching to touch the jagged scar and a thoughtful look entered his eyes, not entirely sad, but a bit lost.
It broke Bill’s heart. His little brother-
“No,” The firm answer cut off Bill’s thoughts.
“What?” How could it have not hurt?
Percy shrugged, dropping his cigarette to the ground, crushing it with his heel. “I suppose I was still numb from the fight. You don’t feel much due to the adrenaline, you know.”
No, Bill didn’t know. He’d never been in battle, not the kind Percy’s faced at any rate. Sure he was in the Order and was sent on missions, but he wasn’t on the frontlines. He worked with the goblins, securing agreements with the magical creatures willing to fight beside them. No, he mused sadly, I know nothing of the terrors you no doubt face day in and day out.
“I’m sorry,” The words felt heavy as they fell from his tongue like the weight of unsaid regrets.
Percy merely looked at him, as if he knew what he’d been thinking about and just as quickly that heavy gaze lifted back towards the sky that had been hung with sparkling, white jewels, the moon hanging heavy and swollen at her peak, bathing the world in her silver twilight.
“There’s no need for apologies. I chose my path and I refuse to regret it,” His voice held such conviction and Bill wondered what had happened to his insecure, rule-abiding little brother. Had he died, out there on that battlefield?
XXX
Three days later the Weasley family was gathered at the door as they said their sorrowful farewells to Percy. Ginny clung to his robes, silent tears and soft sniffles escaping her weepy throat. The twins, unwilling to show the terror of watching their older brother leave for war, stood in unusual silence their usual comedic faces grim. Their jokes had dried up on their tongues.
Molly was weeping just as much her young daughter, her heart aching as she swallowed down the words, begging for her son to stay and to banish that horrible look in his eyes.
Arthur had simply pulled his son into his arms, wishing he wouldn’t have to let go, wishing for Percy to be three again, crawling into their bed after a nightmare, but with a heavy heart he released his son, looking him in the eye and saw something he had never wanted to see on any of his children. That haunted, empty gaze, like looking into a cracked mirror. Arthur felt older than he was, the years laying heavily on him, deepening the lines on his face as he watched his son, his little boy leave for war.
As Percy apparated away, it was Bill and Charlie who felt the most helpless. He was their little brother; they were supposed to be protecting him, not the other way around.
They turned to their other siblings and found Ron trembling, trying desperately to blink the tears away, swallowing painfully around the sobs trying to claw their way up his throat.
Charlie’s hands were drawn tight into white-knuckled fists, silently raging at the injustice while Bill simply closed his eyes and allowed the tears to fall.
Come home to us. Please, allow him to come home.
X.
I’d rather take out all the enemies before me than go for the long fight.
The war was coming to a head.
The body-count had tripled almost overnight on both sides. Secret raids and bloody battles had the wizarding world cowering in fear in their homes; mothers clutching their confused, terrified children to their chest, unable to understand why mommy was crying and why their daddy wasn’t coming home.
The little territorial battles had evolved into all out war. The ministry, having finally pulled its head out of its ass was finally offering full cooperation with Dumbledore’s Order. Everyone had been assigned a unit with a general and a captain at its head.
Percy, being a fully realized general was given a squadron of his own with Oliver being assigned as his captain and he mentally thanked Albus, that twinkling, conniving bastard that he had allowed them this.
Unfortunately, most of his squad was from the ministry-raised and trained and they still had that horrible naïve look shining in their eyes.
As per usual, he let Oliver deal with them.
XXX
The war spread like an unstoppable disease, their brutal, devastating attacks leaving behind nothing but charred ashes and dilapidated ruins of what once used to be a village.
The casualties were no longer restricted to simply soldiers; civilians were equally buried as commonly as the next unlucky foot soldier of either side.
Unmarked graves decorated the country side or more often than not the black carrion birds happily pecked away at the free meals the war provided them. Crows were often found following units of soldiers, circling overhead as the battle raged beneath them, their cries echoing every spell thrown and every body that falls.
X.
As the darkness yawned before them Percy felt strangely at peace with Oliver’s hand in his as they faced off with another legion of Voldemort’s ever-growing army. They would not live to see the dawn, Percy promised himself. Far too much was at stake to allow them to gain even a single foothold.
Oliver squeezed his hand, offering him a smile that was still full of light and hope. Percy wished to be able to return it one day.
But as their hands broke apart and Oliver’s smile fell back into stoicism, Percy conceded that that day, was long way from coming.
For now they took comfort in driving the darkness back, to keeping their families and siblings safe for just one year longer and at finding each other alive after every battle.
For now, it would be enough. It had to be enough.
This future is a far cry from what we dreamt of, but now we hold a weakness that knows no defeat.
-fin.
Please let me know what you think. Constructive criticism is welcome.
Summary: "As we walk, embracing a weakness that knows no defeat."
Warnings: Unbeta'ed. Powerful!Percy. Powerful!Oliver.
Enjoy.
As we walk, embracing a weakness that knows no defeat.
Resolve.
A crumpled, stained and faded photograph of his family waved and smiled at him as he held the picture as gently as he could in his calloused hands, stained with blood and littered with scars. This was why he fought. For their sake. Why he had left his comfortable position at the ministry and had followed Dumbledore into the folds of the Order of the Phoenix. There, he’d been trained by Moody, Kingsley and even Snape, honing his skills to perfection.
He stood at the very edge of camp, overlooking the valleys as they rose and fell before disappearing into a line of trees that bordered the surrounding forest. Smoke from his cigarette rose into the dark, cloudless sky, folding and entwining in on itself in ghostly arms as it disappeared with the traveling wind. Blowing out another cloud of toxic-gray smoke, he dropped the burning stick, crushing it beneath the heel of his boot, until there lay only ashes.
Turning, he walked back to camp, his heart getting heavier in his chest with every step, the photograph of his family lay heavy in his pocket.
War was coming.
X.
The ground trembled beneath their feet as another explosion spit dust and bodies into the blood-soaked sky. He gulped in the dusty air, his lungs desperate for oxygen as Percy rolled, dodged and threw his own devastating spells that never once missed their mark.
Gleaming, white skulls with hollowed eyes stood stark against the night, like an army of reapers, stealing lives with a careless flick of their wand. Explosions roared overhead like terrible monsters from your most terrifying nightmares. Only this time, there was no mother to run to, no comforting arms that could banish them, no light strong enough to scare them back into the shadows.
It was real. And there was no waking up from this nightmare.
Spells raced overhead, blasting enemies and splintering bone and tearing through muscle. Magic crackled like lightning, splitting the air as it arced and ruptured. Bodies fell. Red hair and lightning-blue eyes flashed through the darkness, slicing the shadows apart until they gave way to unyielding light…
But still, bodies fell-like rain.
X.
A victory gained through the death of others was a hollow one. Oftentimes, the aftermath was by far more devastating than the battle. Percy saw his soldiers bury, comrades, brothers-in-arms, friends and even lovers. Dry eyes could not been seen through the blur of their tears.
He was battered and a shadow lay solemnly behind his stoic gaze. He stood apart from the mourning soldiers, instead taking it upon himself to watch over them from afar, much like he had done with siblings (always there, but apart from them).
Tearing his gaze away from the simple graves with nameless headstones, he turned towards the horizon where a storm built in the distance, slowly crawling towards the shimmering sun that hung proudly and without regard in the sapphire sky.
XXX
They had relocated back to base near the Forbidden Forest that bordered Hogwarts. Tents had been set up and fires flickered in the face of the dying sun as it sank back into the mountains, allowing the clouds to swallow the sky, blocking the twinkling stars and the smiling moon.
Whispers spread like a rampant disease as he passed through the ranks, striding towards the largest tent, settled in the heart of camp. Pulling back the curtain, he was relieved to see familiar faces and not agents of the ministry with scowls on their lips, running through their faces like ugly scars.
“Its good to see you in one piece General Weasley,” Kingsley said, his deep voice resonating in his chest like a friendly growl, extending a hand.
“Well, I have proven to be rather hard to kill,” He answered dryly, taking the offered hand. “We managed to push them back into Barkley Valley. The last report I received told me that they were preparing to head west to regroup near the mouth of Bailey River.”
“Regroup with who?” The rough, blunt voice could belong to no other than Mad-Eye Moody. Percy didn’t bother to turn to address him; the Aurora could see him regardless.
“We believe that their meeting Bellatrix Lestrange and her squadron. Where they’re going from there is unknown to us,” He replied evenly, any emotional inflection absent from his voice.
Moody made a thoughtful sound in the back of his throat before walking out without a glance behind him. Percy’s felt his mouth quirk despite his control; the man’s eccentric behavior was really quite amusing. He heard Kingsley release an exasperated sigh, but more from amusement than any frustration over his actions.
For the next few hours he gave Kingsley his report and helped him with strategic movements and advancements of their troops into any territory controlled by the Death Eaters. Diagon Alley luckily had not been taken and was constantly guarded by Auroras and the Order alike to keep it that way, least it would fall into darkness. Voldemort couldn’t-wouldn’t be allowed to gain such a strong foothold.
When he was finally allowed to retire the clouds had strangled the sky, choking the stars and fading moon in its stronghold. Thunder grumbled in the faraway distance; the storm would reach them before dawn.
X.
Nostalgia is such a strange feeling, he thought, looking down at Hogwarts. It made him feel quite old, despite that he was only twenty. His siblings went there, were safe within its protected borders. Well, for the most part, he corrected with wry smirk. Harry Potter always managed to find trouble, inevitably dragging his little brother along for the ride.
Percy had wanted to resent the boy for putting his youngest brother in danger every year, but he couldn’t find the heart to despite the trouble the boy always found himself in. His lips twitched at the thought, he wondered what adventure they would find this year.
A shadow crossed his face as he realized they only had one more year of clemency before they would be forced, obligated to join this war that was quickly contaminating the world in their pureblooded madness. The thought sent a fissure of fear down his spine, it was bad enough the twins and his older brothers had joined the war effort.
“Yo,” The disruption in the wind broke his thoughts, but the distraction was a welcome one.
“Oliver,” He returned, a shadow of a smile flickered on his face as he turned to face his old school mate. “You’re early. I hadn’t expected you until midday tomorrow.”
Oliver’s face lifted into that endearingly, familiar smile that breathed confidence and life; how Oliver retained such bright spirits Percy had never figured out, but he was glad his friend hadn’t lost it. “We got a reprieve,” He said lightly.
Percy made a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat, returning his gaze to the looming structure of Hogwarts, its towers reaching towards the heavens as if it could pluck the stars from the sky like one did flowers from the earth.
Oliver released a low whistle, “Boy does this place bring back memories.”
That was putting it lightly. Looking at Hogwarts made Percy realize how much he had changed and how the future he thought he would’ve had had been lost to this war, thrown and scattered to the four winds.
While the ministry no longer appealed to him, he liked to dream of a future where he would know what he would doing everyday that would hopefully be non-life threatening.
Where he wouldn’t have to hear the crash of spells that echoed like thunder and see the blank eyes that stared at him accusingly from the dead men he had failed to save, where he wouldn’t have to write letter after letter explaining that someone was never coming home.
It was a nice dream.
As if sensing his thoughts, (which Oliver had an uncanny ability to do exactly that) he pulled him into a half-embrace, his arm around his shoulders. “We’ll make it Perce,” He whispered in his ear, as if he were afraid of breaking the calm that had settled in the air. Day-by-day, we’ll get through it. Day-by-day.
He leaned into Oliver’s broad chest, his body heat sinking into his frozen limbs, “Yeah.”
Twist exhausted doubt into confidence.
X.
New orders had come in; he and Oliver would take their squadrons and push the Death Eaters back that were getting too close Highmon Ridge, if they crossed it, they were only a day’s march from Hogsmeade. Kingsley had also brought in fresh recruits straight from the academy. They were young with innocence and duty shining in their bright eyes.
It made Percy sick to look at them, knowing that look would die forever once blood had stained their hands and dead bodies-friend and enemy alike were laying around them like trash. He turned away from them, allowing Oliver to lead them in their first uncertain steps into hell.
XXX
They had camped on the ridge, but it was bare of any tents and the shadows stretched ominously through the encampment in lieu of any fires hungry light. They couldn’t afford to be seen; stealth was the key, especially concerning this leader. Notorious for viciously killing anyone that got on his bad side regardless of which side they fought for. He was the sole reason people feared and hated werewolves, treated them like lepers that deserved to go hungry and without a warm place to sleep and to call home.
Greyback thrived in the darkness of night, with the full moon strung up, illuminating the inky blackness with her cold, silver light, basking in the tortured howls of these cursed beasts that had long, lost their humanity to her cold beauty. Kingsley had informed him that even without the full moon, Greyback was more beast than man, guided by his baser instincts rather than reasoning and intellect. Percy hoped it would be the werewolf’s Achilles’s heal.
He brushed his thoughts aside with practiced ease as he heard the grass crunch under the weight of familiar footsteps. The energetic, welcoming leader Oliver had played for the new recruits was gone now, his warm eyes had hardened in preparation for the blood bath sure to come.
Resolve shined from behind his earth-brown eyes.
“What’s the plan, Perce?” His loyalty and faith in Percy’s strength and intelligence were unquestionable and the redhead felt honored to have it.
“They are two main groups: Greyback will most likely seek to flank us while Yaxley will charge in with a frontal assault,” He explained, “If my assumptions are correct, the best duelists will be with Yaxley while
Greyback will be leading his pack. Werewolves, despite it not being a full moon are more resistant to kinder spells,” It was a plea to Oliver to remind the new recruits that mercy had no place here. “I will seek out Greyback and fight him one-on-one; I suggest you do the same with Yaxley. That way, our soldiers will not be overwhelmed by the two leader’s power. Hopefully, this will at least save some lives.”
A part of Oliver wanted to object. Greyback was merciless and represented savagery in its most basic form, but Percy was powerful, he reminded himself sharply. He could outthink nearly anyone, save Snape, Moody and Dumbledore and of course Percy had that; an ability he had hidden away, only using it when he no longer had any options left.
XXX
The stars gleamed coldly overhead, indifferent to the conflict that was beginning light-years away from them.
As always, Percy’s assumptions had proven correct and Oliver found himself facing Yaxley; he had shattered the bleach-bone mask and it lay in fragmented pieces at the Death Eater’s feet.
“Heh,” A malicious smile cut across the Death Eater’s lips like a fresh wound, “you picked the wrong opponent, brat.”
Oliver said nothing, feeling his magic collecting beneath his very flesh, waiting for his command to be unleashed.
He waited.
“Not going to say anything, huh?” Yaxley teased, “How cold.” Lifting his wand, Oliver could see the spell emptying itself from his mouth.
He didn’t have the time nor the patience to drag this fight on any longer than necessary.
Wordlessly, his magic erupted with foreign flick of his wand and the sky seemed to open up, turning a toxic-green as a tornado dropped from the heavens, its vortex pulling in everything Oliver willed it to. He saw the fear coloring Yaxley’s dark eyes as the tornado screeched and roared, pulling the Death Eater towards its unforgiving maws.
Oliver saw Yaxley cover up his fear with a scowl, bracing against the violent gales as he screamed out every curse, hex and counter curse at both him and his tornado in hopes of dissolving the vicious wind.
Every spell was easily consumed by his tornado, the rattling roar of the wind pounding in their ears as it twisted closer, unsympathetic to Yaxley’s increasingly desperate attempts to destroy the force of nature Oliver had summoned.
Dropping to his knees, his hands dug into the soft soil in a futile effort to remain grounded as he was tugged towards the great vortex.
“Mercy,” Yaxley screamed his pride and allegiance forgotten in the face of inescapable death, “please! I’ll do anything!” His face crumpled in terror as cowardly tears carved paths down his cheeks, cutting through the dirt and grime.
Oliver’s face was pulled into a sharp frown, (how he wished he could yield to Yaxley’s pleads, to take him in for information, but they weren’t taking prisoners) but still there was nothing he could say. I’m sorry, but I cannot afford to show you mercy.
With a sharp, unapologetic twist of his wand the tornado consumed him, swallowing his screams and pleas for mercy as it shattered his bones and tore his flesh before Oliver released his wind ability, letting the sky take it back.
The body dropped, no longer in any recognizable form. Wind could really do terrible things.
The resounding silence was deafening.
XXX
Sharp gasps escaped the werewolf’s scarred mouth as he tried to take in oxygen like one would water. From a distance, cold, lightning-blue eyes stared down at him distastefully, his wand held almost lazily in his hand.
Percy waited for the beast’s next move; spells running through his mind at hyper speed. A cigarette was clinched between his teeth, the cancerous smoke warming his lungs.
Feral, golden eyes stared defiantly into his and Greyback charged, teeth bared and sharpened claws outstretched, hungry for blood.
Narrowing his eyes, he brought his wand up above his head and slashed it down, releasing a wave of searing flames, breaking through the night as it reached Greyback. Golden eyes widened minutely in surprise as the blast struck him, the flames making Greyback howl in pain as they burned their way into his flesh like a cruel brand.
He collapsed in the grass, curling protectively around his chest, struggling to draw breath into his battered lungs. Fuck, who, no-what the hell is this kid? He’d fought many, many people, but none had ever defeated him so effortlessly (not even the Dark Lord).
Like he knows what I’m going to do before I fucking I do it. He raised his head painfully as he heard steady, unhurried footsteps approach him and Greyback could practically smell the kid’s resolve.
“Heh,” He grinned despite his defeat. A worthy opponent… one deserving the honor of defeating me. This kid was going to go far; he knew it and his instincts had never once led him astray. His grin widened, his fangs gleaming in the wan moonlight.
There was no mercy in those eyes.
“Anything you want to say, Greyback?”
“Heh,” His eyes were alight with a feeling he couldn’t name, “just one thing kid,” He pushed himself to his feet, moving faster than human eyes could follow, satisfied to see surprise flicker over his face like a shadow and outstretching his clawed hand drew a jagged scar across the boy’s right cheek before collapsing at the redhead’s feet before a spell could be uttered. Even now, those blue eyes were cold, but something shined behind them. He gave him one last feral grin, “Well done…kid.”
Pride flashed through his chest as the kid’s eyes widened, blood still running down his cheek and neck like crimson rivers. His cigarette had nearly burned out, hanging limply in his mouth as the smoke swirled menacingly in the heavy-laden air.
As he felt his life fading from him and as his world darkened he recognized the feeling that had lodged itself in his heart. A soft, almost kind smile swept over his face. Ah, that’s right. It was… hope.
XXX
The light of the moon spilled over the world like a blanket, comforting instead of cold. The moon stared down at the world and embraced it.
No matter what happens, do not stop. Do not retreat. Do not look back. Keep moving forward.
No matter what happens.
X.
Bodies lay strewn carelessly over the field, the Death Eaters had retreated and the rising sun was slowly chasing away the heavy shadows of the night. Dawn had come.
And death.
He wasn’t aware of the passing of time or that his wound had scabbed over, leaving bloody trails painted down his neck and chest. He had stayed with the now cold body of Greyback and had gently shut his golden eyes.
Why? He wasn’t prone to acts of kindness towards his enemy, not even towards his allies. He was cold, rationale; he preferred distance so he wouldn’t get emotionally attached to anyone because worrying about someone else’s safety was heart-stopping and he refused to leave himself vulnerable.
The one exception being Oliver, but he knew the former Quidditch player could hold his own and he trusted his friend to come back to him alive. He returned his gaze to Greyback, who in death looked more peaceful than he ever had in life.
“Well done… kid.”
Those words haunted him. Greyback had almost-no, he did sound proud. But why? Shouldn’t he have been angry that he’d been cut down? Scared that he was going to die? Percy shook his head. No, Greyback wouldn’t have been someone who feared death. The look in those eyes had told him that much. Greyback had always been a fighter, maybe not always a soldier, but he’d been born a fighter and he had always been aware of the fate of those who were overwhelmed by those more powerful than themselves.
They were devoured.
“Well done, kid.”
A shallow smile touched Percy’s lips briefly, his fingers grazing over his fresh wound that would soon become a scar. “Yeah,” He replied softly. He didn’t know why he spoke or what he was answering, but a weight had been lifted from his heart. He traced the scar with his fingers.
It was enough.
XXX
Oliver found Percy sitting next to a fresh, unmarked grave hours later and he knew it didn’t belong to anyone on their side. Even when he noticed the fresh wound he remained silent, the only sound that passed between them was the grass rustling as he sat down beside his friend, the sun behind them, for now finding comfort in the shadows shrouding their faces.
Minutes, perhaps even hours had past and the silence between them spoke more than words could ever say. Slowly, Oliver saw the mask of ice and stoicism crumble and break; Percy’s face was pinched, his lips drawn and his shoulders sagged, crumpling beneath the weight he insisted on carrying by himself.
To Oliver he looked partially shattered, like a clock that had been crushed by time but stubbornly insisted on ticking. In this brief moment of weakness Oliver saw an unbreakable strength in those trembling shoulders and that wounded expression.
And in that one small moment, Oliver found him heart-wrenchingly beautiful.
If asked, they wouldn’t know which one moved first, but it didn’t matter. Shy, bruised and chapped lips brushed against each other like a soft whisper of breath. Lips gave way and tongues brushed against each other, sending sparks of warmth and pleasure down their spines.
Oliver pressed forward, grabbing Percy’s shoulders, pulling him closer; he could taste the blood that had dried on his lips, the dry taste of dust that tickled his throat and the salty taste of the tears he wasn’t shedding.
Under the gentle, warming embrace of the sun they kissed. And it was beautiful.
They knew hope again.
X.
We didn’t really know anything back then, did we?
A peaceful façade had fallen over the Borrow, its glowing lights warm and welcome against the falling sun.
A standard, military-issued bag was slung over his shoulder as he headed towards home; his fresh scar was a stark contrast of rose-red against his pale skin. For reasons he couldn’t fathom, Dumbledore had forced him to take leave for three days.
“To regain strength,” He had said, with his usual twinkling eyes. Percy had a feeling there was a deeper context underlying those simple words.
Oliver had remained in the field, leading a team to a rural outpost to gather reconnaissance. There was lull in the battle; the Death Eaters retreating back into the bitter shadows after Percy and Oliver had crushed their two leaders and simultaneously losing the werewolf’s support. It had seemed that Greyback had been the only thing that had brought together the alliance between their forces.
Pushing the memories aside, he covered the distance in a few, short strides, only to pause at the old, battered door. He felt out of place here, like a snake trying to slither back into old skin; he felt too old and world-weary, carrying too many lines on his young face to fit back in with his loud, loving, overly-emotional family.
It was after all, easier to protect and even love from a distance, but the heavy weight of the photograph in his breast pocket was a constant reminded of what he was fighting for.
The war had taken everything from him-everything, but this.
He opened the door.
The bright light made his eyes ache, he had grown to used to the long shadows that were always one step behind him, waiting to swallow him whole. The warmth sinking pleasantly into his bones felt foreign and he itched to be back outside where the bitter weather matched the state of his battered soul.
He was out of place, unable to shed the merciless soldier and unable to return to the son and brother he had been in years past.
How was he supposed to act?
“Percy!”
He grunted as he barely caught his little sister who had flown into his arms like one of Oliver’s wind attacks, leaving him momentarily breathless. Ginny’s eyes shined and he felt the dark weight in his heart lift at the remaining innocence in his baby sister, untouched by the horrors of war (and she would remain that way if he had any say); a bright smile split her lips.
“Guys, Percy’s home!” She called back into the sitting room.
He forced his hardened expression to soften as he gazed fondly at his baby sister who meant more to him than she would ever know.
“Hello Ginny,” He said quietly, not used to speaking unless necessary, save for bellowing orders across ravaged fields.
In a brief moment of time, he realized he ached for Oliver’s quiet company and his self-assured confidence despite what situation he found himself in.
As he followed Ginny into the sitting room and greeted the rest of his family with as much softness as he could muster, he desperately wished for Oliver’s presence at his side, to help him navigate through these uncomfortable familial waters he was forced to swim.
He knew his siblings thought him too cold for comfort and perhaps he was, but war destroyed those who were soft of heart and he had too much to live for to allow himself to fall.
He had not yet managed to separate the soldier from the brother and son, perhaps their was no distinction or maybe he had lost the line that had separated those two halves in the river of blood and the ever-rising body count of those killed in action.
Weakness had no place in war.
XXX
After dinner he had escaped the choking atmosphere inside the Burrow, preferring the clear and sharp air that nipped at his lungs and froze his fingertips until he could barely feel them. The only warmth he was offered was from the cigarette glowing somberly between his fingertips. The acrid smoke warming his frozen lungs before he expelled it back into the winter air, watching the ghostly limbs branch out and eventually fade with the cutting breeze.
The soft sound of sand shifting underfoot brought his hand to his wand before he remembered that he was safe, away from the battlefield. He looked at the shadowed outline of his older brother from the corner of his eye, his long hair indentifying him as Bill.
“You know, mom would kill you if she found you smoking,” He began casually.
He breathed out another cloud of smoke, watching Bill wrinkle his nose at the pungent smell before it disappeared into the night. “Then it would be best if we kept this between ourselves. It’d be a pain to quit now, after all I just bought this pack. It’d be a waste of money,” He said dryly, tossing a smirk over his shoulder, the open space and clean air calming his nerves.
An honest if not sad laugh spilled from his brother’s lips. “I suppose so. I’ll keep your secret, just know that I now have at least a month’s worth of blackmail on you,” He said lightheartedly, drawing closer to him, bumping his shoulder with Percy’s.
Percy’s lips drew back into an amused smile, “Duly noted.” Casual words uttered between two brothers, falling comfortably between them as they fell into silence.
He pretended to ignore Bill’s inquisitive gaze as they seemed to search for answers to questions Bill didn’t dare ask, out of respect or awkwardness Percy wasn’t sure. The cigarette burned between his lips, a small point of light from within the thick shadows that embraced them.
Bill’s mouth opened soundlessly several times, searching for words he didn’t have or didn’t have enough to courage to say. A frustrated sigh emptied loudly into the air, his mouth opening once more and the words finally came: “Did it hurt?” Bill bit his lip, that wasn’t what he had wanted to ask.
“Hm?” Percy raised an eyebrow, silently asking him to elaborate.
“On your cheek-the scar, did it hurt?” The words tumbled ungracefully from his lips and he blushed at the stupid question, of course it had hurt, the wound had been deep enough to scar for Merlin’s sake.
“Oh,” Percy sounded surprised, his hand reaching to touch the jagged scar and a thoughtful look entered his eyes, not entirely sad, but a bit lost.
It broke Bill’s heart. His little brother-
“No,” The firm answer cut off Bill’s thoughts.
“What?” How could it have not hurt?
Percy shrugged, dropping his cigarette to the ground, crushing it with his heel. “I suppose I was still numb from the fight. You don’t feel much due to the adrenaline, you know.”
No, Bill didn’t know. He’d never been in battle, not the kind Percy’s faced at any rate. Sure he was in the Order and was sent on missions, but he wasn’t on the frontlines. He worked with the goblins, securing agreements with the magical creatures willing to fight beside them. No, he mused sadly, I know nothing of the terrors you no doubt face day in and day out.
“I’m sorry,” The words felt heavy as they fell from his tongue like the weight of unsaid regrets.
Percy merely looked at him, as if he knew what he’d been thinking about and just as quickly that heavy gaze lifted back towards the sky that had been hung with sparkling, white jewels, the moon hanging heavy and swollen at her peak, bathing the world in her silver twilight.
“There’s no need for apologies. I chose my path and I refuse to regret it,” His voice held such conviction and Bill wondered what had happened to his insecure, rule-abiding little brother. Had he died, out there on that battlefield?
XXX
Three days later the Weasley family was gathered at the door as they said their sorrowful farewells to Percy. Ginny clung to his robes, silent tears and soft sniffles escaping her weepy throat. The twins, unwilling to show the terror of watching their older brother leave for war, stood in unusual silence their usual comedic faces grim. Their jokes had dried up on their tongues.
Molly was weeping just as much her young daughter, her heart aching as she swallowed down the words, begging for her son to stay and to banish that horrible look in his eyes.
Arthur had simply pulled his son into his arms, wishing he wouldn’t have to let go, wishing for Percy to be three again, crawling into their bed after a nightmare, but with a heavy heart he released his son, looking him in the eye and saw something he had never wanted to see on any of his children. That haunted, empty gaze, like looking into a cracked mirror. Arthur felt older than he was, the years laying heavily on him, deepening the lines on his face as he watched his son, his little boy leave for war.
As Percy apparated away, it was Bill and Charlie who felt the most helpless. He was their little brother; they were supposed to be protecting him, not the other way around.
They turned to their other siblings and found Ron trembling, trying desperately to blink the tears away, swallowing painfully around the sobs trying to claw their way up his throat.
Charlie’s hands were drawn tight into white-knuckled fists, silently raging at the injustice while Bill simply closed his eyes and allowed the tears to fall.
Come home to us. Please, allow him to come home.
X.
I’d rather take out all the enemies before me than go for the long fight.
The war was coming to a head.
The body-count had tripled almost overnight on both sides. Secret raids and bloody battles had the wizarding world cowering in fear in their homes; mothers clutching their confused, terrified children to their chest, unable to understand why mommy was crying and why their daddy wasn’t coming home.
The little territorial battles had evolved into all out war. The ministry, having finally pulled its head out of its ass was finally offering full cooperation with Dumbledore’s Order. Everyone had been assigned a unit with a general and a captain at its head.
Percy, being a fully realized general was given a squadron of his own with Oliver being assigned as his captain and he mentally thanked Albus, that twinkling, conniving bastard that he had allowed them this.
Unfortunately, most of his squad was from the ministry-raised and trained and they still had that horrible naïve look shining in their eyes.
As per usual, he let Oliver deal with them.
XXX
The war spread like an unstoppable disease, their brutal, devastating attacks leaving behind nothing but charred ashes and dilapidated ruins of what once used to be a village.
The casualties were no longer restricted to simply soldiers; civilians were equally buried as commonly as the next unlucky foot soldier of either side.
Unmarked graves decorated the country side or more often than not the black carrion birds happily pecked away at the free meals the war provided them. Crows were often found following units of soldiers, circling overhead as the battle raged beneath them, their cries echoing every spell thrown and every body that falls.
X.
As the darkness yawned before them Percy felt strangely at peace with Oliver’s hand in his as they faced off with another legion of Voldemort’s ever-growing army. They would not live to see the dawn, Percy promised himself. Far too much was at stake to allow them to gain even a single foothold.
Oliver squeezed his hand, offering him a smile that was still full of light and hope. Percy wished to be able to return it one day.
But as their hands broke apart and Oliver’s smile fell back into stoicism, Percy conceded that that day, was long way from coming.
For now they took comfort in driving the darkness back, to keeping their families and siblings safe for just one year longer and at finding each other alive after every battle.
For now, it would be enough. It had to be enough.
This future is a far cry from what we dreamt of, but now we hold a weakness that knows no defeat.
-fin.
Please let me know what you think. Constructive criticism is welcome.