I've Got You // Perciver

Chapter 12: The Functionality of a Fwooper Feather

Tw// implied self harm, depression, implied eating problems, mentions of suicidal ideation, referenced past drug addiction, drug cravings, mentioned past drug overdose, referenced past drug relapse

This is not a light chapter. It explicitly describes how it can feel during a depressive episode. As I've stated before, this story is written in the primary pov of a character suffering from depression by an author suffering from depression. Tread lightly and don't read this if you think it might cause you harm.

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Oliver

Oliver Wood knows Percy Weasley. He knows him like the air in his lungs and the blood in his veins; knows him like the grass of the Quidditch pitch and the lowlight of the Library; like the touch of a hand on his, feathersoft but firm.

Oliver knew Percy liked his tea with too much sugar, and that he pushed his glasses up with his knuckles instead of his fingertips. He knew that he hated Clyde Clifroy and Gilderoy Lockhart and much preferred Edgar Poe and Emily Dickinson. He knew that when Percy was a kid (and even still now), he'd been absolutely obsessed with anything and everything to do with water creatures. He knew that Percy had a soft spot for his neighbor, Mr. Lovegood, who everyone said went batty after his wife died and left him to raise their daughter alone. Percy thought the man was odd but had longsince declared it part of his charm. Oliver even knew that sometimes the world got to be too much for Percy's brain - too loud, too bright, too quiet all at once - and it would essentially shut off because it was too overstimulated and couldn't comprehend anything that was happening around him.

The point was, Oliver knew Percy.

And today was a bad day.

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Percy

Sometimes Percy knows it's not going to be a good day. He knows the second he opens his eyes and feels the heaviness of his limbs, the energy seemingly bled from his bones and his muscles, making his body feel like dead weight. Those mornings, much like today, make him sigh and curl up in bed, pulling the covers over his head. He doesn't want to speak and isn't sure he even could if he tried. There's a weight on his chest, comforting yet uncomfortable at the same time. Like he needs to move but can't make his body respond.

Thankfully, Oliver and Penny have developed a system for days like today.

He's got History of Magic, Herbology, and Transfiguration before lunch followed by Arithmancy, Magical Theory, and Ancient Runes after. Oliver will take notes for the morning classes and Penny the afternoon. The three of them are always joined at the hip, so it's unsettling to see the trio cut down to two. By now the teachers have realized that when Penny and Oliver show up to class without their other half, they'll be taking twice the notes. And so, on those days, they're a little more lenient when Penny leaves class a few minutes too early or when Oliver is just a few minutes late to class.

When Oliver rolled out of bed that morning and Percy - who Oliver knew was wide awake and probably had been for quite some time -didn't even twitch, he knew it was a bad day. And when Oliver showed up to breakfast without him after failing to successfully coax Percy out of bed or do anything more than simply blink, Penelope knew it was a bad day.

The worst part about these days is that Percy doesn't feel anything. He sees the worry in his eyes, sees him blink up at the ceiling to rid them of the tears no doubt building up. He watches Oliver swallow and presumably clear his throat, watches him sign words of comfort and love.

But Percy isn't comforted.

And he.

Doesn't.

Feel.