Chapter Text
Embarrassing story.
It's been so long since I posted a new fanfic in AO3 that I spent half a day figuring out how to do it. I could have done a Google search, but nope, I'm stubborn that way.
Well, with that, here's to the long overdue start of Ron's second year shennanigans.
Hope you enjoy the journey with me. 😘
Percy,
Bet you didn’t think I’d write to you anymore, did you? Not after that nonsense you pulled back during my fifth year.
You left us for Fudge and his cronies. You said all that terrible shite to mum, dad, and my best mate. You didn’t come see dad when he nearly died because of Nagini, or when Bill got mauled by Greyback. You didn’t even bother to show up at Bill and Fleur’s wedding even after he and mum invited you.
But before you chuck this letter to the bin (or to the fireplace), at least hear me out first.
Because I get it.
The war ended with a bang, and then a whimper.
How could there not be a bang upon seeing You-Know-Who crumple to the ground, gone forever, after being struck down by Harry bloody Potter? How could they, Hogwarts’ stalwart defenders, not cheer with all their might over the war they had painstakingly just won?
But once the pandemonium from celebrating the Death Eaters’ defeat subsided, a heavy sombre air had seemingly taken its place when everyone remembered the dead still lying in what remained of the Great Hall.
The Fallen Fifty, Professor McGonagall referred to them, their allies killed during the Battle of Hogwarts.
A somewhat lacking epitaph, if one asked him, but Oliver Wood supposed there are more pressing matters they needed to worry about.
Since he was fortunate that most of his relatives were currently safe from the war in Switzerland–including his parents, who fled as soon as they got wind of the Azkaban breakout in 1996–Oliver felt that the least he could do was join the fight during the height of Hogwarts’ defensive battle, and to help around the castle in its aftermath.
And, truly, Oliver had been more than happy to do as much as he can. Not to mention it was something to keep him occupied while Quidditch season is currently suspended.
But right now, he is on a forced break, imposed by a rather stern Professor Trelawney.
“I daresay you have been in the company of the fallen for far too long, Mr. Wood,” said his former Divination Professor while replacing the sheet covering a deceased Hufflepuff robed witch with long, luminous hair. “Why, I haven’t seen you take a bite to eat since this morning! And to think you have been lugging around Merlin knows how much all day!”
“Professor, I told you I’m–”
“Fine? Of course you are. For the moment, at least. But had I left you to all…this,” Trelawney held her arms out, gesturing at the rows of white sheet covered bodies, before turning back to the half exposed body of a bespectacled, dark haired woman Oliver vaguely recognized. “Dear boy, I don’t need to be a seer to know this will all wear you down sooner or later, considering at least half of the deceased have been brought here by you! Now, no more arguing!”
“But–”
“Tomorrow morning, Mr. Wood, if you still feel so inclined.” Trelawney smiled slightly. “And I know you will be, of course. But for now, rest. You have certainly earned it.”
Earned what? The glorious reward of being forced into the doldrums? Oliver grumbled to himself while walking aimlessly about the ruins of one of the castle greenhouses. Fan-bloody-tastic.
After his talk with Trelawney, he had already owled his parents, gotten showered, changed into some old spare Quidditch robes he knew were still hidden in the stadium locker, had a sandwich and had a quick nap.
But that had been two hours ago!
And here I thought only Quidditch would make me think tomorrow can’t come fast enough. The young man ruffled his own hair with an irritated sigh. I would have tried to help somewhere else if I could, but everyone kept turning me down. Maybe Trelawney tipped them off or something? Not that I don’t appreciate the thought, but–
Three meters past another greenhouse, a left past the gazebo, and back inside the castle later, something snapped.
Argh, this is driving me mental! Oliver was dangerously close to pulling his hair out, but he had a better idea. That’s it! I don’t care what she says! I’m going back up the castle right now and tell Professor Trelawney I am going back to work or so help me I will–!
Huh?
His resolute march back to the Great Hall was interrupted by the sight of a familiar figure slouched at the base of the courtyard fountain.
Percy?
I know how it feels to not be seen.
I know how it feels to be surrounded by people who you think will probably never understand or accept you.
I know how it feels to finally be somebody.
But being somebody is not worth throwing away your family and friends. I nearly made that mistake with Harry and Hermione, so I know that it’s one of the worst to make. The kind that makes you miserable as hell while filling your head with “what if’s” or “I should have’s” and all that.
It’s the same for you, isn’t it?
Don’t deny it, dumbarse. I know it is.
If anyone told a first year Oliver Wood that one Percy Ignatius Weasley would end up becoming his Hogwarts best mate, he would have laughed so hard his stomach would hurt for hours, because in what world would that have made sense? The two Gryffindor boys couldn’t have been any more different, even if they tried!
Percy was bookish, studious and uptight. Oliver was adventurous, carefree and frankly a slacker when it came to everything except his favorite sport. Not to mention Percy hated Quidditch, and who in their right mind even does that? Definitely one poor nutter who Oliver could not imagine becoming friends with!
Life, however, works in ways even magic cannot fully explain.
Granted, it hadn’t been a straightforward process, but after Percy turned a blind eye on seeing Oliver out during curfew to practice for a match against Slytherin in their second year did the former Quidditch captain start to consider that Percy may be more than a no-nonsense know-it-all.
One invite to an impromptu chess game in the common room the next day, and the rest was history.
While the pair may have their disagreements on certain issues–like on whether or not Fudge was still worth supporting as Minister, or on how early is too early for one to start practice–Oliver had always been confident that he and Percy had an understanding in spite of their differences and helped each other through all sorts of rough patches, during and even beyond Hogwarts.
After all, wasn’t it him who dragged Percy’s stupidly drunk arse back to the idiot’s flat after his breakup with Penelope Clearwater?
The sight of a crumpled Percy reminded Oliver of that sorry sight two years ago: shoulders slumped, legs in a clumsy side sitting posture, red hair in wild and windswept like a blazing bonfire, and his normally sharp brown eyes glazed behind square glasses dangerously close to slipping past Percy’s nose bridge.
So unlike the haughty and dignified former Headboy Percy used to be, and Oliver knew why.
The dark haired wizard bit his inner cheek at the memory of the news he heard from Neville a few hours ago, before clearing his throat. “Uh, Percy?”
A couple of seconds ticked by before the red head’s brown eyes slid to Oliver’s direction. “Oliver?”
“Hey, mate.” The other man smiled feebly, taking a seat on the fountain rim close to his friend. “It’s been a while, eh?”
It took another second for Percy to incline his head with a grunt, which was Percy speak for him not being in the mood for small talk.
Oliver considered how to proceed from here. While his friend may be quite proud in the way he talked and carried himself, Percy was not usually the type to refuse conversation. Truth be told, the former Head Boy will talk anyone’s ears off if he was allowed to.
However, when Percy did not want to talk, Merlin, nothing short of several bottles of Firewhiskey would be able to pry those locked jaws open! Yet not only is he short of any supply of alcohol, but Oliver knew that this wasn’t the time or place for that.
Besides, Percy needed to be sober to hear what Oliver had to say next.
“So, err, I heard from Neville, about your brother.” Suppressing his own wince at the way Percy visibly flinched, Oliver pushed on. “It was Ron, wasn’t it? I…I’m really sorry for your loss.”
It was strange that, while Ron was clearly important to at least four people Oliver considered friends, he had never actually met the bloke himself. But, oh did Percy talk a lot about him, especially whenever their conversations would drift towards chess or a certain Boy-Who-Lived. Heard enough about Ron Weasley to know that the boy was the typical Gryffindor: impulsive, hot-tempered, and blunt; but also brave, loyal and true.
He also heard from Neville about how Ron died, about how witnesses said they saw him push Fred Weasley out of the way of a fatal explosion. Died protecting his brother, like any from the house of the lions would have.
And the intensity of the Weasley family’s anguish afterwards…
But more importantly, I know I said you were an idiot for believing Fudge, but it’s only now that I can see why you did. The wanker may have been taking the piss, but he did the one thing you needed from us–from me–that we never bothered to.
Doesn’t matter if he actually meant it or not. What did was that he made you feel that he knew you, that you were more than just an ambitious nobody who only cared for power or following the rules.
You said you thought we could be real brothers, that you thought I could understand you. I don’t know if you’ll believe me now, but I do.
You care, Perce. You care a bloody lot.
And sometimes I’ll be a dunderhead and forget. But trust me, I’ll always remember.
Because I’ve always known.
“They got Penny too.”
Oliver nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard Percy whisper, so it took a moment for him to process what he just heard. “Penny Clearwater? You mean, your ex?”
As soon as he said those words, Oliver had to suppress the urge to slap himself. If it were anyone else, he would have gotten a fist to the mouth for his crassness.
Good thing Percy was already so used to his social ineptness, or at least, was not in the mood to punch him for it. “She went back to help. They said she fought three Death Eaters off, and helped a couple of Slytherins scape. Penny…she wasn’t a fighter, but…but she only wanted to help. She always tried to…even when I made it so hard for her…”
“Fuck, Percy, that’s terrible! I’m so sorry…” The other wizard was stunned. Losing your brother then your once girlfriend who you are obviously still in love with, all in the same day? What can anyone say to help with such a loss? Especially when you're someone whose family had been perfectly safe throughout the war?
“Why are you out here by yourself, by the way?” Yes, it wasn’t the smoothest of transitions, but Oliver was desperate to say something else. “Shouldn’t you be inside, with the other…ah, shite, ” He almost forgot that the Weasleys were still a sore spot for the other wizard. “Right, so, reckon we go back to the Great Hall? Heard someone smuggled a bit of butterbeer and biscuits from the kitchens.”
Percy shook his head. “I can’t.”
“You can’t what?”
“...I can’t let them see me like this.” Percy audibly swallowed. “My family, I mean.”
Oliver fell silent for a thoughtful second. “You said last time that you’d try and patch things up with them. Did it work out?”
Percy chuckled mirthlessly. “It doesn’t make sense. After everything I said, how much I’ve hurt them and made mum cry…they welcomed me back as if nothing happened. I can’t believe…I don’t understand why it was that easy for them to…”
The former Head Boy rested his brow on a free hand. “What happened with Ron…it shook all of us. They’re all still reeling in there, all hurt, upset and angry. I don’t want to add to that. I don’t…want to make things worse.”
“Why would you think–?”
“Look at me, Oliver.” Percy cut Oliver off with a dry laugh. “My little brother and my girlfriend, they just died and yet I can’t shed a bloody tear. If anyone else saw me like this, they’d probably think it’s because I never cared about them. That I’m a selfish, heartless bastard. To say nothing of my…”
“Percy…” Oliver wished he knew more about how it was like to feel constantly misunderstood by your family. He did not know how true that was, but it was true enough for the third Weasley son that it haunted Percy’s every thought and action. It was a hurt that Oliver had seen steadily fester in his best friend until that disastrous falling out almost three years ago.
But still…
“You’ll never know if you don’t try, right?” At the bespectacled Weasley’s confused look, Oliver went on. “I know you’re worried they’ll see the worst in you again, but you’re all going through a hard time. You all need each other now more than ever. Don’t you think there’s at least someone in your family you can reach out to? Someone who you trust can understand you somehow?”
The resulting silence thickened to the point the Quidditch player could have sworn he heard a cricket chirp somewhere.
“...Ron used to.”
Oliver seriously did not know whether to laugh or sigh.
Of fucking course.
You may have come off as too strong at times, but you only wanted the best for us, didn’t you?
You only wanted to make it big in the Ministry so no one will talk shite about Dad again.
You wanted to have money so Mum won’t have to worry about having to cut corners.
You wanted me, the twins and Ginny to study hard and keep our heads down so we’d succeed in life, and you trusted the Ministry will get us there.
And then there was what we had.
Remember how you used to read me stories as a kid? Remember how you played chess with me whenever you could, even when you were studying and stuff? Remember when you’d get back at the twins for pranking us and they never figured out who did it because that was our secret?
But you had to give that up, because I made you think you had to.
And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I made you think I forgot, because I didn’t.
Worse than that, I took it for granted.
“The last time I saw Ron was that row we had before I left home,” said Percy in a low monotone, brown eyes fixed far ahead, seemingly unaware of Oliver’s concerned gaze from his left. “He tried so hard to convince me to stay, but Ron being Ron, he went the wrong way about it. He tends to run his mouth when he’s angry, you see, because he has his heart too up his bloody sleeve. But he would never mean it. Ron may be a hot head, but he doesn’t have a bad bone in his body.
“And yet I let myself snap. I accused him of so many hurtful things. That he was a coward. That he had changed. That he no longer saw me as his brother.” Another dry chuckle. “Looks like we have more in common than I thought, huh, Ronnie?”
Oliver kept quiet.
“I always believed I had better control over myself. That even under pressure, I’ll always think things through. But after what happened three years ago, I ended up making one stupid mistake after another. I drove my mum away. I didn’t see dad when he nearly died to You-Know-Who’s snake. I didn’t bother reading Bill’s or Charlie’s letters. I put Penny through so much that she had to break up with me…”
“But you’re sorry.”
“Like I’ve never been sorry my whole life.” Percy’s monotone cracked ever so slightly. “I was wrong. So fucking wrong. I fucked up, and it’s costing me everything.”
Glassy brown eyes met Oliver’s furrowed gaze. “Listen to me, even after all that, still sounding so…like a walking ice cube, while everyone in my family is crying their hearts out. No wonder they all think I don’t give a damn.”
“Why? Because you’re not mourning the way they are?” Oliver finally spoke, his tone a bit sharper than he intended. “Can’t it just be that you’re still in shock? That the reason you’re feeling cold and numb is because you still haven’t come to terms with all this?”
Oliver forced a ragged breath out of his chest before continuing. “It’s like losing a Quidditch match, I reckon. And I know, not the best analogy, but hear me out: when Gryffindor lost a match back in the day, take it from me, reactions vary wildly. There’s me, as you know–”
“Too bloody well,” said the once Head Boy. “How many times have you tried to drown yourself in the shower again?”
“–and then the ladies, they tend to go together and cry their hearts out right after. As for the twins, that's the only time I am confidently able to tell them apart, because Fred is always the twin who’ll look ready to hex anything.
“But then there’s Harry, and while I’ve only seen it once, I remember. While he was all quiet and still, if you take a good look, you can see it in his eyes, he was bloody torn up.” The dark haired wizard flicked a finger against his friend’s forehead. “Remind you of someone?”
Percy bit his lip, his mouth twisting into a tight frown.
“Just because Harry appeared all put together on the outside doesn’t mean his world isn’t falling apart in his head,” added Oliver. “The same way just because you are dealing with Ron’s death like this doesn’t mean you’re not upset about it. And if I know that much, I’m sure the rest of the Weasleys will too.”
“I don’t think–”
“Like I always tell you: Stop. Over. Thinking! Now is not the time for your usual catastrophizing! At least give them a chance to prove you wrong! After all this, don’t you think it’s about time you became a real family again? Isn’t that what Ron would have wanted?”
“What Ron would have…” Oliver watched as the taller wizard pulled a handful of parchment from his inner coat pocket, the sheaf neatly folded but visibly worn out.
Like they had been read, folded then reread several times over.
Judging by his friend’s soft gaze on the sheets,Oliver hazarded a guess. “Is that from him?”
A quiet second came and went.
…Was it him, or did a bit of light flicker in Percy’s clouded eyes?
So, if for some reason that, even after the collapse of the bloody Ministry you still can’t get your head out of your shitehole, once this bloody war is over, I’ll come find you and drag it back out into the sun. Then I’ll drag you back home so we can work things out with Mum, dad and everyone. Be a family again.
Because mum misses you plenty. So does Dad, Bill, and even Charlie, the twins and Ginny (not that they’ll admit it). And it goes without saying, so do I.
Because you’re my brother, Perce. You’re one of the five big brothers I would never trade anything in the world for, and not even you can change that.
And even though you’ve been a stupid git for the last couple or so years, even if you aren’t sorry for it now, I forgive you anyway.
I just hope you can forgive me too.
Your little brother,
The letter arrived several weeks before the battle of Hogwarts.
According to Percy, he had been in hiding, lost and overwhelmed by everything that was happening in the Ministry and wizarding Britain that he had no idea what to do next.
“No,” Percy corrected himself. “I knew exactly what I had to do. I just did not have the courage at the time to even consider it. But then Pigwidgeon came.” When Oliver’s expression turned confused, the third Weasley elaborated. “Ron’s pet owl.”
Pigwig? Who in their bloody right mind would name their pet–? Is that even a proper name, Pigawhatnow?
Oliver was distracted from that train of thought when Percy continued. “At first, I was terrified of opening it. It had been years since he last wrote to me, and the last time, it was, err, bad. But somehow, I managed to push myself to read it. And then I…I could hardly believe…”
There was no doubt about it. “He forgave you.”
“He said I was his brother, and that nothing was going to change that.” The cracks in Percy’s voice were growing, spreading, to the point that they were starting to show on his face. “He said that if I didn’t get my head out of my arse, he’d come and drag it out himself before dragging me back home so we can work everything out and be a family again. Because they missed me. He missed me.
“But he won’t be able to do that anymore, will he?”
“Percy…”
“I won’t get to see Ronnie, or Penny, again. I won’t get to tell them how sorry I am, for having been such a fool. For pushing her away…for not giving him the chance to…” Percy’s breathing hitched as his statements got shorter over shaking lips, his eyes becoming glossier by the second. “If I could go back…if I could just tell them how much I…I’d give anything …”
A part of Oliver wanted to say something along the lines of, ‘yeah, but as long as you’re here, their memory lives on through you.’ But the words felt hollow, almost patronizing even in his own socially challenged mind.
So he just placed a hand on his friend’s trembling shoulders, quiet and steady as the ice finally cracked and the tears came rushing down.
P.S.: Adding this just in case.
If I can’t come get you, please, and I am not ashamed to say that I am begging you , have the balls to haul your arse back home yourself.
Because there’s only one reason I won’t be able to, and given the circumstances, it’s much more likely to happen than I’d like to admit.
Still, let’s hope it won’t come to that.
Always your little brother,
UP NEXT:
Ron is back at the Burrow for a bit of rest, relaxation and an uneventful summer before his second year.
Sure, like that's going to happen, ever.
First order of business is a surprise visit from an (old) friend and shedding a bit of light on how Ron somehow managed to change the flow of time and fate before he even started trying.