Characters: Percy, George, Molly II
Summary: Neither of them were alright, not with ghosts hanging over them.
Pairings: past Percy x Penelope
Author's Note: Here is the seventh and penultimate installment of the Prodigal Son series. The working title has been changed to Whatever Remains of Home, and the format of this one is a bit different than what the others have been; just be aware.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
Personally, it had never seemed like a good idea.
"Sorry about all the dust," George apologized, the note of jaunty cheer in his voice jarringly false. "It's been months since this place was open. We—" his voice caught just a little on "We" and Percy strained to hide a wince "—used to have an employee but she was killed during the War. Muggle-born," George explained as an afterthought, as though it explained everything, and it did.
Muggle-born… This time, Percy couldn't hide his wince, and he instinctively shifted little Molly closer in his arms. She was just over a year old—Percy was still marveling how much she had grown; his heart still ached at how much he'd missed—and he couldn't hold her the same way he could back when she was just two months old and tiny. Molly was heavy, heavy the way the duffle bag with an Undetectable Extension Charm on it was heavy. Now, he felt heavy himself, despite the fact that—as his mother had pointed out—he had lost even more weight during his months as an Order operative.
"Ah." Percy looked around the shop with a newfound interest, looking for something else to focus his attention on. A large amount of the wares had been knocked off the shelves—by whoever decided to raid the place, no doubt.
"There's a spare bedroom upstairs in the flat. You and Moll—" the twins, Percy understood (back when there were two), had taken to calling little Molly 'Moll' to differentiate between her and their mother; Percy didn't like it and had already said so, but that wasn't stopping George "can have that for the time being." He started rooting around the shop, ignoring the presence of his older brother and niece entirely. Just like old times.
"Alright," Percy answered to the empty air, and started to wonder what on Earth he was doing here as he began to mount the winding stairs.
He had no job—he'd said as much to Pius Thicknesse right before turning him into a sea urchin—and possessed no desire to work (Percy mused that that, above all else, proved that there was something wrong with him), not at the moment. Percy had nowhere else to stay—he'd given up his apartment in London proper and he would never go back to the Burrow. Never again. Things would never come to the point where he could feel comfortable there again.
And George didn't need to be left alone. As much as Percy didn't want to be in the company of one of his former tormentors, he knew that George didn't need to be left by himself. There were others better-equipped to take care of him, but Percy felt that if anyone was going to look after George, it was going to be him.
Maybe it was penance for not being able to keep Fred from dying. Maybe it was subconscious penance for being so wrong about everything. Maybe Percy really was a masochist. Maybe, laboring under the weight of Penelope's death, the prospect of raising their daughter alone, putting his life on the line constantly while working for the Order and Fred's death, Percy had just finally snapped. No one could really tell, let alone Percy.
He did know that he didn't have any other options.
Didn't have any other choice.
-0-
Percy found himself on the flight of stairs again, going down, fifteen minutes later.
The spare bedroom was sparsely furnished—to the bare minimum—and as a result it seemed bigger than it really was. There was a fine layer of dust on the windowsill, on the metal bed frame, on the nightstand and on the dresser in the corner. The mirror and the pitcher and basin on the dresser were finely coated with dust as well. Even the bed sheets weren't spared. The only mercy, Percy supposed gloomily, was that it wasn't as dusty up there as it was downstairs in the shop.
Before doing anything, Percy whipped out his wand and, daughter balanced in one arm and wand brandished by the other, he muttered a spell he'd learned from his mother. It was good for removing dust from small surfaces though it didn't work on cloth and it wouldn't do for the large shelves below. Percy looked at his bed sheets and sighed—he'd have to beat the dust out of them in the back alley below before he went to bed. There were many things Percy would tolerate (really), but dust wasn't one of them.
The first thing he did after that was set Molly gently down on the bare wood planks of the floor and, after dumping his duffel bag on the bed, Percy pulled Molly's cot out of it. He set the cot near the dresser—away from the miserably dusty bed; he'd move it closer to his bed when he got the dust out of the sheets—plucked Molly up, and laid her down on it, smiling gently as he rubbed a hand through her soft curls. She had been sleepy all the way to Diagon Alley and it was about time for her nap anyway. It would be alright, Percy supposed, to leave her alone for just a few minutes. But he left the door wide open in case she started to cry, and when he looked at the stairs he decided he was going to have to talk to George about putting a gate at the stairs; Molly was walking now, albeit unsteadily and she enjoyed immensely going places where she really didn't need to be going.
Weasley's Wizard Wheezes seemed vaguely sepulchral, when Percy got to the ground level, with the walls stripped of all paint and the windows letting in slants of pale golden light. Though he was sure it was quite loud and merry during normal times, now it was incredibly still and quiet and, to Percy, the joke shop almost felt the sort of place where he was supposed to keep his voice down.
Percy had only a moment to survey the shop from the foot of the stairs (and notice that George had managed to get most of the displaced merchandise back on the shelves) before George was there, slapping a large pink feather duster in his hand and turning back around directly. "C'mon, Weatherby," he commanded tonelessly; Percy gritted his teeth at the hated nickname, "I can't do all of this myself."
"George—"
"I promise, it won't bite you or try to strangle your or anything like that. Now help me."
George disappeared into the shelves, and Percy sighed. Come on, Percy, he thought to himself bracingly. You knew it wouldn't be easy. You knew it would be hard. Though Mum had more or less forgiven him and Bill (and by extension Fleur as well) and Charlie seemed content to let bygones be bygones, Percy was sensible enough to know that there were members of his family that would treat him as a semi-welcome or entirely unwelcome guest upon their property for the rest of his life. The Weasley clan was not a forgiving lot.
But still… He'd just been trying to ask George what part of the store he wanted him to dust.
-0-
While dusting and trying to avoid George (Percy both still didn't trust him not to try something, and being in the same vicinity as George was suddenly even more intensely awkward than usual), Percy had an opportunity to get a closer look at the merchandise of the shop his brothers owned (Back when there were two, he couldn't help but remind himself again with a pang).
A large majority of the joke shop's wares were just how Percy had expected to find them: in bad taste and hopelessly immature. Fake wands, really? Percy could remember a time when the twins would switch out their mother's wand with a fake one designed to look like hers every other week or so. Why they thought it was funny after the first dozen times Percy had no idea. Apparently their brains hadn't evolved to the point of realizing that fake wands weren't funny; at least, Percy didn't think it was funny to be in the middle of a duel with a dark wizard and suddenly have your wand turn into a limp rubber chicken in your hand.
The same went for most of the Skiving Snackboxes. Percy could see where the Puking Pastilles, the Fever Fudge and the Nosebleed Nougat could all be potentially life-threatening (He would be surprised if the store never ended up being sued). The Fainting Fancies and other things were only slightly better.
Even Percy had to admit though, that some of the things in stock had redeemable qualities. He'd always liked fireworks and the clothing endowed with Shield Charms actually had legitimate uses.
Percy made a mental note as he went on with the dusting. He wasn't letting Molly down here at all until the place was properly clean again, and, as he saw more and more of what Fred and George seemed to deem proper items for sale, he decided that there was no way he'd let her in here at all unsupervised until she was at least seven years old; there was just too much risk of what might happen to her if she was allowed to wander the store alone.
Then, he came upon something highly unexpected, and Percy did something he thought he would never do with something related to Fred and George.
He laughed.
Before him, several pairs of familiar toad-like brown eyes stared Percy dead in the eye. Small squat figures of a woman dressed all in pink, with protuberant eyes, a slack face and a horrible false smile affixed to their faces met Percy's eyes, so many of that they took up an entire shelf. If it were anyone else the dolls' appearances would have been considered a grotesque and highly unflattering caricature, but Percy couldn't help but think that Fred and George had gotten Dolores Umbridge down to the life. The advertisement above each and every one of them read 'THE HIGH INQUISITOR DOLORES UMBRIDGE DOLL IS GUARANTEED TO SCOLD, YELL AND OTHERWISE DISRUPT THE NATURAL ORDER'.
It may have been the sound of Percy laughing (a rare sound in any circumstance) or it may simply have been coincidence that drew George over to where he was. When he saw Percy, thoughts of dusting abandoned and holding an Umbridge doll in his hands, the younger Weasley's shrewd brown eyes narrowed. "So Perce," he asked, smirking with the sort of hard edge to it that had never been there before. "D'you want to buy one or contact Umbridge at Azkaban so she can sue for copyright infringement?"
Percy, who hadn't heard him coming (George had mastered the art of creeping by the age of five), jumped a little and looked up, slightly frazzled. "What?" he asked more sharply than he'd intended. Life with the twins had instilled in him a healthy fear of being snuck up upon.
George tilted his violent red head to one side. "Oh, come off it. You aren't really thinking of defending old Dolly, are you? Even you aren't that much of a prat."
Percy realized what he was talking about. "Oh, no. I think it's kind of funny, myself."
This time, it was George's turn to look confused and uncomprehending.
"George, this woman is universally loathed. No one likes her; no one ever has liked her. The only reason anyone at work was polite to Madam Umbridge was because she knew where we lived."
The currently only owner of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes thought about this for a moment, frowning with an uncharacteristically serious expression on his face, brow furrowed. Then, he smiled. "Guess old Dolly was smarter than we thought."
-0-
There were other things in the joke shop, though, that Percy could not see any humor in, besides the trick wands and the snackboxes.
When Percy came across containers for an Egyptian derivative of Wartcap powder, he didn't laugh at the sight of it, nor did he smile; he had no inclination to do anything of the sort. Instead, he frowned darkly and paled a little, his freckles becoming more starkly visible as a result. It was a pyramid. The container was a pyramid. Percy hated pyramids.
Wonder if they were thinking of me when they came up with this, Percy thought savagely.
And again, as though he could sense Percy's displeasure (and that, Percy suspected, was how Fred and George had always known how to pop up on their oft-frustrated and always stressed older brother to tease him), George was soon at hand, appearing at the end of row nearest Percy, silhouetted by the bright, hot sunlight pouring in through a nearby window. He saw Percy scowling blackly at the row of gleaming pyramids before him, and his face took on a decidedly uneasy cast. "Percy," said George, "that was nearly five years ago. You have to know by now; it was just a joke."
Just a joke. The sort of phrase that trivialized actions, made them seem less serious than they really were, or tried to. The exhausted phrase that, in their family, had always been uttered to make things right, and had almost always succeeded. How many times had Percy heard these words spoken in relation to him? Too often, in his humble opinion, and they were never anything closely resembling a reasonable excuse.
"George?" Percy asked, voice just a little too calm, just a little too controlled, "Did I ever tell you about that time when I was four and Mum had to hide me in a closet?"
"No," answered his brother cautiously, eyeing him warily.
"Now's as good a time as any, then. We were staying with friends—just me and Mum; Dad and Bill and Charlie were off somewhere, and Mrs. Longbottom had you and Fred and Ron—when two wizards known to be in You-Know-Who's employ knocked on the front door. Mum took me to an upstairs closet and locked me in. She told me to be very quiet and that she'd be back in a few minutes to let me out, but she wasn't. It must've been hours before—"
"Percy, what is the point of—"
"I have claustrophobia," Percy flatly informed him.
Without further adieu and without waiting for George to give a response, Percy slammed the pink feather duster down on a shelf and stomped up the stairs to check on Molly. He'd never been much of one for protracted arguments; he avoided them when he could, in fact, which tended to surprise people who didn't know Percy well. Perhaps, if he hadn't avoided them so much, things might have been different, maybe better, but it wasn't in his nature to confront people with anything more than angry injunctions and ultimatums, if he confronted them at all, and he certainly didn't want to get in an argument with George right now.
He was as sick and tired of arguing as anyone could be.
"…Oh," George replied to the dust and the pyramids, with an uncomfortable look on his face. A moment later he took up dusting again as though nothing had happened, and when, five minutes later, Percy came back down, he behaved as though they hadn't said anything too.
-0-
Later that night, after a quick supper eaten at the Leaky Cauldron and a bath in the kitchen sink for Molly (in which both Percy and George ended up getting far more wet than the baby), Percy was trying not to have bad dreams, and failing miserably.
The subjects of the dreams were familiar as the back of Percy's hand and not to be unexpected. Fred and Penelope, one after the other until Percy's mind spun and his stomach heaved and his heart felt ready to crack open and drain.
Fred drenched in blood and crushed, body broken by so much stone crashing down on top of him. The ghost of his last laugh and smile was still frozen on his lips, etched in time until it became a grotesque grimace that darkened into a sneer. A look for his brother full of disappointment and questions. Why did I have to be the one to die? Do you think I wanted to die? I had so much more to live for than you. I had dreams, I had glamour. I could make my family laugh and you, you could only ever make them cry. You have only a broken reality, grasping at glass that cuts your hands. Why was it me, and not you?
Percy had never ceased to wonder that.
From Penelope, there was only a smile and the faint hint of words she wasn't saying, too soft and indistinct for Percy to catch them. How much can you love someone before their memory starts to hurt? Percy asked her sadly, but she said nothing and only shook her head. What that was supposed to mean to him Percy would never know.
Then there was darkness, a deep wrenching in his bones, and Percy woke up.
It was dark and silent as the grave in what for the time being was Percy's room. Pale silver moonlight filtered through the small, rectangular window and fell across the bed like a cascade of milk. Reaching for his glasses and again registering the Spartan austerity of the room, Percy honestly wondered whether Fred and George had ever intended on someone actually using this bedroom for any significant amount of time, and whether or not it was just a holdover from the previous owner of the building (That, at least would explain the décor and why nothing was actively trying to kill him).
Sleeping in a bed that wasn't some thin, sagging mattress in a Wizarding inn still felt so incredibly strange. Percy had never thought he'd be able to get used to sleeping anywhere but his comfortable bed, not at first, but he had managed that and more. I guess I'm just going to have to get used to being sedentary again, Percy mused, heaving a sigh as he sat up. But somehow, I just don't think I'm going to be getting a whole lot of sleep tonight. That was alright; Percy had never needed much sleep.
Somehow, sleeping just didn't seem to matter as much as it used to.
Percy turned his eyes to Molly. As he'd promised himself, he had moved her cot so it was between his bed and the window once he had gotten all the dust out of the bedclothes, so close that he could have reached out and touched her if he needed to. Now, she was sleeping, still on her back as she'd been when her father was awake, the light green blanket more or less discarded (It was tangled around her feet).
Percy managed a little smile for the sleeping baby. "May growing up be a happier time for you than it was for me," he remarked whimsically. "Though I can't see how that will be terribly difficult for you."
A sound, muffled by the wood, came from the next room.
Percy frowned.
Usually, he would be far more wary of sounds coming from a room occupied by either one of his twin brothers; anyone with common sense would be. Tonight, however the dreams that had disturbed him and Percy's own singularly odd mood made common sense (ignoring the sound and staying right in the safety of his own room) seem just a little outmoded.
George's door had been left slightly ajar, and through the crack spilled a slant of golden light that washed up on the opposite wall. Percy risked pushing open the door just a hairsbreadth more so he could see just what it was that was keeping George awake so late at night.
One look at George's room told Percy that the furnishing of the spare bedroom had definitely been a feature of the building from before it fell into Weasley hands.
No one would be able to tell what color the walls were. The walls were blanketed with shelves displaying certain items from the shop below and old childhood toys; there was even a shelf devoted to books, shockingly. They're probably all joke books. A bulletin board was covered with multi-colored papers that Percy couldn't quite read from the angle he was standing at. A poster of a favored Quidditch team was pinned up, the member zooming around the background on broomsticks.
Percy saw two beds in the room, both adorned with bright scarlet and gold bedclothes. The one nearest to the far wall looked as though it hadn't been touched in eternity and seemed to Percy's eyes distinctly forlorn. Fred's bed then, Percy thought with a touch of gloom, wondering what exactly it did to George to face his brother's vacant bed every night and morning.
The same odd sound as before made his eyes snap to George.
George was sitting in a chair, holding a broken Umbridge doll in his hands. The doll's high-pitched, synthesized voice kept wheezing and breaking on 'have' and George was trying in vain to fix it.
He looked so small sitting there, so utterly lost. Like he had no idea what he was doing and just keeping his head above water was a massive effort.
Percy went back to his room in silence, never saying a word.
He locked the door, like he always did when living under the same roof with one of the twins.
-0-
The next day's further attempt to get Weasley's Wizard Wheezes ready for business again (taking inventory to see if anything had been stolen and looking the shelves over for anything broken) was interrupted by a visit from Bill and Fleur just after lunch.
Percy took that as his cue to leave, quietly laying down his clipboard on a countertop where George would be able to find it. Just as quietly, he slipped up the stairs, trying his best not to draw attention to himself, praying that neither Bill nor Fleur would notice him.
In truth, the thought of being in contact with one of his family for any amount of time, and actually having to talk to them was not something Percy relished; the only reason he did so with George was because he was worried and he needed somewhere to stay. Ron's attitude towards him was still at times distinctly accusatory and though Ginny was thawing a bit she, with one exception, regarded him somewhat coolly. Percy squirmed at the thought of opening himself up to still more of that.
That extended to Bill. Percy, the isolated one, had never been terribly close to any of his siblings, but he'd looked up to Bill for as long as he could remember and Bill, even when his bookish little brother bemused him had always been fair. Even if Bill seemed perfectly happy to be able to just bury the hatchet with his little brother, Percy still didn't to face him.
Molly was awake. When Percy made his way into the room, she looked up at him from the cot and extended two small, chubby hands out, a clear sign that she wanted out of the cot and for someone to pay attention to her.
"Okay, okay." Percy reached out and put his hands under her armpits, putting her down on the bed beside him. "I suppose you think Daddy's gone and disappeared on you a bit too often, huh?" he asked her. Not entirely of his own will, Percy's face darkened a little. "Well don't fret, Molly. Daddy thinks the exact same thing." He wasn't going to baby-talk to her; he refused to baby-talk anyone, even a baby. "The shop'll be open again soon. I'll be able to take care of you better then, I promise."
Percy reached over to the nightstand and took up that day's edition of the Daily Prophet, expunged of all propaganda and most of the lies—the world wasn't entirely perfect, Percy supposed—flipping through to the Help Wanted section.
Even if he was staying with George, he needed to be looking for a job; he'd realized that earlier in the morning. Percy's own inclinations had nothing to do with it; he couldn't see himself helping to run a joke shop, either. There were several openings for positions in the Ministry of Magic, some that Percy admitted looked attractive. But he wasn't sure he wanted to return to the Ministry—after everything, after watching the place fall into corruption and finally be taken over entirely by the Death Eaters and their pawn Thicknesse, the thought of going back left a bit of a bad taste in Percy's mouth. Percy continued on, looking beyond the Ministry ads.
A few minutes later there was the telltale muted clatter of footsteps on the stairs. Someone knocked on the door lightly, and Percy winced, knowing it wasn't George—George didn't bother to knock before entering. That meant that it was either Bill or Fleur, wanting to talk to him, though Percy had no idea what the latter would want to speak to him for; he and Fleur barely knew each other. Percy restrained a groan only because little Molly was looking at him—he might as well start setting a somewhat decent example for her now. He'd so hoped to be able to avoid this.
"Come in," Percy called half-heartedly to the knocker, laying the Daily Prophet on his lap and staring somewhat apprehensively at the door.
Bill pressed the door open and flashed a friendly but slightly uncertain grin at his younger brother as he slipped inside. "Hello, Percy."
The sight of him was no quite so unpleasant as Percy had expected, even if he felt immediately more tense at the sight of Bill. "Hello, Bill," Percy greeted him, perfectly polite and moving to get up, before Bill solved that problem by sitting down on the edge of the bed, trying to find a position where he wouldn't end up sitting on Percy's feet.
"Don't get up." Bill waved a hand at him. "You make me feel like some visiting Head of State."
Percy nodded slightly to signal that he understood and, while Bill was going through pleasantries with Molly—really, Percy didn't know what it was about babies that made just about everyone act so out-of-character around them—he found himself staring at his eldest brother's face, despite himself.
Percy had only laid eyes on Bill twice since he was savaged by Fenrir Greyback: the first time at Albus Dumbledore's funeral, and the second time at Hogwarts during the last battle against Voldemort's forces. The first time, Bill had still been so heavily swathed in bandages that Percy couldn't clearly make out his face and he had only seen him from a distance anyhow; the second, the lighting had not been ideal. And, if Percy was honestly with himself, he had been trying his best, both times, not to look too closely at Bill. The news of Bill's injuries was both horrifying for what it implied and inspiring of anger because this had been allowed to happen and because no one in the family had bothered to tell Percy.
There was only one mercy to the whole thing: Greyback hadn't been transformed at the time of the attack. If he had been, Percy knew things would have been so much worse.
Percy had been trying so hard to avoid the reality of Bill's injuries but there was no way not to notice them now, in broad daylight with Bill sitting barely three feet away from him.
The scars were… not quite as bad as Percy had expected; the passage of time probably had a lot to do with it. They still came to dominate Bill's face, deep red lines that might lighten and soften but would never go away, not entirely; handsome Bill wasn't the same anymore, his face paler, the freckles gone, the features distorted by red ridges of flesh.
He just looked different.
It was a few moments before Percy realized he was staring. He ducked his head, mortified and blushing furiously, digging his nose back into the Daily Prophet. He was still hoping against hope that Bill wouldn't engage him in conversation.
Vain hopes tended to die quick and brutal deaths, Percy was beginning to realize.
Bill, at least, seemed not to have noticed Percy's staring. He patted little Molly's head with a sort of absent fondness and then addressed his brother. "We didn't see you downstairs," he remarked in the sort of tone that wasn't unfriendly but somehow incredibly piercing. "I wondered where you were; there are only so many places in that shop where people can hide."
Percy shrugged, forcing himself to meet Bill's gaze but still managing to stare right through him. "I had something I had to take care of," he said awkwardly, motioning jerkily to the newspaper thrown across his knees. "I'm…" Percy hesitated, reaching for words stuck in a suddenly dry throat "…I'm sorry I didn't say hello."
Maybe with the intent of defusing the tension, Bill reached over and snatched the Daily Prophet before Percy could say anything. His eyebrows disappeared into his slightly overgrown bangs when he scanned through the section Percy had been perusing. "The Help-Wanted Ads?" Bill asked incredulously. "Percy, I thought you were helping George with the store."
To this, Percy could only frown. "I'm helping him get the shop back in working order," Percy corrected him peevishly. "Honestly, Bill, can you really see me working in a joke store?"
Bill grimaced. "Now that you mention it, no." The expression on his face left Percy in no doubt that Bill was conjuring up for himself a whole host of unpleasant images to go with that 'no'.
Percy took the opportunity to retrieve his newspaper and, after rolling it up and putting it back on the nightstand, pulled Molly onto his lap, looking at her and wondering if she needed to be put down for a nap. Studying with intense interest the inner workings of a block Molly certainly didn't look tired but that didn't mean much.
He turned his attention back to Bill. "Why aren't you at work today, for that matter? Gringotts never closes."
A slightly nervous laugh followed this. "Ron, Harry and Hermione's little adventure in the bank earlier this year has persuaded the goblins that they need to upgrade their security, and they want the human employees out while they do it." Bill smiled ruefully. "You know what they say…"
"'It's better for your health not to argue with goblins?'"
"Exactly."
For a few moments, a silence Percy couldn't describe as either comfortable or awkward fell between them. The only sound came from Molly's babbling and the stifled noise of conversation below; George and Fleur were capable of talking comfortably, even if Bill and Percy were not.
"You want to go get something to drink?"
Percy stared, startled at his brother. This was completely out of the blue; frankly, he'd expected Bill, if he spoke again, to just murmur some sort of farewell. Not extend an invitation for drinks.
By 'drink', Percy assumed Bill meant alcohol; that was almost certainly what Bill meant and it was, Percy supposed, the accepted translation for 'drink', but one could never be sure. "What about Fleur?" Percy asked, eyes narrowing behind glasses as an ugly suspicion started to dawn on him. "And George?"
Bill shrugged, which only served to deepen Percy's suspicions. "George seems pretty busy," Bill pointed out casually, "while you on the other hand, do not." He pulled a face. "And Fleur came here wanting to get some shopping done, so I'm going to be here for a while. Come on, Perce; I promise I won't put poison in your drink," he teased, that familiar sparkle returning to vivid blue eyes.
Percy, however, was not to be so quickly or easily defeated, not even by Bill. "And Molly?"
"If you leave the door open, I'm sure George will hear. He's plenty fond of her; he'll make sure she's alright."
Percy wasn't entirely sure how Bill was seeing that as a feasible option. "Leave Molly here. Alone." Percy raised an eyebrow. "With George?" His voice dripped sarcasm.
Bill winced. "I see your point. I suppose we could always take her with us."
The sour look Percy threw his brother disillusioned Bill of any thoughts he might have had concerning Percy's willingness to take his daughter in to a pub.
"We'll wait until Fleur gets back then. But why don't you come downstairs anyway, and bring Molly with you? Fleur wants to see the baby. And it's not good for either of you, staying cooped up in here all day."
-0-
"I was surprised when Mum told me you'd decided to stay with George."
Percy had ended up coming downstairs as Bill asked, Molly in tow in his arms; he still wasn't sure about the stairs, despite George's strenuous objection that they were safe and that there was no need for a gate. He wasn't sure whether he was doing it just to please Bill or because Percy really did want to come out of that lonely, sparsely furnished room to where there were people to talk to. Even loners had to talk to people sometimes.
Percy didn't know Fleur well at all; she was virtually a stranger to him. For such a delicate-seeming woman, he was surprised how rich and throaty her voice was.
They exchanged pleasantries and spoke briefly. Fleur was immaculately polite (apart from the occasional unintentional slur against the English race) and perfectly pleasant, but the whole time they spoke Fleur was eyeing him up and down with a distinctly appraising look in her eyes. If anything, Percy felt as though he was being sized up—like a cattle rancher at market, checking a cow over for scars or deformities. Percy started to wonder just what Fleur had been told about him, and comfortable speech failed him as it so often did under pressure.
After Fleur left, Percy was content to let Bill and George talk. He probably could have left and gone out somewhere or back upstairs without either of them ever noticing, but he found himself staying for some reason he couldn't fathom. Molly struggled against her father's grasp to be let down, and when Percy realized that she wasn't going to give up, he momentarily shelved his fear of the sort of trouble she might encounter in the joke shop. Percy instead compensated by following Molly closely while she toddled on unsteady legs through the corridors of the shop.
All too soon (barely two hours later), Fleur returned; Bill caught sight of her returning when the sun reflected off of her bright silvery hair just outside of the shop.
That, Bill said to Percy with a jaunty smile, was their cue to go. Percy couldn't help but feel even more nervous about the whole thing.
Fleur was more than happy to take Molly in her arms, murmuring something in French that Percy knew to roughly translate to "Come to your aunt", and smiling in such a way that Percy felt just a little better about leaving her there than he had when it was just George who would be looking after her.
After that, it was off to the Leaky Cauldron.
Now, Percy was staring down at his glass of Firewhiskey, thinking about how it was the first time he'd ever had the drink and that the idea of drinking it had seemed like a good one but really, it didn't taste very good at all. At least, he had been thinking about that until Bill shot that question-that-is-not-a-question at him.
"I mean," Bill went on between a sip of his own Firewhiskey—which he was enjoying far more than Percy was his—voice dangerously casual (or so it sounded to Percy), "you've never gotten along very well with him."
Percy didn't meet his gaze, the way he wouldn't meet it when Bill asked him what he wanted to drink. Instead, he found himself staring into his cup, and wondering again what had possessed him to ever agree to go somewhere alone with Bill. "It seemed like the thing to do," Percy gave by way of explanation. "Ron's getting ready to be an Auror, Ginny's preparing for her last year at Hogwarts, and Charlie's gone back to Romania." He didn't mention their parents. "I, on the other hand, am currently unemployed, and George had a spare bed he was willing to give up." Percy hesitated. "It was just a matter of practicality."
Bill shot him such a kind look that Percy felt his ears burn and again wished he hadn't come. "I guess he hasn't tried to put a Dungbomb underneath your bed yet, seeing as you're still here."
"That's right." Percy almost said that he'd leave the moment George tried anything, but didn't. He closed his mouth and frowned; Percy had just realized that he didn't know if he'd leave the first time George pulled a prank. That in itself was disturbing. Would he actually stand up for himself next time (because Percy knew there would be a next time) or regress to the behavior he'd fallen on when he still lived with his family, and simply put up with it even though it drove him mad?
In the silence that followed while Bill rooted through his mind for the words with which to compose his next point, Percy took another swallow out of his glass of Firewhiskey, his eyes watering at the way it scorched his throat going down. He'd been under the mistaken impression that the second swig would taste better than the first. Also, Percy knew perfectly well the concept of 'liquid courage', and if the whiskey didn't taste so awful, he might have taken some more.
"Percy…" Bill was eyeing him as though he expected him to crack and shatter like a brittle vase thrown across a room. "You could always come home," he said tentatively.
"No."
"Why not?" Bill pressed, slightly insistent now. "Mum would love to have you back, and whatever you might think, Dad probably won't mind either. Why not just come home, Percy? It won't be nearly as bad as you think it will."
Percy couldn't help but think that that was still more than bad enough. "No, Bill."
"Nobody forced you out," the eldest Weasley son pointed out now, somewhat sharply. "Nobody made you leave, Percy. Dad didn't throw you out or anything like that."
Shoulders tensing, Percy again found himself staring into his cup. "No, he didn't," he agreed in an uncharacteristically soft voice. "And that was the problem."
The uncomprehending look Bill passed to him indicated he didn't understand.
Percy sighed wearily, rubbing his forehead. "Dad wouldn't have ever kicked me out; no matter how mad he was, he wouldn't have done that. It probably never even crossed his mind. That was the problem, Bill," he said heavily, looking at Bill, willing him to understand. "He never would have made me leave the Burrow, but that row was really the point of no return. There was no going back; things wouldn't have gotten better. They'd have only gotten worse," he half-whispered.
"So you're saying that leaving was your only option?" Percy was immensely taken aback at the lack of rancor in Bill's voice, but didn't allow it to catch him off-guard.
"Yes… No… God, Bill, what could I have done?" Percy exclaimed, both angry and saddened and driven by blackness rising in his throat. "Yes, I had more than one option. I had two, each of them awful. I could stay in the Burrow after Dad and I had it out, and two things would almost certainly have occurred: it would have confirmed his belief that apparently I was only promoted so I could spy on him," Percy spat this out with bitterness, "and I would have become even more of what I already was: a stranger in that house, and an unwelcome interloper now as well. And don't look at me like that Bill, because you know it's true. I was always the odd one out, the one who didn't fit or conform with the rest of the family, and I paid for it, every day." Even staunch and sturdy Bill had to wince a little at the venom in Percy's voice.
"My other option was simple: I could leave. Yes, it would hurt Mum, but at that point she likely would have been the only one who admitted to caring if I was there or gone off somewhere else, if not the only person who would really give a damn at all."
Bill opened his mouth to protest, but Percy shook his head and cut him off. "It was my mindset at the time, Bill. I'm not saying it was right. And there was more to that move besides.
"If I left the Burrow, I could prove to Dad and anyone else who thought I was a plant that I wasn't anyone else's spy; after all, how could I spy on my family if I wasn't even living with them or on speaking terms with them?"
That Bill didn't have anything to say to this said very little to Percy, when he surmised it should have said a great deal.
Bill spoke up again soon enough. "Yeah, about the spying bit… Perce, Dad told me about your starting to work for the Order after the Ministry fell… Percy, why didn't you say anything about that when you met up with us at Hogwarts? It certainly would have helped your case in the Room of Requirement."
"There wasn't enough time?" Percy ended up answering Bill's question as a question in and of itself. Realizing just how inadequate that was, he went on. "I don't know. I've always been everybody's scapegoat; it just seemed natural."
"Percy."
Bill drained his glass—really, the Firewhiskey seemed to just have no effect on him—and moved on to what Percy assumed was the whole point for Bill dragging him out there. "Listen, about you deciding to live with George…" He wavered momentarily, no doubt reciting his words one more time in his head "…are you sure you're alright?"
"I don't know what you mean, Bill," Percy answered him with a slightly brittle tone of voice that, if Bill was less determined, would have deterred him from his line of questioning.
Percy winced though, when Bill put a rough hand on his shoulder. Contact still burned. "I'm talking about Fred." Bill was spelling it out in uncertain terms and it was exactly what Percy had suspected and feared it would be. He squeezed his eyes shut momentarily. "I know it's been hard, but really… You don't have to—"
"I'm fine," Percy insisted stubbornly, again finding a reason to contemplate his barely-touched glass of Firewhiskey.
"And it's not just Fred."
Percy wished he was anywhere but there.
"Percy, I—"
"I'm fine."
"It's perfectly normal—"
"I'm fine," Percy kept insisting, over and over, until Bill stopped asking, and the silence eventually grew so all-consuming that they had to return to the shop.
-0-
Bill and Fleur left soon after the former and Percy returned from the pub, Bill shooting cagey looks at him the whole time and Percy really not appreciating that his older brother seemed to think he was some sort of Muggle bomb set to explode. Really? Percy liked to think he was a bit better than that.
Supper had been a pell-mell affair of Muggle food out of the refrigerator—Percy was surprised at the number of Muggle appliances the Twins had kept around—all cold since George had never learned how to operate a Muggle oven or toaster and frankly, neither had Percy. George made a flippantly insulting remark concerning Percy's propensity to put pickles on top of his ham, and Percy made the equally flippantly insulting observation that apparently George liked mayonnaise on his bananas. Little Molly just watched, and ate her apple sauce in peace.
Sleep was… disordered.
Percy was still dreaming, and his dreams were just the same. Fred and Penelope either smiling at him or mocking him made Percy wish more than anything in the world that he didn't have to sleep.
That was, when he wasn't wishing that they hadn't died at all, so dreaming of them wouldn't hurt so much.
Molly was, as usual, either asleep when he woke up or awake herself, and staring at him with disturbingly calm brown eyes, the sort of serenity that only a baby with no conception of darkness or ugliness could possess. Tonight, when Percy jerked awake in a bed that felt foreign to him with the beginnings of cold sweat down his back, he could feel his little daughter's eyes on him, and he looked at her.
"Did I ever tell you that you have your mother's eyes?" he asked her quietly. "They seem just the same, you know. Like she's still looking at me…"
There were no sounds coming from George's room tonight.
Percy didn't know if this was a good sign or not.
-0-
Two days later, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was back open for business.
Percy skipped out on the shop almost as soon as George opened the doors again to the eager crowds who clamored outside (George had posted flyers all over Diagon Alley and sent owls to especially faithful customers), Molly again in tow, along with a bag containing whatever she'd need during the day and a few Galleons, Sickles and Knuts. He had no intention of coming back for several hours.
His family would be visiting that day, to help George celebrate the store's Grand Re-Opening; that was more than enough impetus for Percy to vacate the premises for several hours at a time.
From the standpoint of familial loyalty, anyone would have said that it was his duty to be there to help celebrate a brother's success. It would have been Percy's "duty" to at least say 'hello' to his parents and try to converse with his siblings. That was what they would have said.
But Percy didn't believe in that sort of interpretation of what familial loyalty was. And frankly, everyone thought he'd violated familial loyalty in the worst way already, so surely if he wasn't present today, it might attract some comment but no more than he was already used to. Percy, at the moment, for once in his life didn't really care if Ginny shook her head or if the word "prat" was thrown around the room like a cherished word and he was all-around thought of with disapproval.
The thought of being around his entire family at once just wasn't something Percy was ready for yet.
Even if it wouldn't be his whole family. There was still someone who was missing and would stay that way. Two people, in fact.
All in all, Percy and Molly had a fine day in Diagon Alley, ending up in a small restaurant for lunch. Molly hadn't thought much of the bratwurst her father had cut up into small pieces so she could eat it; Percy enjoyed the food much more than his daughter did.
They returned back at the shop around four in the afternoon, Percy noting with a sinking feeling the large crowd that was still gathered in and around Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Apprehensively, he slipped back in the store.
The shop was packed but, mercifully, George's was the only head of red hair Percy spotted in the crowd, standing in the middle of a crowd near the staircase up to the flat, the banner proudly proclaiming everything to be 'FIFTY PERCENT OFF!' fluttering over his head. Percy slipped through throngs of people, knowing he would never be noticed in this shop and glad of it, and got nearly halfway up the stairs to the first landing when he looked back down, at George, noticing something he'd never seen before (Percy wondered if maybe he should have seen it before).
It was something that could only be noticed when George was at the heart of a crowd, talking them up with that huge grin on his face.
The grin seemed just a little forced, just a little out of place in its sheer garishness, like a feature added to a watercolor painting with oil paint, long after everything had dried. And George didn't look to be as bright and shining as he used to be. The glamour was tarnished. He had been dulled.
Unlike Bill, Percy had few scruples when it came to staring at George so when the throng surrounding George dispersed and the younger brother realized that Percy was staring at him, Percy was able to meet his gaze unabashedly.
George wore a face as he came to meet Percy that the latter only rarely saw on his face: a look of slight disapproval. "Mum wanted to see you, you know."
"And the baby."
"And the baby," George conceded, both of them knowing that the rest of the family, with the exception of Bill and possibly Charlie probably wanted to see little Molly more than they did Percy.
They didn't have much to say to each other for maybe half a minute, both watching from the stairs and George occasionally shouting out "Oi! You break it, you buy it!" or "The policy on nicking is just the same as it's ever been!"
Percy watched the milling crowds with a touch of wry pride in his brother's apparent business acumen. "Business seems to be booming."
"There was never a time when it wasn't, my dear brother," George replied jauntily—again, Percy could detect something forced in his cheer. "Even when circumstances beyond our control necessitated the use of a mail delivery system from the back room at dear old abominable Auntie Muriel's place."
She thinks about as well of you, Percy barely managed to keep himself from retorting.
"I'm going to go on up," Percy murmured, suddenly wanting to be alone—he was wanting that a lot lately, he was noticing; more so than usual.
"What? Why not stay down here? Come on, Percy, even you like a good party sometimes; it doesn't feel right for you to be shut up there while everybody's having such a good time." Percy wouldn't have believed in the sincerity of George's smile or his want for his brother's company if he hadn't known him as well as he did; George was lonely, and even George wanted Percy around sometime.
Percy shook his head. "All this noise isn't good for Molly. I don't think she likes it very much."
"Nonsense! Look at her; she loves it!"
Indeed, Molly was staring down on the crowd with as much interest as she could muster in her small face, a flush of excitement slowly creeping up her cheeks.
Percy frowned at his brother.
"Oh, come off it Perce, you can't stay up there forever. And why don't you let Moll down here more often? She can't stay up there forever either, you know."
Percy took the opportunity to shoot a black look in George's direction; George had the grace to look uncomfortable. "Because I know what in your mind constitutes "funny". And because I lived with you long enough and been over this shop enough to know the sort of things you stock here. I refuse to have Molly dyed electric blue, have her tongue swell up to a dozen times its normal size, or have her turned into a canary for any length of time."
George didn't have anything to say to that.
Percy was sure, however, that his silence didn't necessarily translate to respect for his brother's wishes.
He knew George too well to be sure of him.
-0-
That night, Percy didn't have dreams, or nightmares. That night, his unconscious mind wasn't plagued by memories and things he should have done but didn't do. That night, Percy didn't dream of Fred Weasley or Penelope Clearwater when he slept because, simply put, he didn't sleep at all.
He hadn't the night before, either. It had very little to do with the bed; the bed, Percy was willing to concede, was one far more comfortable than what he had lied in for the past several months.
It was just that Percy really couldn't sleep.
It was just that he wasn't sure he wanted to.
Molly wanted attention, too, fussing a bit in her cot and threatening to cry until Percy picked her up and held her for a bit. He winced a bit at the smell and realized what Molly really wanted. One quick trip to the bathroom later, she was willing to sleep in peace, and gripped Percy's index finger briefly before dropping off to sleep.
After that, Percy knew without a doubt that no sleep would be gotten; it was half past two and even though his limbs were weary his mind was still going at a mile a minute. He had neither the desire nor the ability to sleep.
So he got out of bed, and did something he'd never done a day in his life before.
He checked on George.
Again, Percy found himself pressing the door to George's room open slightly, having again found a slant of golden light to indicate that the lights were still on.
George wasn't sleeping either. This time, he was sitting on his bed, the covers untouched, reading.
His eyes weren't moving.
-0-
"Just what," Percy hissed, white-faced, at George, who had the nerve to look at him with complete (and, Percy realized to his horror, unfeigned) innocence on his face, "do you think you're doing?"
It was true that Percy avoided confrontation when he could. However, he knew there were times when he couldn't just ignore something going on in front of him. There were times when the only thing he could think to do was shout and yell and raise a fuss. It was the only appropriate avenue, sometimes. Now was one of those times.
Bring little Molly into the mix, and for Percy, all bets were off.
It was still early enough in the day that the joke shop wasn't packed with customers. The few customers who were there, when Percy stomped up to his brother, filed out of the shop quietly, plainly not wanting to be there when the bough broke.
"I was gone for fifteen minutes." Percy's voice rose on each syllable, but never quite made it to a shout. "Was that too long for you? Did boredom really overwhelm your memory that much, or do you have even less respect for my wishes than I thought you did?"
Fifteen minutes… Percy didn't think that much on that amount of time. He'd just been going to get some milk from a shop nearby. He had made the decision (the mistake, he could see now) that maybe, maybe George was trustworthy enough to respect Percy's wishes and allow Molly to remain undisturbed in the spare bedroom, and keep an ear out for her through the open door.
Of course, leopards never changed their spots. Delinquent Weasley's never changed their habits, either.
Molly was now sitting on top of the cashier's desk in the joke shop, perilously close to an open container of Ton-Tongue Toffee. Well, she was until her immediately alarmed father saw her and swept her up into his arms, with every intention of taking her upstairs.
"I don't see what the harm is in letting her stay down here!" George protested as he followed his brother up the stairs. "I really don't see what you're so upset about, Percy! It's not like Moll's hurt or anything!"
"YOUR JOKES ARE NOT FUNNY!" Percy roared back at him from the top of the stairs, marching into the spare bedroom and slamming it shut the way he would in the Burrow. George got over the threshold before Percy could lock the door the way he did as a child. "When will you grow up?" he demanded bitterly. "When will you just grow up?"
Molly started to cry; Percy looked down at her, shocked, then realized that he had been shouting. Wincing and sending mental apologies off to her, he laid her down in the cot, where she still whimpered a bit, tears dripping down her cheeks at uneven intervals.
Percy turned his attention back to George, who was staring at him, slightly pale and looking as though he had never met Percy before in his life. "Is this about the pyramid?" he asked. "Look, Percy, if we'd known you had claustrophobia we never would have shut you up in there, you have to believe me—"
"Words can't describe how much I wish I could believe you." Percy sat down on the edge of the bed, breathing hard. "But I can't; you're not known for your honesty, I'm afraid," he remarked sardonically.
George just stared at him, for once completely deprived of all witty repartee and comebacks, mute and utterly defenseless.
For just a moment, Percy hated him for looking at him like that.
"You two terrified me," Percy forced out, staring George down with burning eyes, feeling his throat start to swell shut. "Before we went to Egypt, you only scared me a little bit. But after… after that day… I had the measure of you… knew just how far you'd go for a laugh… Why do you think I always locked my door after that?"
George was still looking at him as though seeing a stranger in his brother's clothes.
Percy wasn't done. "I thought I was going to die in there," he spat out bitterly, remembering the cold caress of cobwebs and the musty air and all the stories he'd been told about Muggles who'd tried to break into pyramids. Remembered reaching for his wand—My wand? Where is my wand?—feeling desperately for it, and not being able to find it. They've taken it. "And everyone thought it was so funny." The knowledge that George was the only one aware of his claustrophobia suddenly didn't matter. "I thought I was going to die in there and you all just laughed." His voice cracked on 'laughed', and Percy couldn't speak anymore.
George regained his voice at the exact moment Percy lost his. "Why are you here, then?" he asked quietly, the slightest hint of something Percy realized was disgust in his voice. "Why should you be here, if I scare you so much?"
For once, Percy knew exactly what to say. "Because being alone is the most awful feeling anyone can find themselves confronting."
With that final comment as food for thought, Percy summarily pushed George out of his room, and locked the door.
-0-
Percy had to come downstairs again sometime. Inevitably, either he, Molly, or both of them would get hungry.
When he took a step out of the door, he found his foot coming into contact with something somewhat firm.
There was an Umbridge doll lying in the hall, right in front of the door to the spare bedroom. In any other case, Percy would have attributed it to sheer carelessness, but he knew George to be careful with his merchandise.
Percy picked up the doll with a sigh. George… He stepped back inside briefly to give the doll to Molly to play with—he knew the Umbridge dolls to be among the only truly harmless wares of the joke shop—and went looking for George.
-0-
Percy found George sitting on the stoop outside the shop, watching the crowds of early-rising shoppers, fists under his chin, elbows propped on his knees. Again, he just looked so ridiculously small sitting there, his normally broad shoulders looking slight as they slumped.
There should have been a second, identical sitter, just as there should have been someone walking beside Percy.
George looked up as Percy sat down beside him, blinking out the sunlight and looking as though he hadn't expected him to be there. "I really don't want to be alone," George admitted, appearing to Percy's eyes far younger than he had a right to be. Misery flitted across his face.
"I know, George." Percy hesitated, not sure what to say under such circumstances. "I… I didn't want to be alone, either."
"We both liked her, you know," George burst out suddenly, and Percy felt his face flush. "I know we gave you a hard time over your… "girlfriend", but she made you act like a normal human being. We both liked her. We both…" he broke off, squeezing his eyes shut as pain made his freckled face contort.
Percy understood.
"Would it have been any easier," Percy asked hesitantly, hating himself but knowing he had to use the worst, "if I'd been the one who died?"
George's reaction was immediate. "No," he choked out, white with shock and plainly convinced now that his brother was in fact a complete stranger. "Why would you say that? It would have been just as bad, no matter who died, even if you are a prat. It's just, that… It's harder for me… Fred was everything…"
Percy found himself in the position of understanding things a lot lately. Now was no different.
"No one could ever replace Fred. Even if he was a terror."
The bereft twin nodded, and then looked his brother in the eye. "You aren't going to leave again, are you Perce?"
Slowly, Percy shook his head.
When he saw George's face light up, Percy knew he wouldn't have left, even if he wanted to.
He was needed by one of his siblings, for the first time in years.
That was enough.
Okay, I know I labeled this as 'penultimate', but I changed my mind: this is the last one, people. I think it wraps things up nicely; don't shake your fingers at me.
That said, I'm still a little unsure. It could very easily be labeled "In which Percy overreacts and George sends an Umbridge doll as a peace offering". The characterizations of Percy and George, both laboring under grief, were a little dodgy; please tell me what you think.
The pyramid thing was something I remembered out of PoA. I can't understand how anyone could ever find this funny, and frankly, if I had brothers like Fred and George, I'd probably be terrified of them too, since I bear enough similarity to Percy to potentially make me an easy target.
Bill strikes me as the sort to be the one who be able to see both sides of an argument. Don't get me wrong; he's as much on Arthur's side as anyone else in the family. I just think that he might be able to see where Percy was coming from.
Also, I thought it would be nice for it to be George, of the younger siblings, to be the first to let Percy back in after he showed up at Hogwarts for the battle, given that he seemed to be so bitter.
Well, it's been real, and I hope you all enjoyed the 'Prodigal Son' series.