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hackthis_archivefor the HP-types i offer this...
Russian Winter
“I don’t think it’s ever going to stop snowing,” Percy says quietly. It’s the first thing he’s said in hours, possibly days, and even though his mouth is right next to Oliver’s ear, Oliver still has to strain to hear him. The silence between them is immense – if Oliver doesn’t count the screaming wind and his vitriolic mind. They should get out of there. The cold is going to kill them, and Percy’s voice hasn’t been the same since they encountered those Death Eaters outside Bristol.
“Perce, I need you to eat something.” It’s the third time in however many minutes that Oliver’s made the request, the problem is that there’s nothing to eat. Oliver just wants Percy to want to eat something.
He just wants Percy to want to live.
“Fish has more iron, and can you get some on your way back from practise? There’s no pepper for a sandwich,” Percy replies flatly as though they’re still at home. As though they’re still in the flat and Percy is complaining that the food is too bland. Sometimes he doesn’t make sense – too much head trauma and an Imperio gone wrong.
They haven’t seen 314 Madison since May – it’s somewhere around Boxing Day now.
“Percy, please.” Oliver’s been at the end of his rope for ages now. They can’t even burn wood to keep warm in case someone sees the smoke.
“I don’t want to eat snow,” Percy says. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen snow. Not since we spent that Christmas in Romania with Charlie. Not that I actually like the snow, but it’s certainly a change of sorts.” He doesn’t say that it’s because of him. Percy doesn’t say that it’s because of the war. There are lots of things that Percy doesn’t say. When he coughs, it sounds distressed, like he’s swallowed too much dry toast.
“They’ll come for us soon,” Oliver replies, though he isn’t really sure anymore. They’ve been hiding in the abandoned church for four days now, and it might be easier to take if most of the roof hadn’t collapsed after the first night. Now they sit among snow and soot, waiting for whatever is next.
“Did you know that Rasputin was a Slytherin?” Percy whispers as he rests his head on Oliver’s shoulder.
“Wasn’t he Russian?” Oliver asks after a moment.
“I’d prefer not to die in the snow,” Percy says.
“I know,” Oliver says. He feels the same.
Russian Winter
“I don’t think it’s ever going to stop snowing,” Percy says quietly. It’s the first thing he’s said in hours, possibly days, and even though his mouth is right next to Oliver’s ear, Oliver still has to strain to hear him. The silence between them is immense – if Oliver doesn’t count the screaming wind and his vitriolic mind. They should get out of there. The cold is going to kill them, and Percy’s voice hasn’t been the same since they encountered those Death Eaters outside Bristol.
“Perce, I need you to eat something.” It’s the third time in however many minutes that Oliver’s made the request, the problem is that there’s nothing to eat. Oliver just wants Percy to want to eat something.
He just wants Percy to want to live.
“Fish has more iron, and can you get some on your way back from practise? There’s no pepper for a sandwich,” Percy replies flatly as though they’re still at home. As though they’re still in the flat and Percy is complaining that the food is too bland. Sometimes he doesn’t make sense – too much head trauma and an Imperio gone wrong.
They haven’t seen 314 Madison since May – it’s somewhere around Boxing Day now.
“Percy, please.” Oliver’s been at the end of his rope for ages now. They can’t even burn wood to keep warm in case someone sees the smoke.
“I don’t want to eat snow,” Percy says. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen snow. Not since we spent that Christmas in Romania with Charlie. Not that I actually like the snow, but it’s certainly a change of sorts.” He doesn’t say that it’s because of him. Percy doesn’t say that it’s because of the war. There are lots of things that Percy doesn’t say. When he coughs, it sounds distressed, like he’s swallowed too much dry toast.
“They’ll come for us soon,” Oliver replies, though he isn’t really sure anymore. They’ve been hiding in the abandoned church for four days now, and it might be easier to take if most of the roof hadn’t collapsed after the first night. Now they sit among snow and soot, waiting for whatever is next.
“Did you know that Rasputin was a Slytherin?” Percy whispers as he rests his head on Oliver’s shoulder.
“Wasn’t he Russian?” Oliver asks after a moment.
“I’d prefer not to die in the snow,” Percy says.
“I know,” Oliver says. He feels the same.
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no subject
Date: 2002-10-23 04:04 pm (UTC)Is this part of something else or just a random sliver of yummy?
Very funny icon, too. He's a purty one, ain't he?
no subject
Date: 2002-10-23 04:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-10-23 05:10 pm (UTC)you know i'm just gonna keep asking 'till I get something i want out of you, right? *g*
no subject
Date: 2002-10-23 06:44 pm (UTC)You are right to like it.
Um, could I maybe steal from it? Make a secondary thing? Because I have lots of ideas off this. Oh, there are so many things here. Rasputin! Insane!Percy. I love you, you know? Yeah, you do. But this...you should make a Warverse too. This is the tip of one. Make it all berserk like this is. New and special.
no subject
Date: 2002-10-24 09:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-10-23 09:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-10-24 09:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-10-24 06:10 pm (UTC)“Did you know that Rasputin was a Slytherin?” Percy whispers as he rests his head on Oliver’s shoulder.
That's such a fabulous detail. And let's hear it for abandoned churches! There's just something about those that says "warverse!" to me, and the caved-in roof is just great.
no subject
Date: 2002-10-25 09:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-10-25 01:24 pm (UTC)kittens, season, persuasion.
Go!
Re:
Date: 2002-10-25 01:30 pm (UTC)Owch!
Date: 2002-10-26 01:13 pm (UTC)Re: Owch!
Date: 2002-10-27 08:41 am (UTC)