tomorrow is much too late

\\ tomorrow is much too late \\

when was the last time
i held you all through the night?

> ~ <

A young man stood at the nucleus of Kings Cross Station in London, staring wide-eyed at the information kiosk. The urgent voices of travellers echoed loudly in his ears, driving his mind into orbiting anxiety. It seemed as though everyone in London had somewhere to be, and they were all late in arriving. A middle-aged woman slammed into his shoulder as she rushed past him, and muttered an oath that turned burned his ears. He brushed his fiery fringe from cerulean eyes as he watched the woman disappear between platforms nine and ten, passing through a barrier visible only to privileged eyes.

The wizard sighed as anguished memories of Scottish Keepers floated to the facets of his mind; he set down his damaged suitcase to remove his horn-rimmed glasses. His slender hands trembled as he cleaned the spectacles with the sleeve of his indigo sweater, washing the memories away with the tearstains. Percy Weasley turned, situating his glasses comfortably on his nose, and locked the platform number he sought in his mind.

The obsidian train on platform seven was travelling directly to Northern England and Scotland, leaving for her last trip at eight o'clock this evening. Stress lines formed on Percy's forehead as he gazed at the destinations on the brick columns, and his stomach knotted when he saw his intention written plainly in front of him. 'Edinburgh' flickered on the electronic sign. Percy gathered his courage from where it lazed at his feet, and navigated forward through the wall of Muggles.

The train loomed in front of him; he could feel the heat from her engine pressed against his skin, sending a sensation of apprehension down Percy's back. The airbrakes hissed, reminding him that the seconds were ticking closer to the time of departure.

Percy licked his dry lips with a dry tongue, and considered turning foot to flee.

"All aboard!" a male voice sounded over the intercom above the platform number. "North England and Scotland via Doncaster!" The conductor replaced the microphone and quickly glanced around with lignite eyes. The stout Muggle impatiently ushered Percy onto the train after ripping the ticket from his clenched hand.

The train was dimly lit with running lights on the ceilings of the cars. Percy stumbled through the hall in hopes of finding an empty compartment; he found one in the fourth car and silently slid the door closed, sitting down on the black leather seats. The redhead watched himself in reflective windows as the train sped from the station, and was knocked with an expression of stunned panic.

Edinburgh was the hometown of Oliver Wood, but he spent his days on the east coast of Scotland, training as the Montrose Magpies' Keeper for the forthcoming summer games. He was home for the holidays, spending time alone in his deceased father's townhouse, forgetting all matters of Quidditch and his seventh year at Hogwarts. Oliver had refused Percy's invite to The Burrow, but he never gave a reason Percy could accept.

Percy barely made his decision to surprise Oliver in Edinburgh in under a week.

He bought his train ticket early this morning, costing twice the shillings because of the date. Today was New Year's Eve, and Percy could not explain to his family why he would rather spend it with Oliver than them.

The hours passed as Percy watched with dazed eyes as the train drew closer to the Doncaster terminal. Snow flowed across the tracks and the fields, forming small drifts in the grassland, ideal for small children to hide behind and play. Flakes wafted from the black sky and settled onto the branches of barren trees. The pallid sphere crowned below a dark cloud, its cold rays shining onto the crystalline snow, setting the ground twinkling with starry brilliance.

The redhead pressed his hand to the frosted pane, letting the ice melt beneath the warmth, leaving a skeletal imprint. A haunted look entered his eyes as his mind coursed through the last letter Oliver had sent him, refusing his invite to The Burrow, as he had been refusing since the beginning of December . . .

. . . Oliver's chestnut fringe covered his umber eyes and framed a handsome face. Crimson robes fell from an athletic body, his muscles formed effortlessly from six years of Quidditch. Calloused hands were clenched at his sides, and he abruptly twisted away from the dejected stare of his housemate.

"Oliver, I meant nothing by it." Percy was properly apologetic.

A spasm of irritation crossed Oliver's face. "Yer erse is oot the windae."

Percy offered Oliver a pitiful look of appeal, raking his hands through his fiery hair. He breathed deeply, his chest tight and throat constricted. "I'll tell them, Ollie. I promise. Come home with me and we can tell them together," Percy yielded as he chewed his bottom lip.

"Nae."

That was the only word Oliver had spoken to his boyfriend through the month of December. Percy had spent the last Hogsmede weekend staring out a circular window in the Gryffindor Tower, watching Oliver leave down the cobblestone pathway with Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet and the Weasley twins. They returned slightly before nine o'clock, Katie Bell had joined them and she hung from Oliver's shoulder, ruffling his hair with her hand. Oliver's eyes angrily flickered to the Gryffindor tower, and he leaned down to press his lips against hers.

A knot formed in Percy's stomach at the memory, and the recurrent sensation of jealousy surged down into his bone marrow. The great train lurched to a stop, its airbrakes hissing sporadically, as it pulled into the Doncaster terminal. Percy stared through the window at those passengers who stumbled off, bottles of opened champagne in their hands. A group of five Muggles broke out into a chorus of Auld Lang Syne as the clock chimed midnight, and the full-figured woman grabbed the bottle and finished it with one swallow.

The bottle was dropped to the cement, and it shattered in a beautiful pattern.

Percy turned away and the train began moving, leaving the lit station and re-entering the night. The first seconds of January found Percy lifting his suitcase onto the seat beside him and reversing the locking charm. Within the striped case dwelled memories of intense passion and abhorrence, of sorrow and indignity. Percy fumbled through black robes and Muggle clothes of last year's style, distinctively ignoring the framed photograph resting on top of the clothes. The wooden frame of the photo was splintered, and the broken glass was scattered through his suitcase.

Tears threatened to obstruct Percy's view of the print, and he blinked back the tears. With a cracked voice, he muttered the Reparo Charm, and longed for the words to bridge the gap between him and Oliver. But, the two Gryffindors in the photo kept their backs to each other. Percy shoved the photograph between a set of robes, and his hand traced over a cold bottle of French red wine, vintage 1986. The bottle had cost Percy half of the money he had saved interning at the Ministry that previous summer, and a tiny package at the bottom of the suitcase had cost him the other half.

The train rolled into its Edinburgh destination and died in the terminal. Percy sat still for several long seconds, apprehensive and wishing to return home. The Apparition spell ran through his mind as a voice called through the train, "Last stop!" The door to Percy's compartment slid open. "Last stop, sir," the conductor repeated.

Percy inhaled and shut his suitcase, dragging it with him as he exited the compartment. The conductor followed closely behind him, and almost bumped into Percy when the Gryffindor stopped short.

"Excuse me, sir. Could you please tell me the location of St John Street?" Percy asked.

The grey-haired conductor scratched his head, pursing his lower lip. "St John? Umm . . . yeah, it's parallel with St Mary's . . . just off of Cannongate . . . about five blocks that way," he answered, jabbing a podgy thumb in the general left direction.

Percy blinked, then slowly nodded. "Yes. Thank you." He left the train, now covered with melting snow, and entered the main quarter of the Waverly Rail Station. Most had departed for the night, Percy stood alone among a few Muggles who slept on the benches, having nowhere else to call home. He exited onto Market Street, the bright streetlamps illuminating only gaunt trees, dark houses and parked cars. The streetlamps were extinguished by Percy's hornbeam wand, and he Apparated away beneath the cover of darkness.

St John's Street was quiet at one o'clock in the morning. The abrasive song of a blackbird split the silence and fluttered high above Percy, her wings beating against the starless sky. Skeletal trees swayed against strong winds and blew the snow gathered on their limbs. Percy advanced towards an unlit streetlight erected from someone's property, and he halted on the sidewalk. Despite coming this far, he could still turn back . . .

. . . Percy twirled strands of Oliver's hair between his fingers, inadvertently tying knots into the tips. Oliver's head rested against Percy's chest, his hand covered his boyfriend's, lightly caressing the smooth skin with his thumb.

"Ye ken whit I love, Perce?" Oliver asked with a sleepy voice.

"Hmm?"

Oliver's hand wrapped awkwardly around Percy's neck and drew him downwards. "Thit yer consistent. I ken whit tae expect wi ye." Oliver cranked his head back and lightly covered Percy's lips with his. Percy smiled and kissed him back.

Lights burst inside the townhouse, silhouetting two young figures inside. Percy stalled, withdrawing his foot from the property, and watched from the sidewalk, finding protection in the shadows of the unlit streetlamp. Visible through the flimsy drapes, a young man Percy could recognise as Oliver took a long-haired woman in his arms and bent, raising her chin with his hand to kiss her deeply.

The muscles in Percy's back tensed and the blood drained from his face. Limp fingers dropped his suitcase to the cement, and it spilt its contents to the world. The bottle of wine rolled, bumped into Percy's foot. He stared at it with blurred vision while the couple inside disappeared upstairs.

An act of passion strange to Percy propelled him to leave the bottle, and the small box containing a golden band, on Oliver's front step. He also left the picture, an artefact restored from their last argument in the Gryffindor dorms.

Percy Apparated back to The Burrow at two o'clock in the morning, walking through the remains of the New Year's Party in the living room. Murmurs of sleep came from a teenager on the couch, and as Percy came closer, he could discern the bushy-haired Hermione Granger. He skulked past her, up the creaking stairs, and peered into the darkness of his parents' bedroom. His dad slept with his arm slacked across Molly's waist, the neck of an empty bottle of sparkling wine held tight in his hand.

Percy quietly cleared his throat, preparing to speak. "Mum, dad," he began in a low whisper to his sleeping parents, "I left today because . . . I thought I was in love with Oliver Wood."

As Percy left for his bedroom, to forget the one passionate gesture he would ever make, Molly's lips soundlessly formed the words, "I know, son. I know."