Resolve 2/3
Title: Resolve
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Oliver/Percy
Summary: "There was no mercy in those eyes."
Enjoy.
Part II
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.
o-o-o
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.
tbc...