That's it. The war is over. Perce and I can finally-
Oliver shuddered, the ringing in his ears grew louder. The laughter, the relieved sobs, the overwhelming cheering as people celebrated the defeat of Voldemort, all of it was lost on him.
He felt hands pat him on the back, a congratulatory message clear in its intent, but Oliver couldn't muster any response. All he did was sit down on a broken pillar and numbly stared at what had been the battlefield. He lost track of time as his mind drifted away from him.
I wonder if I go into the great hall would he greet me, say it was one big misunderstanding?
No, there was no misunderstanding his glazed over eyes.
"Oliver?" Charlie's voice called from right next to him, his tone indicating this wasn't the first time trying to get the younger mans attention. He hadn't even noticed Charlie had walked up to him.
Oliver tried to respond but his words caught in his throat, refusing to be used, so he hummed absentmindedly in response instead, still staring unseeingly at the wreckage before him. He couldn't seem to be able to turn his head to look at Charlie.
Should I go to him? Has he been moved? How long have I been sitting here? I can't see him like that again. Could he forgive me?
"Come on mate, let's...Let's go," Charlie said kindly, carefully grabbing Oliver's arm to get him up. He let himself be guided away from the ash and debris, not caring where he was being taken, too tired to put up any fight.
"The family is going home 'nd mum was wondering if you were coming with..." Charlie inquired after a few moments, glancing briefly at him. When he got no response again he slowed down their pace by a fraction and looked at Oliver fully.
"Look, Oliver, you're family now. You'll always have a place at the burrow, I promise you that." the Weasley brother said in earnest, silently hoping to break through to his old friend.
How can I face staying with them when he isn't with me? It's not right that I should go with his family while he's-
Perce would want me to.
Oliver mustered up enough energy to nod in assent. Charlie took that as a win and he picked up their pace again. He explained whilst they walked that they're heading to a clearing near the black lake where all- almost all- the Weasleys were waiting with a portkey home.
He stopped registering the world around him, his mind overtaken with static. No longer could he hear Charlie's breathing and occasional comments or their footsteps crunching on the rubble or even the joyous singing clashed harshly with the screams of those who found the body of their friend. His vision became tunneled, only watching his feet as they dutifully put one in front of another on their own accord.
Am I alive? I don't feel alive. I don't feel like I'm here. This isn't real. No. No, I have to be alive, if I wasn't he'd be with me right now.
"We're almost there," Charlie informed him lightly after awhile but Oliver didn't show any indication that he even heard his friend as he carried on walking. Charlie sighed and said nothing further.
Soon enough they were surrounded by the other Weasleys, Hermione and Harry included. Still though, Oliver's eyes remained fixated on his old and tattered boots. That was until he heard Mrs. Weasley.
"Hello dear," she greeted him, her voice sounded tortured and course. For Percys sake, he forced himself to look up. He almost immediately regretted doing so.
It was as though she were one of the dead that were gathered in the great hall. Tear stains streaked down her ash covered face. Her eyes, which had always held such warmth, were now almost lifeless, and her usual fierce and passionate demeanor was gone.
He would hate to see her like this. Especially because of him.
"Hullo," he said but it came as barely a whisper. It sounded distant to his own ears. He could see in his peripheral Charlie look at him in slight relief at hearing his voice but he focused on how Molly's eyes earned a small fraction of spark back into them as she looked at him with a kind but barely there smile.
"Come now, let's all go home so I can fix everyone a nice cuppa. That sounds nice, yes?" she spoke softly and gently wrapped an arm around his waist. He couldn't tell if it was for his support or her own.
The group nodded at her and made for the old trainer portkey, each one huddled around it until they all could reach out and touch it to take them to the burrow.
Percy hated portkeys, we always had to apparate or floo, no matter how inconvenient.
Oliver decided he hated portkeys too.
It was a rougher landing due to everyone's physical exhaustion. Fred had nearly toppled over, only being saved by his twin. Oliver would have as well but thankfully Molly's arm hadn't left him yet.
Once everyone regained their balance and settled their shaken nerves, they started a short trek to their home. No one talked, none of them even knew what they would say. So they stayed silent.
Along the way he managed to break free from Molly's grasp and lag behind the rest of the family. Their presence was too much for him. He felt his mind drifting again and their reassuring touches only worsened this uncomfortable feeling of detachment.
When he saw the view of the burrow come into sight, he stopped.
He should be here with us. With me. Why did he leave without me? How could he leave me alone?
He took a deep breath and counted to ten, just like how he used to instruct his fiancé to do when he was about to have an anxiety attack and vice versa. They always did get in their own heads too much but they were always there to ground one another.
But he was alone now.
Oh gods, it's not working, Perce, why isn't it working? I can't breath, please-
He punched his arm hard, begging the physical pain will distract his mind enough to stop the oncoming panic attack. It didn't. He punched again. And again. And again until his arm was throbbing and he could feel his heart return to his chest from out of his throat.
Pretending like his life wasn't being torn away with every breath he took, Oliver continued on down to the Weasley's home.
He slowly passed the makeshift quidditch pitch where Percy would fret over his siblings safety and cheer loudly when they played. Percy loved quidditch, he was always the most enthusiastic in the stands during matches, always the most encouraging of Olivers dreams of going professional... but, much to Percys chagrin, he was absolutely pants at flying. He was embarrassed by this fact, as all his siblings were proficient flyers, so he never participated.
Oliver closed his eyes, remembering when he finally convinced Percy to play one on one with him. It was their sixth year and after much badgering from Oliver, he finally acquiesced. They lasted about five minutes before Percy had enough of struggling to stay on the broom. In the end Oliver decided that a quiet shared ride over the lake was better anyways.
God, I don't ever want to fly again.
Blinking hard, trying to push the memories out of his head, he kept walking. Time felt disconcerting; as if it were sped up and sluggish simultaneously, so he was surprised when he made it to the now untended garden that Percy helped his mother care for when he was a kid. He saw the new buds of spring just beginning to grow again, seemingly mocking him with their new life.
Oliver remembers going over to the burrow when he was younger, fresh out of his second year at Hogwarts. He, and his fellow teammates, had been invited by Charlie to practice some quidditch maneuvers. However, as soon as he walked up to the family's home and saw Percy fixing up the flower beds with his mother, his plans quickly shifted into helping them instead.
Charlie had been quite dumbfounded, as Oliver was the one practically jumping up and down at the thought of extra quidditch practice. Oliver had to confess, he was quite surprised as well at his decision, but the smile on his roommates face when he asked if he could help them was blinding, leaving a very confused young Oliver spiraling into his very first crush.
He wishes he could smile at these fond moments but all it does is leave bile in his throat threatening to come up.
He barely even noticed that he started moving again until he stood near Mr. Weasley's shed. Years ago, Percy used to talk about all the new muggle things his father brought home, before, that is, he and his father grew apart. Still though, he never lost the fondness he held for strange muggle contraptions, many bits and bobs were strategically placed throughout their small flat.
At the thought of their home, his knees buckled slightly and his throat closed up. Their little safe haven, now corrupted and taunting in his mind. With a quivering breath, he squatted down and hid his face in his hands.
Will I ever be able to face it?
Pushing down the insurmountable rage and hopeless threatening to break through the fog he's been suffocating in, he got up and continued on.
Finally, finally, he reached the front step.
Oliver closed his eyes and took a deep breath as he opened the door to the burrow.
"Ah, there you are lad!" Mr. Weasley exclaimed, clearly relieved. The older man got up and guided Oliver into one of the den chairs next to Mrs. Weasley. "The others are already in their rooms, if you need anyone." he explained as he saw Oliver scan the room.
"Now, Oliver, Charlie has said you can room with him. You'll both be in Ginny's room; she'll be with Ron, Harry, and Hermione in Ron's room and said it was okay for you both to stay there." Mrs. Weasley informed. He nodded mechanically. She sighed and patted his hand before continuing, "We also have extra clothes for you to change into on the bed, I'm sure you want to get out of your dirty clothes."
Now that did strike something in Oliver, who suddenly felt so filthy that not even a hundred cleansing charms could help him. He curled minutely into himself, his hands now harshly scratching up and down his arms, surely to break skin.
No, stop it. Stopstopstop. Dirty. It's okay. Not okay. Fine? Bad. His blood. STOP. Get it together, Wood. I can't-
TRY HARDER.
He flexed his fingers and dropped his hands away from his arms, instead rubbing them gently together in a self soothing gesture. He took a breath.
"Thank-" Oliver winced as he coughed, his throat dry and scratchy. He looked up and forced his body to calm down and obey him. "Thank you both." he nodded at them.
"Of course dear, you're family," she said kindly, trying, and failing, to cover her small surprise at hearing him talk more than but a word.
Family. Bitterly, he wishes that word didn't feel so hollow.
"Come now, lad, I'll show you to the room," Mr. Weasley said after a moment of tense silence. He slapped his knee and stood up, gesturing to Oliver to follow him.
He shuffled behind Arthur until they reached the room. The older man softly rapted on the door, "Charlie? It's us," he announced.
"One second," he called back in a slightly strained voice, clearly rustling with something. A few moments later he opened the door rather abruptly and said sorry about the wait and that they can come in now.
Oliver looked passed Charlie and glanced about the room. It was rather orange and bright, plastered with quidditch posters and Ginny's old school accomplishments. He almost felt sick again, to see something so untouched by war when he was so completely tainted. Gritting his teeth, he ignored his urge to run.
Eventually his eyes landed on what Charlie must have been working on. It was a makeshift bed on the ground, consisting of a quite large sleeping bag topped with fuzzy worn blankets and a few pillows of varying sizes.
"Ah, don't worry about that, mate, that's where I'll be sleeping. You've got the bed there," Charlie gave him an unsure smile in reassurance. Oliver didn't notice.
"No, it's fine. I'll take the floor," he rasped out, his face blank. He made his way towards the bed only to get the clothes Mrs. Weasley had told him about. "Thank you," he nodded at both of the men standing awkwardly in the small room and made his way past the door.
He ignored the family pictures that adorned hallway, keeping his eyes firmly planted on the floor as he walked to the restroom. He couldn't bare to see the smiling faces of the family- of the complete family.
Shutting the door to restroom, he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. After a moment he moves to undress, carefully avoiding looking in the mirror that hangs above the sink. He desperately tries to pretend that there's not blood- his blood- on his clothes. He casts them to the corner of the small room as though they burned him.
Oliver turned on the water and quickly steps in the shower, standing in silence as the hot water burns his chest. He stares numbly at the blood and dirt filter down the drain, letting his thoughts turn to static. When the water runs cold, he turns it off, stepped out of the shower and grabbed the towel to dry himself off. Quickly he got dressed in the pajamas and took a second to breathe deeply; the soft fabric tormented him with comfort he doesn't deserve.
When he returned to the room Arthur was gone and the room was dimly lit. Walking in further to reach his makeshift cot he noticed Charlie hunched over sitting on the edge of the bed. His face splotchy red and his breathing uneven. Oliver doesn't acknowledge it, he wouldn't even know where to begin. How could anyone be prepared in this situation, and he certainly wasn't the one to help. He can't even help himself.
So, instead, he simply moved past his friend to get to his area and lied down. He turned away from the bed and heard Charlie rustling the sheets to lay down himself.
Oliver simply lied there, immobile, for hours. Not a twitch of the legs, not even a single turn. He knew he wasn't going to sleep tonight and he wasn't surprised. After all, he was used to someone sleeping next to him. Though, he couldn't imagine anyone resting peacefully tonight. His chest felt hollow as he impassively stared up at the ceiling, not even his thoughts to keep him company.
In the moonlight that filtered in from the open window he could see Charlie in a fitful sleep, his chest moving up and down rapidly, his face scrunched up painfully.
He felt himself get up, though he wasn't conscious of doing so. He needs to take a walk, he reasons, to ground himself. Percy does that a lot, especially lately. Sometimes Oliver would join him.
He planned to go outside, planned to go down by the creek, but his traitorous legs had a different idea. He found himself at the only empty bedroom in the burrow. He shuddered a breath and his fingers twitched at his side.
I can't. I need to leave. Leave. Leave. Leave-
He opened the door quietly and stepped inside.
Immediately he was overwhelmed by it all. The neatly stacked books, the piles of parchment scattered about the desk, the newspaper on the nightstand warning of the new times coming. Everything left untouched, exactly how it was when he last was here.
He gingerly sat on Percy's bed, running his fingers over the duvet as though it was something precious. They were to him, anything that was his fiancés was precious.
He grabbed the pillow that was tucked under the sheets and held it close, breathing in the familiar earl grey and cinnamon scent that still faintly lingered on it. He wants to drown in it.
With the familiar smell calming his nerves, he crawled fully onto the bed, not bothering with the duvet to cover him. Moments pass and his eyes started feeling heavy and his body slumped fully. His exhaustion finally won over his mind and he slept.
Such a fitful night as it was, he was easily awoken by a gentle rapt at the door. He slowly sat himself up, and adjusted his eyes to the soft light coming through the window. It must be early morning then, he figured.
"Ah, I should've known you'd be here," Mrs. Weasley tiredly said.
Out of the corner of his vision he saw her stood still at the door of her sons room, steeling herself to enter. When she finally did after a few moments, she breathed in deeply with only a slight shake.
"Oliver, dear, we-" she started feebly but cut herself off and begun again as she sat down next to him on the bed. "We've all decided that this should be with you... as hard as it is for me, I think he would've wanted you to have it," Molly said, her voice becoming barely a whisper at the end.
Oliver hadn't even realized she was holding something until she outstretched her arm to him. Holding that something with the utmost care and attention. When he saw what it was he made a pathetic whimpering sound that caught in the back of his throat.
Percy's wand.
Oh god.
Percy hated when other people held his wand and likewise the wand was prone to act out when not in the grip of it's owner.
Before he could stop himself he quickly reached out and took the wand. He felt the gentle remnants of his fiancés magic mingle with his, as if saying goodbye. But to him, it felt like he was breathing his last breath. As quickly as the burst of magic came, giving him reprieve, it was gone, leaving him suffocating with a burning pressure in his chest.
It feels like something's been physically ripped out of me.
He couldn't stop the guttural, pained noise he made as he doubled over in pain, still clutching Percy's wand close to his chest.
He vaguely heard Mrs. Weasley frantically asking what was wrong, calling loudly for her husband. He felt her arms wrap around his shoulders but not the weight of them, it was as if they were barely there even though she was clutching tightly onto him.
The pressure inside him became unbearable as it thrashed around like something ready to burst. He started to shake, his body trembling with the pain mounting. Each beat of his pulse sending a fresh wave of nauseating torture through his body.
He cried out a gasp and the abrupt sharp jolt that shot through his body had him arching his back from his previous hunched over position and he fell fully onto the bed. His fiancé's wand clattering to the ground as his body gave up. He whined weakly at that, his tired hands still making a move to try and reach it.
Before Mrs. Weasley could notice what he wanted, Arthur came rushing into the room, panicked, with most of his children following suit. Oliver flinched slightly at the onslaught of noise.
Who cares if I'm in pain? Why should it matter when he's-
He felt tears gather in his eyes and run down the sides of his face for the first time since the war ended. Whether they're from the pain, grief, or anger, he doesn't know.
"Oh dear Merlin, what happened?!" the older man yelled, crossing the room hastily to get to his wife and, practically, son in law.
"I don't know!" Mrs. Weasley shrilled in response, making his ears ring. "I gave him Per- I gave him the wand and his body started convulsing! I've never seen anything like it, Arthur."
He could feel her pushing back his hair from his face when the pain abruptly stopped. His body immediately went limp, exhausted from the torture it endured.
He felt irrevocably empty. Alone. He couldn't feel the constant and soothing hum he had gotten so accustomed to since he was eleven.
The pain he could handle, but this? This is worse.
"Is he...will he be alright?" George, Oliver thinks, asked hesitantly as the room became hushed.
"I believe so but-" Arthur started when he got on his knees at the side of the bed to inspect him, "I think his magic was reacting to his emotional state. He might not be able to do magic for awhile."
That doesn't sound too bad. I don't even want to do magic now.
"Bill, please get a bowl of cool water and a washcloth," Mr. Weasley delegated before turning his attention to Oliver and asked him softly, "How are you doing, lad?"
He couldn't do more but stare right through the older man.
"Alright. That's okay, you don't have to talk, son. Can you just shake your head yes or no if you're in physical pain," he compromised, much to Oliver's chagrin, but he shook his head minutely in answer.
"Good, that's good," Arthur sighed in slight relief. "Ah, thank you Bill," he grabbed the rag and bowl of water from his eldest, who had just come back in the room, and started dabbing Oliver's forehead.
Oliver turned his head away from Mr. Weasley after a few moments. He didn't want this continued fuss, to burden an already grieving family. And he was desperate to just be left alone.
Thankfully, the older man took the hint. Arthur gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder and ushered his wife and children out of the room.
As soon as they cleared out, Oliver slowly turned over and reached down for his fiancé's wand. Once firmly in his hand again, he lied down again, closed his eyes, and rested it to his heart.
"What am I going to do without you?" he whispered brokenly to the empty room. "Perce, please, I can't," he cried.
A moment passed and he started fiddling with his engagement ring, as he always has since putting it on. It served as a comfort, an even greater comfort as he and Percy held hands and he fidgeted with Percys. Percy always laughed and rolled his eyes but Oliver knew he found it endearing.
"You-Do you know I already wrote my vows? I know you thought I didn't, you silly man. Thought I was too busy. In truth, I wrote them before you even said yes," he gave a pathetic ghost of a laugh, barely even a huff. No smile accompanying it.
"I shouldn't have waited to show you. We shouldn't have waited to get married, love. Y-you should've listened to me," he shuddered a breath. He thought of their small tiff they had just a few months ago, about when to get married. It seems like a lifetime ago now.
Oliver had wanted to get married right away, never the type of person to delay or wait, but Percy- Percy had wanted it to be a proper celebration. Not just of their love but also the celebration of life and new beginnings for everyone after the war. It was a long back and forth with no shortage of exasperated sighs coming from both of them. In the end, Oliver gave in to his fiancé's wish. He wishes now more than ever that he hadn't.
"I'm scared, love. I'd give up anything-" his voice broke off in a whimper and he shakily inhaled, his tears and snot making it hard to breathe. "I need you," he mouthed, his words finally failing him again as he sobs in earnest.
The new morning came and went without him.