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chaletianHmm. I wrote this a while ago, as a sequel (of sorts) to I Served Him Well, my little contribution to the hmm-what-happened-to-Percy movement. It's from Ginny's POV, but I'm not sure it really worked particularly well. Though I would post, anyway.
Odi & Amo
It’s hard to hate any more. We’re all so exhausted, and hating takes such a lot of effort. Emotional energy that nobody has. We spent so long in silent, impotent rage, in dumb, miserable resentment, that it’s a release now not to hate.
But I hate him.
I remember I once said that, many fears ago, when I was still a child. Mum told me off: He’s your brother! You love him! Don’t say that! I probably scowled, and kicked a table, and knew that she was right. He was my brother; my family; my blood. He could be annoying and pompous and very, very irritating, but I loved him: blindly, for no reason – he was just my brother.
Things change. Those two words can’t hope to convey the devastation that a swerve from the norm can create. When it first happened, it was shocking but we could tell ourselves, It’s a mistake. It was simple in a way – Percy’s gone and made a fool of himself over the Ministry. I don’t think it ever, truly occurred to us, not even to our parents, that it would go so far. Percy was a Weasley! Were we so naïve to think that was all it took?
There’s a boiling in my heart. I can feel my jaw clench. My hands tremble with the urge to hit someone. But there’s no-one I can hit. Percy’s locked away. He’s going to die. A potion: powerful and nasty. The dementors are gone and nobody has the stomach for the killing curse any more. Oh, give me a wand! I could do it. Stand in front of him. Say the words.
It wouldn’t be enough.
What kind of person have I become? I want to torture him. I want to make him feel pain. I want to make him scream. It’s not nice. It’s not what people expect from sweet Ginny Weasley. But I’m not sweet any more. How could I be? Not after what happened. People don’t say anything, and I’m not surprised; everyone wants to forget the last few years. A blank, black nothingness erased from the collective memory. But as hard as I try, I can’t forget. Come here, Ginny. There are some things that happen that will never go away. You’re such a precious child. They linger, taunting feel it, Ginny and as much as I want don’t you like the pain? I CAN’T I should thank him GET I’m very grateful to him IT I like having you OUT such a lovely present OF he gave you to me MY your brother, Ginny HEAD.
I didn’t die. I thought I would just curl up in a ball and not be. What a relief, not to be. But now I am. Even after everything that happened, I still am.
Tomorrow, he will die. Percy the traitor. I went to the trial, you know. I was the only one of the family who went. I think I’m the only one who hates him enough. Everyone else pretends he doesn’t exist. He was so cold. He didn’t care. So many people and he didn’t care. Death and he didn’t care. A paltry potion? It’s not enough because he doesn’t care. In the end I’m helpless because he doesn’t care.
I care. Our father, under the Imperius. Our mother, her heart broken so that I don’t think she will ever mend. Our brothers, our friends, scarred, tortured, dead. I care. I want to cause him such pain, I want to tear at his heart, I want to MAKE HIM CARE. Why doesn’t he care?
I hate him.
He’s your brother. You love him.
I love him. Why doesn’t he love me?
Odi & Amo
It’s hard to hate any more. We’re all so exhausted, and hating takes such a lot of effort. Emotional energy that nobody has. We spent so long in silent, impotent rage, in dumb, miserable resentment, that it’s a release now not to hate.
But I hate him.
I remember I once said that, many fears ago, when I was still a child. Mum told me off: He’s your brother! You love him! Don’t say that! I probably scowled, and kicked a table, and knew that she was right. He was my brother; my family; my blood. He could be annoying and pompous and very, very irritating, but I loved him: blindly, for no reason – he was just my brother.
Things change. Those two words can’t hope to convey the devastation that a swerve from the norm can create. When it first happened, it was shocking but we could tell ourselves, It’s a mistake. It was simple in a way – Percy’s gone and made a fool of himself over the Ministry. I don’t think it ever, truly occurred to us, not even to our parents, that it would go so far. Percy was a Weasley! Were we so naïve to think that was all it took?
There’s a boiling in my heart. I can feel my jaw clench. My hands tremble with the urge to hit someone. But there’s no-one I can hit. Percy’s locked away. He’s going to die. A potion: powerful and nasty. The dementors are gone and nobody has the stomach for the killing curse any more. Oh, give me a wand! I could do it. Stand in front of him. Say the words.
It wouldn’t be enough.
What kind of person have I become? I want to torture him. I want to make him feel pain. I want to make him scream. It’s not nice. It’s not what people expect from sweet Ginny Weasley. But I’m not sweet any more. How could I be? Not after what happened. People don’t say anything, and I’m not surprised; everyone wants to forget the last few years. A blank, black nothingness erased from the collective memory. But as hard as I try, I can’t forget. Come here, Ginny. There are some things that happen that will never go away. You’re such a precious child. They linger, taunting feel it, Ginny and as much as I want don’t you like the pain? I CAN’T I should thank him GET I’m very grateful to him IT I like having you OUT such a lovely present OF he gave you to me MY your brother, Ginny HEAD.
I didn’t die. I thought I would just curl up in a ball and not be. What a relief, not to be. But now I am. Even after everything that happened, I still am.
Tomorrow, he will die. Percy the traitor. I went to the trial, you know. I was the only one of the family who went. I think I’m the only one who hates him enough. Everyone else pretends he doesn’t exist. He was so cold. He didn’t care. So many people and he didn’t care. Death and he didn’t care. A paltry potion? It’s not enough because he doesn’t care. In the end I’m helpless because he doesn’t care.
I care. Our father, under the Imperius. Our mother, her heart broken so that I don’t think she will ever mend. Our brothers, our friends, scarred, tortured, dead. I care. I want to cause him such pain, I want to tear at his heart, I want to MAKE HIM CARE. Why doesn’t he care?
I hate him.
He’s your brother. You love him.
I love him. Why doesn’t he love me?
