The Breaking Point

The autumn winds swept across the grounds of the Burrow, carrying with them the chill of something more than just the changing season. Percy stood near the edge of the Forbidden Forest, gripping the hilt of Riptide so tightly that his knuckles turned white. The air felt heavy, and there was a familiar tightness in his chest—a feeling he had fought to bury after what had happened at Camp Half-Blood. Yet here it was again, creeping up on him, suffocating him.

Hermione stood in front of him, her eyes filled with sadness, but there was a steely resolve in her voice that made Percy's stomach churn. He could see it coming, like the moment before a tidal wave crashed down—inevitable, unstoppable, and devastating.

"Percy," Hermione began, her voice quiet but firm. "I... I've been thinking. With everything that's happening—with Voldemort, and the prophecy—I can't let myself be distracted."

Percy's heart sank. Distracted? It felt like a punch to the gut. He had heard those words before—words that meant something was about to be taken away from him, again.

"Distracted?" he echoed, his voice a little sharper than he intended. "What are you talking about, Hermione?"

She took a deep breath, her hands trembling ever so slightly as she tried to keep her composure. "This—us. I thought maybe we could balance it all, but I was wrong. Voldemort's getting stronger, and we're running out of time. I can't afford to be thinking about... about how much I care about you when I should be focusing on stopping him."

Percy felt a familiar sting deep in his chest. He had been here before. Betrayal. First by Annabeth, and now... Hermione? His best friend, the one person he had thought he could count on, was pulling away. Not out of malice, but because she thought it was for the greater good. It didn't matter. It still hurt.

"So that's it?" Percy asked, his voice thick with disbelief and hurt. "You're just going to walk away because it's 'distracting'? You think this is a choice between us and the war?"

Hermione's eyes welled with unshed tears, but she held firm. "I don't want to hurt you, Percy. But I've made up my mind. We need to focus on defeating Voldemort first. The world is at stake, and I can't... I can't let myself be distracted by us."

There it was again. Distracted. A cold, bitter feeling twisted in Percy's gut. He had heard those words before from Annabeth, words that made it seem like he was never enough, like he was always the one holding someone back. He couldn't help but feel like he was being abandoned all over again.

Percy turned away, his chest tight, trying to swallow down the bitterness rising in his throat. "You're just like them," he muttered, almost too low for her to hear.

Hermione's brow furrowed. "What?"

"Nothing," Percy said quickly, but the damage was already done. He had let the truth slip. The betrayal he had felt at Camp Half-Blood, the sting of his friends turning their backs on him when he needed them most—it was all crashing back into him. He had thought he could trust Hermione, that maybe things would be different this time. But no. The same story, again.

Hermione reached out, her hand shaking as if she wanted to comfort him, but stopped short. "Percy, I'm so sorry. I wish it didn't have to be like this. But we're talking about the fate of the world."

He couldn't look at her. Not now. If he did, the walls he had so carefully built to protect himself would crack. "I get it," Percy said, his voice hollow. "You've made your choice."

"I didn't want it to be this way," she whispered, her own tears brimming on the edge.

Percy's jaw clenched. He wanted to say something, to fight back, to tell her that they could make it work. But deep down, that feeling of betrayal—the one he had known all too well—was drowning out everything else. He couldn't fight for something when he wasn't even sure if he trusted her anymore. Not after this.