acidpop25: "A Weaker Kind of Death," PG-13
Title: A Weaker Kind of Death
Author: acidpop25
Rating: PG-13
Prompt Set: 50.4
Prompt: #15, "Weary"
Word Count: 447
Summary: "I keep expecting, on the rare times I can drop, bone-weary, into bed, that I'll just keep sleeping and never wake up."
Warnings: A bit of language.
Notes: Post-Hogwarts, during the war. I did it! I wrote non-fluff.
I just don't care anymore, I just don't care. I'm so sick of all of it. Time to get over it already, Percy, and face the facts: they are never going to give you what you need. You will always be nothing more than an also-ran after Bill and Charlie, you will always be the scapegoat, the one to blame when things go wrong. You will always be the one on the side, the one they don't love like the others, and you will always be too different for there to be a damned thing you can do about it. Well, fine. So I'm not one of them, not really, well fine. I don't need them any more than they need me. But I'm just so tired of all of it, all this pointless trying and this awful, pointless war we're all stuck in whether we want to be or not. I just want this all to be over.
~*~*~*~
Sometimes I don't even know why we're fighting anymore. What's the point, all this mindless bloodshed and useless loss? Is there a point? I honestly don't remember anything beyond what has to be done. I just want it all to end, I want to go, fight him, and be done with it, and frankly I don't even care anymore if I live or die. Hell, maybe it would be better if I died, I barely remember what living is. This isn't living, just a weaker kind of death. I keep expecting, on the rare times I can drop, bone-weary, into bed, that I'll just keep sleeping and never wake up. Expecting or hoping, one of the two. Not that any of us have much hope, nowadays.
~*~*~*~
Percy's eyes are somehow deader than everyone else's, for what reasons, well, it's anyone's guess. Personal demons are just that- personal. No one acknowledges them anymore, asks what's wrong or asks how you are. Everyone already knows, because we all the feel the same damn way.
"Percy," Harry greets him, leaning against the door frame of the tiny kitchen. Percy is sitting at the round table in the corner, staring hollowly off through space, but he looks up at the sound of his name, though something about him is still not entirely present.
"Harry," he replies, emotionless. Harry steps closer and rests a hand on Percy's bony shoulder, the other threading its fingers into soft dark red curls, one of this world's few immutable things.
"Can't sleep?"
Percy shakes his head, silent.
Harry looks at him for a moment. "Come to bed."
"With you?"
"Why not with me?"
"Yeah." Percy stands. "Why not anything, now."
Harry nods, just a little. "Come on."
Author: acidpop25
Rating: PG-13
Prompt Set: 50.4
Prompt: #15, "Weary"
Word Count: 447
Summary: "I keep expecting, on the rare times I can drop, bone-weary, into bed, that I'll just keep sleeping and never wake up."
Warnings: A bit of language.
Notes: Post-Hogwarts, during the war. I did it! I wrote non-fluff.
I just don't care anymore, I just don't care. I'm so sick of all of it. Time to get over it already, Percy, and face the facts: they are never going to give you what you need. You will always be nothing more than an also-ran after Bill and Charlie, you will always be the scapegoat, the one to blame when things go wrong. You will always be the one on the side, the one they don't love like the others, and you will always be too different for there to be a damned thing you can do about it. Well, fine. So I'm not one of them, not really, well fine. I don't need them any more than they need me. But I'm just so tired of all of it, all this pointless trying and this awful, pointless war we're all stuck in whether we want to be or not. I just want this all to be over.
~*~*~*~
Sometimes I don't even know why we're fighting anymore. What's the point, all this mindless bloodshed and useless loss? Is there a point? I honestly don't remember anything beyond what has to be done. I just want it all to end, I want to go, fight him, and be done with it, and frankly I don't even care anymore if I live or die. Hell, maybe it would be better if I died, I barely remember what living is. This isn't living, just a weaker kind of death. I keep expecting, on the rare times I can drop, bone-weary, into bed, that I'll just keep sleeping and never wake up. Expecting or hoping, one of the two. Not that any of us have much hope, nowadays.
~*~*~*~
Percy's eyes are somehow deader than everyone else's, for what reasons, well, it's anyone's guess. Personal demons are just that- personal. No one acknowledges them anymore, asks what's wrong or asks how you are. Everyone already knows, because we all the feel the same damn way.
"Percy," Harry greets him, leaning against the door frame of the tiny kitchen. Percy is sitting at the round table in the corner, staring hollowly off through space, but he looks up at the sound of his name, though something about him is still not entirely present.
"Harry," he replies, emotionless. Harry steps closer and rests a hand on Percy's bony shoulder, the other threading its fingers into soft dark red curls, one of this world's few immutable things.
"Can't sleep?"
Percy shakes his head, silent.
Harry looks at him for a moment. "Come to bed."
"With you?"
"Why not with me?"
"Yeah." Percy stands. "Why not anything, now."
Harry nods, just a little. "Come on."