Author's notes: Just a little ficlet, it didn't quite turn out as I planned, but then, when does a story ever? Reviews welcomed, chocolates craved and flames pounced on eagerly. It has been far too long since I got a decent flame for one of my slash stories ...

He's at the window, again. He seems to spend half his days there now, simply staring out onto the street outside. I asked him once, months ago, what it was he saw. He didn't say a word in reply, didn't even bother to turn his eyes to where I stood at his side. He simply remained staring at the sun soaked street in front of him.

Now, it is rain he is watching. Heavy rain that is spilling like black ink down the window, darkening the view to nothing more than faded silhouettes. And this time, I'm not standing by his side, desperately trying to understand what is going through his conflicted mind. Instead, I'm hopelessly on the other side of the room, watching him as he watches his rain.

I've never felt so useless as I do now, unable to help him. It almost feels like I've lost him already, and all that I have is a ghost of what he was, remaining here, mocking me for not being able to draw him out of this.

Mocking me for not being a good enough reason for him to try and work his way through it.

I should have known that the war would have this effect on Percy, we all should have. But Percy has always been strong, far stronger than I. He's dealt with personal insecurities, inferior complexes, troubles with his family, and he's grown into a wonderful man despite of it all, or perhaps because of it. All I know is that I loved him when he couldn't love himself, and I loved him when he was strong enough to dare to love me back. He's a very easy man to love, my Percy. He can be a very easy man to loathe as well.

But I can't hate him, not for this. Not anymore. I'm ashamed that I ever did hate him, when it became apparent that he had given in to his own tiredness. He fought it for so long, trying to force smiles that quivered at the corners, being affectionate when it was obvious to anyone but me that he would rather be on his own. Of course he would fear the war, how could I not understand that, having lived through the first one against Voldemort myself, as well? My own fear I forced into avenues that I knew would be helpful: anger, determination that the children of today wouldn't suffer as we had done in the past. Many people I know, ones I went to school with, that we went to school with, have done the same thing. Others fled, letting their fear control them.

A couple seemed to simply decide that they couldn't do it all over again, that they had neither the energy or desire. Even at 20, they were too old to live through another war. Their souls caved in, even when their minds knew they should be fighting against it. When I could see that knowledge reflecting in Percy's eyes, that belief that no matter how much his body was simply begging him to slip away, he knew he had to somehow fight that feeling, I had always believed everything would be fine. Of course it would be. But slowly, that determination faded, and he began his trips to the window.

It was then I had hated him. I said things that he should never forgive me for, I questioned his intelligence, his strength. But most of all, I questioned his love. How could he give up, if he loved me as I did him? I made it so easily about me, and how much I was giving to the relationship, and how little he ever gave in return. It was his fault that he was slipping away, and it was his fault because I cared so much, and he didn't obviously care at all. It was logic, I thought at the time, that you don't leave someone if you love them.

I had forgotten that, even though my Percy may have given up, he still felt and breathed. And he still hurt. Words said in desperation were forgiven later, but I doubt he's ever forgotten them, Lord knows I haven't been able to.

He wraps an arm gingerly around his own waist, as though it will protect him from the coldness of the winter that is setting in. I fear these coming winter months, for they will take more than the leaves off the trees if the war doesn't end soon, and it does not look like ending for many more years. I would beat back the vicious winds with my fists if I could, demand the seasons to remain as they were if they would merely listen. But how could I stop Autumn from leaving, when I couldn't even be strong enough for the man I loved?

I can't stand to watch him there, anymore. I walk quietly across the room, wrapping my arms gently around his frame from behind. He's stiff in my arms, I don't care to remember how long it has been since we last had some form of physical contact. What I do remember is how he would in the past melt into my arms, twisting around to greet me with a kiss, before making some lewd suggestion. Now I could be holding a mannequin, for he is far from relaxed, further still from me.

"You're not alone, Perce. You're never alone."

Once, I would have said with hope that we would pull through this, that the war was sure to end soon. That together we could conquer whatever was thrown at us. But the time for such naive comments has passed, and they would be said with a hollowness that rang only with falseness, and Percy deserved better than that.

He's shaking now, yet still he refuses to acknowledge me, to turn those beautiful eyes which are surely now filling with tears to my own. And this hurts more than all else, that there is a wedge between us now that will not allow him to share this pain with me, that walls that had been broken down so long ago have sprung up, freshly new. I'm not able to break them down, not this time. I can do nothing but watch them surround my Percy, stealing him away from my sight and my heart.

I don't know what I'm supposed to do, anymore. I can't bare to see him like this, an empty casing of the man I once loved. Still love, still love. For he isn't gone yet, and that is the one thing I have left to cling to. At times though, I wonder if it would be easier to distance myself from him as he has done me, to prepare myself for the irrefutable end, just as his family has done. It is only Bill who still visits our little flat now, it is too hard for the others to see what has become of the once brilliant bright Weasley, now little more than a shadow or myth. I remember their anger, they're desperation, then finally their acceptance. I despised them for that, giving up on him as he had done himself. I knew that I would never have a good relationship with the Weasley family again, even if things somehow miraculously righted themselves. Bill has of course tried to explain it to me, that they did everything possible to draw Percy from this, but that in the end, it was Percy's decision to make. Now, it is my turn to decide whether to follow the same path they had done.

"I, I'm sorry, Oliver." the words are spoken softly, quivering from beginning to end. It's enough to break my heart all over again, and I pull him tightly into my arms. I don't know what to say, I've never been clever with words. So instead, I simply hold him, even as he continues to offer his passive resistance.

And then, he does the last thing I expected him to. He turns to me, his eyes searching hopelessly for mine. It has been a long time since he has truly looked at me, but now he does it with such desperation, as though he is trying to memorise every line on my face, each curve or dimple. I raise a hand and brush away his tears, but he makes no move to rid me of my own. Instead, his eyes ask me a silent question, begging me to let him, to let him ...

To let him die. My Percy wants my permission to let him die. And I can't, I can't . Not my Percy, not my entire world, who I would rather die for than see death claim. Percy, my love, my strength. I can't let him cut the last tie he has to this world.

And yet, how can I not?

He turns again to his window, to his rain. And there is nothing left for me to do but watch it fall with him.