Waiting
When his coach waves him down from the Keeper’s goalpost in the middle of practice, Oliver knows that something is wrong. Coach never, never let any of them out of practice early. She was even keener on practice then Oliver was, and that was saying something; especially given that after that one loss at Hogwarts, when Oliver had been determined to drown himself in the showers.
The last time someone had been waved down before practice had ended, McNally’s grandmother had died. It was never a good sign.
Heart pounding, Oliver lands onto the damp grass of the practice pitch. Gods, it was beautiful. He was so lucky to be here- even if he knows he’s about to get bad news.
“What’s happened, Coach?” he asks, trying to seem calmer than he feels. He can practically feel the eyes of the teammates boring into his back, their curious gazes trying to glean some idea of what was happening.
“Your sister- says there’s an emergency.” She says, her face unreadable.
Oliver frowns, because he doesn’t have a sister. Or parents. Still, she passes over a tiny flip phone that was popular in the muggle world about a decade ago. There’s been some runes carved into it, presumably to make sure it still worked on the presence of magic before wiser wizards had finally cracked the code on muggle technology and magic. Without the runes, it was bound to blow up.
Thankfully, it doesn’t as Oliver takes the small plastic thing and holds it up to his ear curiously.
“Hello?” he asks, a bit unsure.
“Oliver, it’s Ginny.”
Oliver blinks in surprise. Ginny Weasley- or was it Ginny Potter, now? Had she changed her name? He can’t seem to recall right now, his head too full of rattling thoughts. Why would Ginny be calling him? How did she even get Coach’s number?
“I had to tell them I was your sister otherwise they’d think I was a rabid fan or something.” She answers his question without him needing to ask. “I got Yate’s contact from Tina.”
That makes sense. Tina Yates was a Beater on Ginny’s Quidditch team the Holyhead Harpies. Coach Yates of Puddlemere was Tina’s older sister.
“Okay,” Oliver says dumbly, still wondering why Ginny was calling him on his coach’s 20-year-old muggle flip phone.
“Something happened. You need to come to St. Mungo’s. As soon as you can. It’s Percy.”
“What happened?” Oliver breathes into phone, his tone much harsher than he’d intended it to be. He hears Ginny take in a little steadying breath.
“We don’t really know for sure. He was attacked on his way home from work. He’s been cursed.”
Dread washes over Oliver. He knew it- he knew it. It had happened, just like it had happened to his mother.
“Audrey?”
There’s a beat of silence.
“Yes. The Aurors are looking for her- her magical signature was all over the place.”
“Check her sister’s. Nora’s, I think. Percy mentioned it.”
“I’ll tell them. Get here now.”
“Is he alright?”
“He’s in a coma. They’ve stabilized him, but it’s almost like he’s been petrified. We can’t wake him up. Please come. Pass the phone back to Yates.”
Oliver doesn’t think he’s ever heard Ginny say the word please before. Her tone is solemn and stoney. Not casual but rather giving off an air of forced calm. He can tell she’s trying very hard to not freak out.
Still, he does as she asks. He passes the flip phone back to Coach who listens to whatever Ginny is saying. She cuts a glance at Oliver. Humming in agreement. Finally, she pulls the phone away from her ear and folds it shut. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small bag. She waves it at Oliver, who takes it in one hand. He can tell by the feel of it that it’s Floo powder.
“Go to the medical office. There’s a direct link to St. Mungo’s from our Floo to theirs. She says they’re on fourth floor.”
Coach clears his throat. Everyone knows that the fourth floor of St. Mungo’s is used for the treatment of spell- damage. It was rarely a good sign.
“Take all the time you need, Wood. It’ll be alright.”
Oliver nods, feeling grateful for the gruff woman. He doesn’t know if he could handle anything else right now.
“Thanks Coach.”
“Right.” She says with a nod, waving him away. “Go!”
Oliver takes the hint and starts to jog into the locker rooms, where he can easily navigate to the medical office. It’s only once he’s halfway there he realizes he’s dropped his broom. It was probably left forgotten on the pitch grounds. He finds he doesn’t care.
He barely registers using the Floo powder and stepping into the fireplace. His mind is racing, and his legs move of their own accord. He ends up in the lobby of St. Mungo’s. He ignores the welcome witch at the main desk and starts for the stairs.
He knew this was going to happen. He knew it. Things had been just going too well, too perfect… Percy was finally divorced, the girls were both safely enrolled at Hogwarts, and things were calming down. Percy hadn’t cried since he’d destroyed his flat in rage.
Oliver noticed the little things. About how Percy would perk up more and more each day. How’d they get takeaway, and he’d excitedly tell Oliver about the new broomstick regulations he was working on. Oliver didn’t really care about broomstick regulations, but Percy did, and Oliver cared about Percy. Besides, even if most of what Percy said went overt Oliver’s head, he was happy to just rest his cheek on his hand, propped up on the table in Percy’s tiny flat and listen. He could listen for hours.
He could just stare at Percy for hours.
One night, Percy had come over and ended up falling asleep on Oliver’s couch. And Oliver gently placed a pillow under his head and took of his glasses and draped a blanket over him and just stared. In a not creepy way of course. It was like… he was needing to remind himself that Percy was in his life. A brilliant man. A wonderful father. A wizard who loved and hurt so deeply it made Oliver feel chest pangs.
He’s up the stairs in a blink, spilling out into the hallway. He spies another reception desk and is about to start demanding to know where Percy is when he hears his voice being called.
“Oliver!”
Oliver knows that warm timber. He’d spent years shouting at the man, after all.
“Harry!” Oliver calls back and jogs over to Harry. He’s standing in the hallway, his face drawn and pinched. Oddly enough, there’s no other Weasleys around.
“Where are-?” Oliver finds himself asking. He’s breathless and covered in grass stains and mud and sweat. He hadn’t even changed from his practice robes or removed any of his gear. He’s in full regalia in the hallway of a hospital.
“Mrs. Weasley is somewhere here… Mr. Weasley and Ron are getting some of Percy’s things. Ginny’s and George are calling people. Bill will be here soon.
“Penny?”
Harry nods. “Ginny said she’d contacted her office at the Ministry. Charlie’s writing Hogwarts to let the twins know.”
“What happened? Do you know?” Oliver all but pleads. Harry runs a hand through his ever-messy black hair. Even adulthood couldn’t tame it.
“My office is investigating. It was Audrey for sure, but we’re not sure what he was hit with. I wanted to help but…” he trails off. Aurors during the war were basically permitted to do anything. Now, they had to stick to regulations. That included not working cases in which they were personally affected.
“Can I see him?” Oliver asks, a bit desperately.
“I don’t see why not.” Harry says with a shrug. He waves to the ward, an invitation for Oliver. “It’s family only, though so if anyone asks, you and Percy are cousins.”
“Fine.” Oliver agrees. Ginny had already claimed to be his sister- what was a little more familial lying?
The ward is quiet, nearly empty except for a bed in the corner that has the curtains drawn around it. Oliver spots Percy’s bed at once. He just about runs over to the bedside. There’s a chair on the fair side of the wall, but Oliver doesn’t even bother with it. He kneels on the hard, cold floor, pressing into his knees.
Percy looks dead.
There’s no way else to describe it. He’s pale and cold. His lips are tinged slightly blue. His chest is going up and down rhythmically- too steady to be natural. They must be using magic to keep his heart beating and his lung pushing in and out air.
“Oh, Perce.”
It hits him. Percy, his Percy, was practically dead. If it wasn’t for magic, he’d be dead. He hesitates, just for a moment, before taking Percy’s limp hand into his. He leans over the bed a bit, using his elbow to steady himself and brushes a hand through Percy’s curls. There’s no physical damage to be seen, no blue or bruises. It looks like Percy had just… died.
The thought is terrifying.
Not yours Oliver reminds himself. He had never… they’d never really talked about it. They’d been spending so much time together and still; Oliver hadn’t had the courage to ask him out properly. But this was Percy. His Percy. His almost Percy. The sight of him practically dead is enough to bring him to tears.
Oliver’s not a big crier.
Growing up, his father had drilled it into his head that men needed to be tough. Tears were for children and girls. And even at age eight, Oliver knew that. When his father had be diagnosed with cancer, Oliver had cried. And his father told him to toughen up. Even when he found their bodies- his dear mother and cruel father, he hadn’t cried. He had only cried after they had been buried.
Their will had been clear- they wanted to be buried together. Oliver didn’t have the heart to do it. He’d gotten a large bush planted between his mum and dad. It didn’t seem fair to his mum. She had been murdered by her husband. She didn’t need to be buried next to him. He’d requested her maiden name be used, too, rather than Wood.
Oliver had once thought about changing his last name to Klein, his mother’s name, but decided against it. He wanted to make the Wood name good.
So, it wasn’t until that stupid bush was planted and the graves filled in with dirt did Oliver cry. It was just a little. It was like he knew he needed to cry, but his body didn’t allow it. Like when you got sick and you wanted to vomit, but your stomach was empty. But it doesn’t your muscle from retching, from protesting.
He’s surprised to find that his face is face. He’s not sobbing, but he’s crying. For the first time in years. He’s crying over the man he loved, practically being murdered by the woman that once loved him.
They’re quiet, fat tears, that roll off his face and drip onto the crisp white sheets that Percy is tucked under. He keeps his hand in Percy’s hair, allowing his thumb to graze Percy’s cheek in what he hopes are comforting circles.
“Merlin, Perce.” He chokes out breathlessly. Percy doesn’t respond.
“I love you.” Oliver says for the first time. “I love you Percival Weasley. I love you so much it hurts and I’m so, so sorry that I haven’t told you. I love your smile. I love how you always use bookmark rather than fold the corners of books. I love the way you laugh. Like really laugh, when you start out small and then your burst out because you can’t contain it. I love how you hate spicy food but still eat Indian takeaway with me. I love how much you care for your girls. I love how excited you get about broomstick regulations. I love you; I love you; I love you.”
Oliver brings Percy limp hand to his lips, gently pressing a kiss into paper-thin skin and bone. He prays to whatever god is out there that Percy lives.
“Please wake up.”
He’s surprised at how small he sounds. At how small he feels. How powerless he is. He sniffs, trying to not leave snot all over a coma patient.
“Come back to me, Percy. Please. Please.” He chants it like a prayer. Like an offering to long-dead deity. Like it’s the only thing he wants. And it is. He’d kill himself right now if it meant that Percy would just be okay.
There’s some noise behind him. Oliver turns, still on his knees and his heart stutters. It’s Mrs. Weasley. She looks sad. Which of course she is, her son is in a magical coma. Her hair is tied back, and she’s red-rimmed eyes, but she somehow seems composed.
“Sorry.” Oliver says quickly, feeling embarrassed and wondering how much she’d heard. She gives him a tight smile.
“It’s alright, Oliver.”
She walks over to Percy’s bedside, and Oliver stands. He grabs the chair from the wall and offers it to Mrs. Weasley, which she accepts. But not before conjuring another one from a spare bed. She pats the seat next to her, and Oliver joins her.
“I, uh…” he tries to say but she lets out a breathy little chuckle.
“It’s okay, Oliver.”
She takes Percy’s hand in her and rubs it a bit, like she’s trying to warm it up. Her gaze on her son is soft and fond.
Oliver adored Mrs. Weasley. That summer his father had gotten sick, he’d basically lived at the Burrow. He’d been too scared to face the fact that his father was dying. Even though his father was not a nice man. He’d been a little distant, though. She never seemed to mind.
They’re quiet for a few moments.
“You know, when Percy was little, he was always the serious one. Even when he was born. He rarely cried. He was a very serious baby.” Mrs. Weasley chuckles softly, her eyes still fixed on Percy, her thumb tracing circles over his hand.
“He used to hide behind his books, all quiet and reserved. We’d have to pull him away from his studies just to get him to come and play outside. Fred and George would tease him mercilessly about it, but he never seemed to mind. Not really. He had his own world, you know? A world full of rules, structure… safety. I always thought he was so mature for his age, even as a little boy. But there was something else, too.”
Oliver looks up at her, waiting for her to continue. Her gaze is steady on her son’s face.
“You could see the care in him, even back then. The way he would look out for Ginny, make sure she was safe, or how he would always try to protect Ron from whatever trouble Fred and George had dragged him into. He wanted to be strong, to take care of his family. He was always trying to be the reliable one.”
Mrs. Weasley pauses, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “But what you might not know, Oliver… is that he’d get so frustrated with himself when he couldn’t fix everything. He hated that he couldn’t make everything perfect. I always told him that it was okay, that he didn’t have to be perfect to be loved. He didn’t always listen, though.”
She sighs, wiping away a single tear that’s escaped.
“You see, Percy had this enormous heart, one he tried so hard to hide. He thought that by staying serious, by being perfect, he could keep us all together. But I think, deep down, he just wanted to be loved for who he really was. Not for the rules he followed, not for the titles or the responsibilities, but for Percy. I think he thought he found that in Audrey. We all did.”
She gently pats her son’s hand in her own.
“Maybe he thought no one would believe hm. It hurts that he may have thought that. Maybe it has to do with the fight he and his father got into during the war. I’m not sure. I used to send him packages through the mail, and they’d be returned unopened… and he stopped showing up to events. He started making excused. I think I knew, deep down. But I was scared.” her eyes get a little glassy in thought.
“And then Charlie told us about what happened with Audrey, and he refused to leave her, I just… I thought if I pushed too hard, I’d lose him again.” She huffs out a humorless laugh.
“Look where that got us.”
Oliver doesn’t know what to say to that. He’d heard from Percy only a little about what happened during his falling out, and just bits and pieces of Percy’s estrangement.
“I-,” Oliver takes a steadying breath. “I love him.”
He hates how his voice cracks at the end. How he feels like crying all over again. How he’s about to start crying to the mother of someone in a coma.
“Oh, dear.” Mrs. Weasley says. “I know. He loves you too, even if he doesn’t know it yet. He’s smart; he’ll figure it out eventually.”
Oliver barks out a surprised laugh through his tears. “Molly!” he protests without any heat. She smiles fondly at Oliver, and then lets her gaze go back to Percy.
“And when he does, know that you’re welcome any time. In our family, or the Burrow. we’re honored that you chose to love him.”
Oliver’s heart feels like it’s being built back together and broken all at the same time. Warmth. Home. Loss. It feels like he’s trapped in a rip current with no way out.
“It was never a choice to love him. Not for me.”
Molly Weasley places her free in into Oliver’s and gives it a squeeze.
“I know, love. I'm happy to hear it."