Crucify

Warning: This contains MAJOR! PERCY! OUCHIES! If you're not into that, hit 'Back' now.

Disclaimer: JKR owns the boys; Tori Amos owns the song. Enjoy.

I crucify myself

Nothing I do is good enough for you

Crucify myself

Every day

Life can't be easy for him.

Every day, he wakes up, gets dressed, and faces a day of teasing and finger-pointing. People flaunt his authority and make fun of him, treating him like he's lower than a Slytherin's belly.

He doesn't even have his family's support. Fred and George tease him mercilessly every day, and when Bill and Charlie were here, they made fun of him too. Let's steal his books and make him beg for them. Let's take his badge, ridicule his dreams. Let's pick on perfect Percy, see how long until he cries.

He's alone. Alone in a family so big only magic could keep them clothed and fed. Harry might not have any family, but at least he's got friends.

I know I couldn't deal with all of that. One person would make fun of me and I would probably cry. Yeah, look at me, I'm a manly man.

I think he cries in his sleep. I hear him sometimes, although it's really muffled by the drapes. I just lay there awake for what seems like forever, listening to him cry. I don't have the courage to go over there and see if he's awake or asleep; if he's suffering and knows it, or dying in silence.

I check my watch. He's supposed to meet me down here ten minutes ago for tutoring. He's never late. I go upstairs.

"Percy?" I say uncertainly, looking around. I spot him standing at the window, hugging himself, swaying slightly. "Percy?"

He turns, and I take an instinctive step back. His eyes are glazed over slightly, and I can see that his robe is stained with blood.

"Percy, what . . ."

"Oliver . . ." His voice is raspy and rough. He unfolds his arms and stretches them so he's shaped like a 'T', revealing the livid red slits running across his wrists. His breathing is heavy and he's having trouble staying upright. Still, he manages to meet my gaze and maintain his position. He sways, loses his balance, and falls to his knees, arms still outstretched.

"Please, Oliver." He looks up at me, bleary eyes boring holes into me. "Do it." His head falls forward, and I can hear his labored breathing. I can hardly make out what he says next:

"crucify . . ."

He takes a deep breath and forces his head up. With an act of sheer willpower, he forces out one last word.

" . . .me . . ."

I crucify myself

Nothing I do is good enough for you

Crucify myself

Every day . . .

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