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"Dear Percy..."

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This story is No. 1 in the series "Time Goes By". You may wish to read the series introduction first.

Summary: He writes him once a month, because he refuses to believe that his brother is dead. Part 1 of "Time Goes By"

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Harry Potter > Non-BtVS/AtS StoriesNightmarishFR1311,017392,10128 May 0628 May 06Yes
Disclaimer: I own nothing.  Everything belongs to Jo.

 

Spoilers: Up through OotP. 

 


~*~

 

                                    “Dear Percy…”

                    Part I of the Time Goes By series

                               -A Work of Fanfiction-

                                              By

                                       Nightmarish

 

~*~

 

“Dear Percy…”

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He writes him once a month, because he refuses to believe that his brother is dead.

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“…Bill’s getting married tomorrow.  I just thought you’d want to know.  Mum keeps bursting into tears all over the place – her baby boy’s all grown up, and she’s getting nostalgic.  That and he refuses to cut his hair for the ceremony.  The Burrow’s in absolute chaos.  Exploding with people and dresses and enough food to feed an army.  You’d hate it.  All that mess and noise…”

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The war had ended rather abruptly on the thirty-first of October, 2003, when Harry Potter defeated the Dark Lord for good, exactly eighteen years after he was marked by Voldemort’s killing curse.  Poetic irony, and all that.  And while the rest of their world had been busy doing damage control in the days that followed, Percy had simply…disappeared. 

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“…Don’t know if you’ve seen a newspaper – it’s been all over The Prophet – but Dumbledore’s decided to step down.  I think a lot of people were surprised, but honestly, it’s not that surprising, really.  He’s well over a hundred, and though you’d never know it by looking at him, the war took a fairly large toll.  Not so much physically, but mentally.  Oh, he’s not leaving Hogwarts – though I’ve heard he’s planning to spend some time in Australia – but after this year, he’s no longer going to be the Headmaster.  He says he’s an old man, and deserves, as such, to spend the rest of his days putting around at his leisure, and generally making a nuisance of himself.  McGonagall’s a bit peeved at him, last I heard…”

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The owl always returns six days later, like clockwork, sans letter.  Either she’s been nipping the twine and dropping them down a well, or Percy’s still out there, somewhere.  And so he continues to write.

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“…Harry’s birthday is next week, and I still don’t have a gift.  I don’t remember if anyone ever told you we were dating.  Well, we are.  Mum was properly horrified to begin with (I’m eight years older than him, didn’t you know?) and Dad was a bit surprised, but now that things have settled down they’re both rather pleased.  Mum’s just happy he’s officially a part of the family (as though she didn’t already consider him a son), though initially I think she would have preferred it to be Ginny or Ron.  Ah well, you know what they say – there’s no stopping true love, and all that.  And I really do love him, Perce.  He’s bloody difficult to shop for, though…”

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He doesn’t tell anybody about the letters, because Molly still gets quiet whenever anyone mentions his name, and because he doesn’t think he could stand their pity.  They’d tell him, softly, not to get his hopes up, and that perhaps, he’s wasting his time and parchment.  But he doesn’t care.  He knows Percy’s still alive, and that’s enough for him.

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“…Ran into Oliver the other day.  Well, I say ran into – actually, we went to one of his matches.  That is, myself, Harry, Angelina, Fred and George.  Puddlemere’s been doing exceptionally well this year, and Oliver’s gained quite a reputation as one of the most aggressive keepers the team’s had in decades.  He’s doing really well, and seems to be having the time of his life.  The match was rather good as well, though Fred and Angelina disappeared halfway through.  We found them later, snogging behind the waste bins.

 

“Oliver asked about you.  An hour into the post-game party, he actually came out of his quidditch-induced delirium and asked if anyone had heard from you recently.  Your friends miss you, Perce.  Believe it or not, you still have some.  It’s hurting them, not knowing what’s happened to you.  I’ve got to admit, it’s hurting me as well…”

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He sends pictures occasionally, to remind Percy what, exactly, he left behind, and because it’s the closest thing to an actual face-to-face confrontation he can hope for.  Pictures of the Burrow, of Hogwarts, of himself and Harry, of Ron after “testing” one of Fred and George’s new sweets, of Ginny posing with her latest boyfriend, of their father bent over a tangle of electrical wires…

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“…Do you remember when we were younger and Ginny went through that phase where she wouldn’t go to bed?  She couldn’t have been more than five, as you weren’t yet eleven.  Mum was at her wit’s end – funny how she could raise six boys, but couldn’t handle Ginny’s tantrums – and finally, you promised you’d read her a story, if only she’d please go to sleep.  And I remember her looking at you very seriously, and asking if you would read to her from one of your school books (you’d gotten them a year early, to read up on the material, if I recall).  So you got out your History of Magic text, and turned it into a wonderful story, doing different voices for Samuel the Smelly and Godfrey the Gargantuan.  I think Mum actually cried with relief when Gin finally fell asleep.  It’s funny, because now that I think of it, it was always like that.  You and Ginny, I mean.  Even when you were being unbearably superior, she looked at you like you were Merlin himself.  You were the only one she really listened to, back then…”

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The holidays are especially bad.  He feels a pang of despair every time he sees the extra sweater, tucked neatly underneath his mother’s pillow, a faint blob of what might be part of a P just visible. 

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“…The twins opened up their new shop in Hogsmeade last weekend.  They’ve got a twelve-month plan to force Old Man Zonko to sell.  He’s not particularly amenable to the idea, but I’ve no doubt they’ll manage it.  They’re too famous (or should I say infamous?) at Hogwarts not to do well….”

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And time goes by. 

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And every day, he wishes his brother would come home.

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“…Love, Charlie.”

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Fin

 

The End

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