Learning to Fly

Learning to Fly

a percy weasley regret

> ~ <

Percival Weasley sits before the icy waters of the lake surrounding Hogwarts. Still dressed in his ceremonial crimson robes from graduation, Percy runs his hand through his red, neat cut hair in exasperation and sighs. From inside the stone castle walls of the school, he can unmistakably hear the echoes of laughter and gossip from the rest of his classmates. They probably don't realise he's gone, let alone care. For this, he's grateful.

In his pale, slender fingers, he spins his Head Boy badge. The one thing that Percy can always depend on, though a mere piece of metal. It never talks back to him, it ensures his power at Hogwarts, and it further proves his perfect nature. The perfect nature that he's grown to hate.

It doesn't seem like his anymore. But, maybe it was never his to begin with.

The badge reflects the setting sun, creating an orange and pink aura clearly visible by the balcony of the Great Hall. Oliver Wood has been leaning on the steel railing for the last half hour, content with staring at his freckled-face dorm mate. Percy, being too absorbed in himself and his problems, never notices. But, he never notices Oliver; and Oliver cannot decide if he's thankful for this, or not.

Exhaling lazily, Oliver takes his weight from the railing as hollow footfalls approach from behind. "What is it, Flint?" he drones and turns, tired of seeing the troll-like face of his Quidditch rival, Marcus Flint (who is actually graduating this year).

"Are you just gonna to watch Weasley all night with hopeful eyes, while Clearwater grinds it on the dance floor with Pucey and Higgs?" Marcus grunts, drawing his gunmetal eyes to the red form of the Head Boy.

"We all know Clearwater is a daft slut. You know it, I know it, and Perce knows it." Oliver shakes his head, as a dull and empty ache gnaws at his soul. "It's disgusting, Percy deserves so much better than her."

Marcus smirks. "Someone like you? Get over yourself, Wood. Not everyone wants to ball you." Marcus may not be the sturdiest branch on the tree, but he can be very observant when he wants to be. The whole seventh year Slytherin mates have noticed Wood's little obsession, and some have even placed bets on the whole unrequited Wood-Weasley-Clearwater triangle.

The odds for Wood getting with Weasley are now one to five.

Oliver snorts, and averts his eyes back towards Percy. "Sod off, Flint. I've dealt with Bole's shit all term, I don't need it from you." He doesn't stick around for Marcus to reply, he pushes himself from the railing, and quickly cuts through the Great Hall. Entering the blossoming gardens, Oliver can hear the quiet lapping of the waves against the lakeshore ahead.

Percy never notices Oliver silently approach as he pitches his Head Boy badge, the badge he has cherished all through the year, into the murky waters. Ten months ago, he never would have dreamt to throw away a piece of himself. Now, all he wants to do is discard himself as useless trash.

"Will it help?"

Percy whips his head to the right, coming eye to eye with Oliver, who flops down next to him in the damp grass. "I thought it would." Percy's reply is quiet and solemn, he's not sure of himself, as he usually portrays. "I thought after Hogwarts, I could stop this . . . charade." Percy chuckles dejectedly, glancing at Oliver, mesmerised by his deep brown eyes. "Instead, I head into the Ministry with a position I don't even want."

Oliver frowns and places a comforting arm around Percy's slouched shoulders. They sit in darkening silence for several moments before Oliver finally replies with a question he's been itching to ask for the longest time. "What are you going to do?"

Percy shrugs hopelessly. "Keep at it."

-

A tired and confused six-year-old Percival Weasley lay on his back in St. Mungo's recovery wing. He stared straight ahead, squinting to see shapes and objects as more than just the fuzzy blurs that they were. Beside him was a blurry nightstand and next to that there was another bed, blurry. He'd turn to see if he had company but even if he did, he wouldn't be able to see them.

"What? Are you--are you sure?"

There were voices outside his room that Percy knew belonged to his parents, although they sounded worlds away. Someone, most likely the woman, stifled a sob as the father replied to what sounded like the doctor.

"Yes. Uh, thank you. For all your, uh, help." Arthur Weasley took off his glasses and cleaned them on his black Ministry robes. It hadn't hit him yet as it had his darling wife, Molly. To him, this was merely a bad dream, one that he would eventually awake from.

"Oh, Arthur! What will we do?" She turned to him and let the tears flow freely, soaking into his robes. Wrapping his arms around his plump wife, he kissed her lovingly on the forehead.

"We will do what everyone else would do. We'll mourn for a while and eventually, we can maybe move on. We have seven other beautiful children, Molly. We can't neglect them," Arthur replied, his voice unfamiliar, as though it belonged to a stranger.

This just caused Molly to sob harder. "He was so young! Only thirteen! We'll never have another like him!" And Arthur held his hysterical wife in his arms for hours before they went to see how Percy was.

Of course, Percy knew whom they were talking about. And for the first time that night, he started to cry, and didn't stop crying till the tears ran dry.

-

"Mummy?" Six-year-old Percy tugged on his mother's damp robes as she cluttered around in the kitchen. On one arm she held up a one year old Ginny, and in the other she was balancing several plates of food. Fred and George, the three-year-old twins, sat on the floor directly beneath her feet, knowing perfectly well they were in their mother's way.

"Mummy?" Percy repeated again, innocent and sugary voiced.

"Percy, please. Go somewhere else. I can't watch you, the twins and Ginny at the same time," Molly snapped and Percy shrunk back. Mumbling his apologies, he ran from the house.

"Oi! Charlie, pass the Quaffle a bit to my right!" Bill grinned broadly. "I'm going for the house team next year! Someone's gotta wipe that silly-arsed smirk from your face before we all graduate! And as sure as hell it won't be Dalton!"

"Bill! Charlie!" Percy cupped his hands over his mouth and yelled with all the breath he had. The flying brothers immediately pulled their brooms to a halt. The red Quaffle dropped with a

thunk to the ground. Two screaming Bludgers zoomed past their heads as the Golden Snitch zipped around Charlie's flaming red hair.

"What is it, Percy? We're busy practicing!"

"I wanna learn to fly!" Percy yelled as he picked up one of the Cleansweeps with his right hand. It was heavy and he soon fell over with a mouthful of dead grass.

"We don't have time for this, Perce!" Bill replied as the Quaffle flew towards him with a muttered

Accio! spell. "Go find Dalton, I'm sure all he's doing is preparing to brown-nose himself through classes next year."

Dalton was the third eldest Weasley son, being thirteen years old and going into his fourth year at Hogwarts. He was the brightest in his class and strived to become a prefect once he was in his fifth year. He wore glasses that were horn-rimmed; he didn't even need them, their only purpose was to make him look smarter. Dalton was tall and lanky, with a few freckles gracing his cheeks.

Percy began to jump up and down, in annoyance. Dropping the broom, he stalked off to his older brother's room.

Dalton was hovering, like usual, over schoolwork and textbooks, barricaded in his room. When Percy knocked, Dalton looked up and was obviously infuriated at the younger intrusion.

"What?"

"I was hoping you could teach me to fly," Percy said, his voice small.

"Wait till you're eleven and at Hogwarts. Madam Hooch is an excellent teacher," Dalton replied sharply and went back to being hunched over his school work, quill working busily in his hands

"But, I wanna learn now!" Percy whined. "And no one else is free," he pouted, and sniffled once for effect, wiping away a tear that wasn't really there.

Dalton glared in distaste. "Fine." He stood abruptly and knocked his chair over in the process, it landed with a

thud against the wooden floorboards. "But you owe me, Percival." He locked the door as he shoved Percy out, following the eager child down the creaky staircase.

"D'y'know I'm gonna try out for the house team once I'm at Hogwarts?" Percy stated as he picked up a smaller Cleansweep than he had before.

"Yes, I'm sure you will be. Seeker, right? You'd be good for that. You're small." Dalton dismissed Percy's plans immediately as he picked up the second model of a Cleansweep, a gift from his father for perfect marks in his reports.

"It's easy enough. Just mount and kick off. Don't be afraid, they can smell fear," joked Dalton. Soon, he was in the air, and Charlie and Bill continued to practice Quidditch, either oblivious to, or ignoring, their younger brothers.

Percy was shaking as his feet left the ground and the broom was extremely uncomfortable to sit upon. Above him, Dalton zoomed around and yelled to Percy to keep it steady.

Easier said than done, Percy thought miserably.

Dalton flew closer to Percy and laid his hand on Percy's shoulder for support; they both never noticed a black Bludger zipping past Bill's head, locked on a new target.

"Dalton! Percy!" Bill screamed, his apple green eyes wide in horror. "DUCK!"

They ducked. But it didn't help. The screeching Bludger smashed through both brooms and sent the thirteen and six year olds hurdling towards the ground. A sickening crack at Dalton's collarbones signified his crash with the grass, and Percy was knocked unconscious by the Bludger to the back of his head before he even hit the ground.

-

"Why not just stop? Dalton was killed twelve years ago. It wasn't your fault, Perce," Oliver replies as he tightens his grip on his dorm mate's shoulder, mentally wishing he could take the smaller boy in his arms.

"Fuck, yes it was, Oliver!" Percy violently shrugs Oliver's arm from his shoulder. Oliver pretends to be unaffected by that action, but inwardly he flinches. "If I wasn't so bloody impatient, Dalton would still be here! He would have been the prefect, the Head Boy, the one with the damn bloody skank for a bird! He would have"--Percy calms down--"had this life. This isn't me, Ollie, this has never been me."

Oliver licks his dry lips, not knowing how to respond.

"Did you know I wanted to be Seeker?" Percy chuckles at this ludicrous dream. "Can you imagine? Me? On a broom . . . bloody ridiculous," he mumbles, sighs and slightly shakes his head.

"I don't think it's ridiculous," Oliver replies softly, biting his lip as the humid June surfs over the two Gryffindors.

"Yeah well, no offence Oliver, but you don't even think that Terence's fixation with Scrabble and trashy Muggle romance novels is ridiculous!" Percy snaps, refusing to make eye contact with the Gryffindor Captain.

Oliver scowls after he cringes from Percy's words. "God dammit Percy! I try to help and this is what I get? Fine. I'll leave you to dwell in this bloody hell that you created for yourself, if that's what you really want. Fuck, all these times I've helped you, and you don't think that maybe I've been doing it for a reason?"

Percy glares, annoyed at Oliver, at everything, and especially at himself. "Do you want to see how much I can take? Can't you just leave bad enough alone?" He turns away, but Oliver's hurt expression has already been burnt into his mind. Gritting his teeth, Percy adds, "Sod off."

"Fine. Goodbye, Dalton."

Percy winces.